Disclaimer: not mine, copyright Labyrinth Enterprises (at least, that's what it says on my copy of the movie). Thank you Mr. Jim Henson way up high for creating such loveliness.
King Lear
Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer
(King Lear, Act 5, Scene 3)
Sarah refused to 'examine' her new 'patient' in a room where she could be observed. She was escorted to yet another little room with a table, two chairs. Wire for the window and a tight cage over the lamp. Grey walls that might have been light brown once, brownish linoleum that might have been green. Sarah waited, one scream away from the guards, as they had told her.
Standing at the window she awaited her audition with the King. A King of rats.
The door opened. A guard entered and a second pushed the third person in between them inside.
The man looked down, shovelling on slippers juts that bit too large to be able to run with. He still wore the straightjacket.
One guard pulled a chair back, the other guided the prisoner to it and sat him down.
The man slumped forward, as if very tired.
"Ma'am, if he gives you any trouble-"
"You should not be in here, alone with him, you know."
Sarah nodded at them.
"Thank you for your concern. If there is but a mere hint of trouble, I'll yell."
If she was still in this world at the end of her scream, that was.
The door closed, and Sarah stared. Unmoving. Two steps between them. Only two.
All Sarah could hear, was the thunder of her own heartbeat.
Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Sarah's heartbeat became less frantic. Slowly she went to the other side of the table and quietly sat down. When she finally spoke it was with a voice thick with sarcasm.
"Well, are you not going to speak to me, 'Jerry'? Gone trough all this trouble to get me here- and now- What?"
Only the eyes flashed up to the sound of her voice and the utterance of his new name.
"I have no time for this. What do you wish with me now, Goblin King."
Silence. Not even the eyes moved this time. Sarah waited another five minutes, before slapping the table with a flat hand and hissing his name, just not loud enough to alarm the guards.
"Jareth!"
Shocked, he shot up. For a moment Sarah saw something in the wild eyes of the man- then the shutters closed, he pushed himself away, fell backwards, chair and al and scurried away from her until he reached a corner and curled himself up, hiding his face from her.
Both guards ran in at the clamour- but Sarah quickly stood and stepped in-between the two men and her patient.
"No- it's all right- It's my fault, I startled him. Please, leave us-"
Reluctantly, they did.
Sarah heard a soft whimper and turned towards it.
This was unbelievable. Utterly amazing and unbelievable. The creature that had almost literally been blown into her life by the stormwinds, all regal and tall and dark, harassing her for her brother. Threatening her for Toby's life. Threatening -her- life. Making her friends miserable. The seducer- The high and mighty Goblin King. He lay whimpering at her feet close enough to kick. Silent, but for the soft frightened moans. Unmoving, except for the involuntary shivers that racked his body.
She almost told him what a pity it was to see him like this.
Almost.
She was trying to find the cruelty to do it, but could not.
Sarah knelt beside him and he hissed at her, as Beetem had told her he might. But Sarah recognised the sound, she had heard it once before. Or at least something quite similar. Not completely, this squeal sounded frightened- the other one had sounded angry. Over fifteen years ago. When a majestic almost white barnyard owl had flown away from her home.
"Playing dumb animal, I see."
She shivered. What Sarah had seen flashing in those eyes just before he fell, was quite horrific if one compared the kings former station with what had become of him. He had not recognised the name- he had been terrified of it.
"Jerry."
Another hiss.
"Jerry, look at me."
No reaction.
Sarah stood and removed her businesslike dark blue jacket, hoping to be less frightening. Angry at herself for allowing herself to believe the act of the creature in the corner only for the tiniest of moments. Without thinking about what the dirty floor might do to her panty's, she knelt again next to him.
Fear. He hated the taste of a mind in fear. This woman was afraid of him. They were all afraid of him. And she was angry at him. Just like so many others were angry at him. He just wanted all that anger to go away- but he could not make it stop.
"Not so impressive now, are you." Or actually, much more impressive if this -was- all an act. Sarah could pull a slight performance- but here she sat next to a master.
No, not so impressive now. Slender, as one really could expect from a Fae. Yet Sarah had only seen him in billowing capes and wide flowing shirts that had made him look a lot broader in the shoulders. And she now also understood the high heeled boots, although she had neither noticed nor thought of them before, not really. Jareth was at least half a head smaller without them.
"Well, if you are truly going to play the madman, you must want me to assume the role of your psychiatrist, now don't you? Is your mind the maze this rime round? Is that what you wish me to solve? Don't you realise what I could do to you? How about a nice little lobotomy? I know of several hospitals where they still use electro-shocks. Would you like that than?"
Silence.
"Damnit, Jareth! Answer me!"
Frustrated she gave his shoulder a push. All reaction was a warning little hiss.
Sarah kept her hand at his shoulder. Her touching him had been instinct-, but she now kept her hand where it was. She was touching the Goblin King. Not dreaming away in his arms, dancing within his enchanted illusion with him in control. Just a skinny shoulder through a straightjacket.
"Jareth- this is not funny anymore. What are you playing at? Is this some test to see how cruel I really am? Whether or not I'm vindictive?"
Or egocentric, came the unbidden thought. She was not behaving very professional at the moment. She tried again, gentler this time, cussing herself for playing along with the elaborate act.
Jerry reacts to kindness, the reports said. He reacts to peoples approach. Not surprisingly for a magical Fae.
Sarah squeezed Jerry's shoulder lightly, and tried to change her mindset, mould herself into a gentler mood. With her free hand she tipped his chin up.
What Sarah did not realise was that the creature in front of her had not been touched with gentleness in a long, long time. He had been pushed, beaten, professionally been undressed, washed and dressed again. But not patted on the shoulder, or had someone raise his face with gentleness as one would a child's.
He shivered.
Sarah stared into Jareth's slack face. The eyes still held that mesmerising quality, with one pupil contracting with the light, the other stationary and enlarged. Yet the eyes held no life and no power. Even Jareth's beauty had dulled somewhat, his unruly hair dirty, the fine boned face paler than Sarah remembered. Without the radiance of life. Without the sparkle of the Underground. Without magic.
Childlike indeed. This creature was easily over a thousand years old- yet he sat there, whimpering and shivering like a little lost boy in need of comfort. Sarah began to understand Beetems protectiveness towards the Fae- even if Beetem never had seen the King in his glory.
Jareth closed his eyes. A pleading whimper escaping his throat. He felt the woman before him was not afraid anymore. Hesitant and weary, but not afraid. She would not hurt him.
Sarah let go of Jareth's chin, her free hand tracing his face, experimentally combing through is hair to see the 'ear-thing' for herself. All the while marvelling at the fact she was this close to the King, actually touching him. With him allowing it without sarcastic remarks, quips, smirks or leering half smiles.
Suddenly Jareth dropped himself into the arms of the woman. He wanted to be close to her warmth, to something that would not hurt him. And Sarah, taken by surprise, embraced him to prevent the both of them from toppling over. Jareth let go of a long, long sigh, while Sarah, wide eyed, half in terror, half in wonder, held him close.
What if Jareth's behaviour was not an act? What if this Master of Illusion and Fae Glamour was really as lost as he seemed to be? Devoid of mind, afraid and now, imprisoned? What in the world could have happened to the King to bring him down this low?
Realising Sarah had been alone with Jareth for over thirty minutes, Beetem just had to peek through the window in the door. And what he saw made him admire the young psychiatrist all the more. There she sat on the cold dirty floor, heedless of her once pristine little outfit, hugging a dangerous murderer who never could let anyone come close. She was all he could have hoped for, for this patient. All anyone could have hoped for to solve this man's mystery. Beetem could at least make a report now giving Sarah card blanche. Even those bastards of the FBI would be pleased.
King Lear
Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer
(King Lear, Act 5, Scene 3)
Sarah refused to 'examine' her new 'patient' in a room where she could be observed. She was escorted to yet another little room with a table, two chairs. Wire for the window and a tight cage over the lamp. Grey walls that might have been light brown once, brownish linoleum that might have been green. Sarah waited, one scream away from the guards, as they had told her.
Standing at the window she awaited her audition with the King. A King of rats.
The door opened. A guard entered and a second pushed the third person in between them inside.
The man looked down, shovelling on slippers juts that bit too large to be able to run with. He still wore the straightjacket.
One guard pulled a chair back, the other guided the prisoner to it and sat him down.
The man slumped forward, as if very tired.
"Ma'am, if he gives you any trouble-"
"You should not be in here, alone with him, you know."
Sarah nodded at them.
"Thank you for your concern. If there is but a mere hint of trouble, I'll yell."
If she was still in this world at the end of her scream, that was.
The door closed, and Sarah stared. Unmoving. Two steps between them. Only two.
All Sarah could hear, was the thunder of her own heartbeat.
Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Sarah's heartbeat became less frantic. Slowly she went to the other side of the table and quietly sat down. When she finally spoke it was with a voice thick with sarcasm.
"Well, are you not going to speak to me, 'Jerry'? Gone trough all this trouble to get me here- and now- What?"
Only the eyes flashed up to the sound of her voice and the utterance of his new name.
"I have no time for this. What do you wish with me now, Goblin King."
Silence. Not even the eyes moved this time. Sarah waited another five minutes, before slapping the table with a flat hand and hissing his name, just not loud enough to alarm the guards.
"Jareth!"
Shocked, he shot up. For a moment Sarah saw something in the wild eyes of the man- then the shutters closed, he pushed himself away, fell backwards, chair and al and scurried away from her until he reached a corner and curled himself up, hiding his face from her.
Both guards ran in at the clamour- but Sarah quickly stood and stepped in-between the two men and her patient.
"No- it's all right- It's my fault, I startled him. Please, leave us-"
Reluctantly, they did.
Sarah heard a soft whimper and turned towards it.
This was unbelievable. Utterly amazing and unbelievable. The creature that had almost literally been blown into her life by the stormwinds, all regal and tall and dark, harassing her for her brother. Threatening her for Toby's life. Threatening -her- life. Making her friends miserable. The seducer- The high and mighty Goblin King. He lay whimpering at her feet close enough to kick. Silent, but for the soft frightened moans. Unmoving, except for the involuntary shivers that racked his body.
She almost told him what a pity it was to see him like this.
Almost.
She was trying to find the cruelty to do it, but could not.
Sarah knelt beside him and he hissed at her, as Beetem had told her he might. But Sarah recognised the sound, she had heard it once before. Or at least something quite similar. Not completely, this squeal sounded frightened- the other one had sounded angry. Over fifteen years ago. When a majestic almost white barnyard owl had flown away from her home.
"Playing dumb animal, I see."
She shivered. What Sarah had seen flashing in those eyes just before he fell, was quite horrific if one compared the kings former station with what had become of him. He had not recognised the name- he had been terrified of it.
"Jerry."
Another hiss.
"Jerry, look at me."
No reaction.
Sarah stood and removed her businesslike dark blue jacket, hoping to be less frightening. Angry at herself for allowing herself to believe the act of the creature in the corner only for the tiniest of moments. Without thinking about what the dirty floor might do to her panty's, she knelt again next to him.
Fear. He hated the taste of a mind in fear. This woman was afraid of him. They were all afraid of him. And she was angry at him. Just like so many others were angry at him. He just wanted all that anger to go away- but he could not make it stop.
"Not so impressive now, are you." Or actually, much more impressive if this -was- all an act. Sarah could pull a slight performance- but here she sat next to a master.
No, not so impressive now. Slender, as one really could expect from a Fae. Yet Sarah had only seen him in billowing capes and wide flowing shirts that had made him look a lot broader in the shoulders. And she now also understood the high heeled boots, although she had neither noticed nor thought of them before, not really. Jareth was at least half a head smaller without them.
"Well, if you are truly going to play the madman, you must want me to assume the role of your psychiatrist, now don't you? Is your mind the maze this rime round? Is that what you wish me to solve? Don't you realise what I could do to you? How about a nice little lobotomy? I know of several hospitals where they still use electro-shocks. Would you like that than?"
Silence.
"Damnit, Jareth! Answer me!"
Frustrated she gave his shoulder a push. All reaction was a warning little hiss.
Sarah kept her hand at his shoulder. Her touching him had been instinct-, but she now kept her hand where it was. She was touching the Goblin King. Not dreaming away in his arms, dancing within his enchanted illusion with him in control. Just a skinny shoulder through a straightjacket.
"Jareth- this is not funny anymore. What are you playing at? Is this some test to see how cruel I really am? Whether or not I'm vindictive?"
Or egocentric, came the unbidden thought. She was not behaving very professional at the moment. She tried again, gentler this time, cussing herself for playing along with the elaborate act.
Jerry reacts to kindness, the reports said. He reacts to peoples approach. Not surprisingly for a magical Fae.
Sarah squeezed Jerry's shoulder lightly, and tried to change her mindset, mould herself into a gentler mood. With her free hand she tipped his chin up.
What Sarah did not realise was that the creature in front of her had not been touched with gentleness in a long, long time. He had been pushed, beaten, professionally been undressed, washed and dressed again. But not patted on the shoulder, or had someone raise his face with gentleness as one would a child's.
He shivered.
Sarah stared into Jareth's slack face. The eyes still held that mesmerising quality, with one pupil contracting with the light, the other stationary and enlarged. Yet the eyes held no life and no power. Even Jareth's beauty had dulled somewhat, his unruly hair dirty, the fine boned face paler than Sarah remembered. Without the radiance of life. Without the sparkle of the Underground. Without magic.
Childlike indeed. This creature was easily over a thousand years old- yet he sat there, whimpering and shivering like a little lost boy in need of comfort. Sarah began to understand Beetems protectiveness towards the Fae- even if Beetem never had seen the King in his glory.
Jareth closed his eyes. A pleading whimper escaping his throat. He felt the woman before him was not afraid anymore. Hesitant and weary, but not afraid. She would not hurt him.
Sarah let go of Jareth's chin, her free hand tracing his face, experimentally combing through is hair to see the 'ear-thing' for herself. All the while marvelling at the fact she was this close to the King, actually touching him. With him allowing it without sarcastic remarks, quips, smirks or leering half smiles.
Suddenly Jareth dropped himself into the arms of the woman. He wanted to be close to her warmth, to something that would not hurt him. And Sarah, taken by surprise, embraced him to prevent the both of them from toppling over. Jareth let go of a long, long sigh, while Sarah, wide eyed, half in terror, half in wonder, held him close.
What if Jareth's behaviour was not an act? What if this Master of Illusion and Fae Glamour was really as lost as he seemed to be? Devoid of mind, afraid and now, imprisoned? What in the world could have happened to the King to bring him down this low?
Realising Sarah had been alone with Jareth for over thirty minutes, Beetem just had to peek through the window in the door. And what he saw made him admire the young psychiatrist all the more. There she sat on the cold dirty floor, heedless of her once pristine little outfit, hugging a dangerous murderer who never could let anyone come close. She was all he could have hoped for, for this patient. All anyone could have hoped for to solve this man's mystery. Beetem could at least make a report now giving Sarah card blanche. Even those bastards of the FBI would be pleased.