King of Dreams, Owner of None
by Bunniko
AN:?Yay! 7 more days 'til freedom from my stinking cast!!! Anywho, another chapter with oblique references to me and my friends. So again, there's some stuff I own. I own: Trixie/Jeannie, Melinda, Deborah, Rikki, Solei and other things as they appear. I do not own: Texas (bummer), England (yay!), the Labyrinth (sniffle), Jareth, Sarah, etc. To my real life friends: See if you can find yourself. Did I write you in? lol Oh, and Vincent, he's all mine, no one inspired him. But if anyone wants him, please, take him away *grin* Rating for violence, language, suggestiveness, eh, you name it. Pwease review. *puppy eyes* Love to all who reviewed before!!! Thanks!!!!!!
Please Note: From this chapter on, the story is set 5 years after the movie.
And now, Chapter Seven! (Soshite, Dainanashou!)
Chapter Seven - Goblin Time
Jeannie stepped outside, calling out a cheery good night to a few of her friends. Mel and Jay were climbing into her car. Solei was waving good night from her parents sleek Benz. The cool October night cut through Jeannie's costume as she turned away from the brightly lit house of one of her college friends and began her 15 minute walk back to her apartment building.
It was Halloween night, her favorite night of the year. A night of goblins and ghosts, all played by trick-or-treating little kids or partying adults. She'd recently turned 20 and was amused as some her friends rowdily bid goodbye to their last alcohol-free Halloween. Next year, they would be legal and they too would be getting as tipsy as their older friends always did. Jeannie didn't care; she didn't like the taste of wine or champagne and hated the smell of beer, so she wasn't counting down to 21. She was counting down 'til 2 am, when Sarah would call her. Then they would tell each other how their Halloween had been, both avoiding any mention of the one man that Halloween always reminded them of, before Trix would collapse into bed and Honey would begin her day.
Jeannie was happy as she walked, savouring the feel of Halloween night, the faint humming magic one could hear in the air. It was a night of dreams, some dark and some fantastic, but a night when everyone could take their fantasies out into the dark night and let them play. She herself had let out one of her own fantasies. She was dressed as Sleeping Beauty. A crown of gold paperboard, cut out to match the Disney cartoon one, sat atop her difficult to restrain blonde hair. Mel had helped her shape her hair into the Disney-specified style, but it had been an ordeal. Mel was terrified of hurting her friend and complained that they should have bought a wig. She'd chosen to opt out of trying to buy or sew the dress seen in the animation, knowing that, ideally, she would have wanted the mixed dress created when the feuding faeries had turned it half pink and half blue. Instead, she borrowed a gauzy rose pink gown and a gauzy deep blue gown from her amateur theatre's prop department. They were used as over-gowns for faeries in a stage adaptation of Thumbelina. Underneath would be worn a skin-tone bodysuit. Jeannie layered them over a cream sleeveless slip dress that she took from her prom dress, so that she had an elegant-looking ensemble that shifted colors as she walked.
Her costume had been admired, which had added a plum to her night. The only disappointment was that someone must have let her costuming plan slip to her ex-boyfriend Vincent, because he showed up as Prince Phillip, which only added to her displeasure. He'd tried to talk to her, but she avoided him. He'd dumped her in a fit of pique because she wouldn't sleep with him, but now he seemed to regret his actions. Sarah had advised that it was just another trick to get her to lower her guard and Jeannie knew it too. He'd finally left and she'd been able to fully enjoy the party without worrying about his eyes.
She was rounding a corner, only five minutes from home, when she became aware someone was behind her. She tried to think of what she should do, but when a strong arm suddenly wrapped about her throat and cold steel touched her forehead, the only?one thing came to mind. The name of the man whose voice had whispered in her mind for five years, who was always on her mind, who she tried not to think about. She whispered it, fear coloring and shaping it, "Jareth!"
As soon as the arm coiled about her neck, she instinctively clutched it with both hands. She couldn't loosen the grip, however, and her attacker growled in her ear, "Not a sound, or I'll kill you." She couldn't tell if he meant it or not, and in her fear-benumbed state, she allowed him to push her into an alley. She cursed at herself for the clichéd-ness of this attack. How many times had she been warned to stay with a group of people? But no, she just had to walk home, by herself, at night, on the most dangerous night of the year.
But, Jeannie was a fighter. She'd scrapped with her younger brothers a lot and she wasn't about to let this guy off easy. Besides, her detective story-loving brain reminded her, usually when the victim fought back, more clues were left behind for the police. She feigned a faint. When the assailant grunted in surprise at the sudden dead weight in his arms, she managed to knock the gun away. It skittered to a stop in the faint light from the entrance to the alleyway. Jeannie broke his grip at the same time and managed to face her attacker.
Jareth blinked confusedly when he found himself in a dank, dark, garbage- strewn alley. "Sarah?" he asked softly. There were only the sounds of grunting and whimpering. He moved fast, gut twisting with a sickening suspicion. But it wasn't Sarah who had summoned him, he realized suddenly. He looked at Jeannie, her terror-numbed passivity now fled. She was struggling with her attacker; a gun skidded to rest just in front of him. As he watched, the assailant suddenly gained the upper hand, bringing his strength to bear. He slammed her back against the wall, knocking the breath out of her and stunning her. She kicked out as she lost her balance, but that only succeeded in bringing him crashing down atop her. Her head hit the ground with a thud as she fell face-down. He quickly pinned her, flipping her onto her back, legs straddling her body, his chest crushing hers. Jareth was disturbingly reminded of his behavior towards Sarah, but he forced the memory aside. The two began to speak and Jareth inched closer.
The man grabbed a handful of Jeannie's hair and forced her to look up at him. He slid off her long enough to push her dresses up above her waist. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to focus clearly enough to see her attacker's face. He was sitting on her, leaning over so that his face was very close to hers. "You bitch. Did you think I dated you for your babbling words?" He released her hair and his hands began pulling her dresses up higher, fumbling for the catch of her bra. "No one turns me down, baby."
The cheap mask had kept her from recognizing him, but when he said that last line she knew exactly who it was. Vincent, the little . . . "So you're a serial rapist, then?" she tossed back, ignoring the blood trickling from her mouth. "Can't get it up unless she's beat down? Not much of a man, are you?" Her taunts earned her a blow across the face. The force of the blow knocked her head into the wall with a sickening crunch, followed by silence.
It was the gushing blood that stopped the rapist short. "Jeannie? Jea. . ." He turned her head to him. "Oh, God!" he moaned. She lay perfectly still, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. Blood gushed out from the side of her head, her hair turned instantly red. Her skull looked misshapen.
Jareth moved with the ferocity of a gryphon. Anger and magic merged, giving him the strength to toss the man like a rag doll. He landed amid garbage and trash cans, and slumped there, head lolling. Jareth ignored him, the rats, and the reeking garbage as he knelt beside the bleeding girl. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing. He knew she was dying. The vacant eyes unnerved him and he closed them as he tried to decide what to do. He couldn't save her here. Magic was too weak in this world. He needed to take her to his sickroom, where his skilled physicians could bring their magic to bear. But to do so, he needed someone who loved her enough to wish her away. He needed someone who believed, who understood. He didn't consider asking. He just pulled her to him.
Sarah found herself in a filthy, creepy alley, looking at a blood-covered Jareth. She could see he was frantically touching a woman, pressing a cloth here, taking her pulse there. "Help me, Sarah." he pleaded, not daring to look up, away from the dying girl.
Sarah was furious. For five years, he hadn't so much as shown a feather, hadn't come when she had called out to him, but now, when he needed something, he simply yanked her across space. What did he think she was? His toy, or maybe his slave? And who was this woman, anyway? Some woman who'd refused him, probably. She remembered his face when they had fought in her room. She had no doubt his temper could be lethal. But then, she reflected, so was hers. It had killed Jareth's interest in her, killed the girl she had been. "What have you done?" she demanded angrily. "Killed a prostitute?" She moved forward a little, the better to see her enemy. Then she fell to her knees. "Trixie!" She grasped one of her best friend's cold hands. "Trixie, no, no! Please God, no!" She began to cry.
"Sarah, if you want to save her, you must help me." There was no seductive tone in his voice now, just a firm, yet pleading note.
"Did you do . . ." Her question was barely formed in her mind and it was tumbling out of her mouth.
"Sarah, yes or no?" Impatient now, demanding even.
"All right!" Defeated, reluctantly accepting that now was not the time to air her suspicions. "What must I do?"
"Wish her away." He made it sound so obvious.
"What?" she shrieked, her voice echoing. Vince stirred on his garbage pile.
His voice was like a professor's now, so firm and reasonable. "You are her best friend. You can take responsibility. Wish her away, then challenge me for her. I cannot save her here."
"I." she struggled against herself. Finally, desperately, she looked at the face of her friend. "I wish the goblins would come and take you away . . . right now." She closed her eyes. When she calmed enough to see without tears, she looked around. Jeannie was gone. Jareth, the alley, they were gone, too. She was back in her own bedroom. Jareth did not show up. Her fury grew until she was certain he was not coming. She flew into a rage, cursing him and throwing things. She called Jareth every vile thing she could think of. Jareth could not hear her. He was too deeply involved in saving `little Trix.'
by Bunniko
AN:?Yay! 7 more days 'til freedom from my stinking cast!!! Anywho, another chapter with oblique references to me and my friends. So again, there's some stuff I own. I own: Trixie/Jeannie, Melinda, Deborah, Rikki, Solei and other things as they appear. I do not own: Texas (bummer), England (yay!), the Labyrinth (sniffle), Jareth, Sarah, etc. To my real life friends: See if you can find yourself. Did I write you in? lol Oh, and Vincent, he's all mine, no one inspired him. But if anyone wants him, please, take him away *grin* Rating for violence, language, suggestiveness, eh, you name it. Pwease review. *puppy eyes* Love to all who reviewed before!!! Thanks!!!!!!
Please Note: From this chapter on, the story is set 5 years after the movie.
And now, Chapter Seven! (Soshite, Dainanashou!)
Chapter Seven - Goblin Time
Jeannie stepped outside, calling out a cheery good night to a few of her friends. Mel and Jay were climbing into her car. Solei was waving good night from her parents sleek Benz. The cool October night cut through Jeannie's costume as she turned away from the brightly lit house of one of her college friends and began her 15 minute walk back to her apartment building.
It was Halloween night, her favorite night of the year. A night of goblins and ghosts, all played by trick-or-treating little kids or partying adults. She'd recently turned 20 and was amused as some her friends rowdily bid goodbye to their last alcohol-free Halloween. Next year, they would be legal and they too would be getting as tipsy as their older friends always did. Jeannie didn't care; she didn't like the taste of wine or champagne and hated the smell of beer, so she wasn't counting down to 21. She was counting down 'til 2 am, when Sarah would call her. Then they would tell each other how their Halloween had been, both avoiding any mention of the one man that Halloween always reminded them of, before Trix would collapse into bed and Honey would begin her day.
Jeannie was happy as she walked, savouring the feel of Halloween night, the faint humming magic one could hear in the air. It was a night of dreams, some dark and some fantastic, but a night when everyone could take their fantasies out into the dark night and let them play. She herself had let out one of her own fantasies. She was dressed as Sleeping Beauty. A crown of gold paperboard, cut out to match the Disney cartoon one, sat atop her difficult to restrain blonde hair. Mel had helped her shape her hair into the Disney-specified style, but it had been an ordeal. Mel was terrified of hurting her friend and complained that they should have bought a wig. She'd chosen to opt out of trying to buy or sew the dress seen in the animation, knowing that, ideally, she would have wanted the mixed dress created when the feuding faeries had turned it half pink and half blue. Instead, she borrowed a gauzy rose pink gown and a gauzy deep blue gown from her amateur theatre's prop department. They were used as over-gowns for faeries in a stage adaptation of Thumbelina. Underneath would be worn a skin-tone bodysuit. Jeannie layered them over a cream sleeveless slip dress that she took from her prom dress, so that she had an elegant-looking ensemble that shifted colors as she walked.
Her costume had been admired, which had added a plum to her night. The only disappointment was that someone must have let her costuming plan slip to her ex-boyfriend Vincent, because he showed up as Prince Phillip, which only added to her displeasure. He'd tried to talk to her, but she avoided him. He'd dumped her in a fit of pique because she wouldn't sleep with him, but now he seemed to regret his actions. Sarah had advised that it was just another trick to get her to lower her guard and Jeannie knew it too. He'd finally left and she'd been able to fully enjoy the party without worrying about his eyes.
She was rounding a corner, only five minutes from home, when she became aware someone was behind her. She tried to think of what she should do, but when a strong arm suddenly wrapped about her throat and cold steel touched her forehead, the only?one thing came to mind. The name of the man whose voice had whispered in her mind for five years, who was always on her mind, who she tried not to think about. She whispered it, fear coloring and shaping it, "Jareth!"
As soon as the arm coiled about her neck, she instinctively clutched it with both hands. She couldn't loosen the grip, however, and her attacker growled in her ear, "Not a sound, or I'll kill you." She couldn't tell if he meant it or not, and in her fear-benumbed state, she allowed him to push her into an alley. She cursed at herself for the clichéd-ness of this attack. How many times had she been warned to stay with a group of people? But no, she just had to walk home, by herself, at night, on the most dangerous night of the year.
But, Jeannie was a fighter. She'd scrapped with her younger brothers a lot and she wasn't about to let this guy off easy. Besides, her detective story-loving brain reminded her, usually when the victim fought back, more clues were left behind for the police. She feigned a faint. When the assailant grunted in surprise at the sudden dead weight in his arms, she managed to knock the gun away. It skittered to a stop in the faint light from the entrance to the alleyway. Jeannie broke his grip at the same time and managed to face her attacker.
Jareth blinked confusedly when he found himself in a dank, dark, garbage- strewn alley. "Sarah?" he asked softly. There were only the sounds of grunting and whimpering. He moved fast, gut twisting with a sickening suspicion. But it wasn't Sarah who had summoned him, he realized suddenly. He looked at Jeannie, her terror-numbed passivity now fled. She was struggling with her attacker; a gun skidded to rest just in front of him. As he watched, the assailant suddenly gained the upper hand, bringing his strength to bear. He slammed her back against the wall, knocking the breath out of her and stunning her. She kicked out as she lost her balance, but that only succeeded in bringing him crashing down atop her. Her head hit the ground with a thud as she fell face-down. He quickly pinned her, flipping her onto her back, legs straddling her body, his chest crushing hers. Jareth was disturbingly reminded of his behavior towards Sarah, but he forced the memory aside. The two began to speak and Jareth inched closer.
The man grabbed a handful of Jeannie's hair and forced her to look up at him. He slid off her long enough to push her dresses up above her waist. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to focus clearly enough to see her attacker's face. He was sitting on her, leaning over so that his face was very close to hers. "You bitch. Did you think I dated you for your babbling words?" He released her hair and his hands began pulling her dresses up higher, fumbling for the catch of her bra. "No one turns me down, baby."
The cheap mask had kept her from recognizing him, but when he said that last line she knew exactly who it was. Vincent, the little . . . "So you're a serial rapist, then?" she tossed back, ignoring the blood trickling from her mouth. "Can't get it up unless she's beat down? Not much of a man, are you?" Her taunts earned her a blow across the face. The force of the blow knocked her head into the wall with a sickening crunch, followed by silence.
It was the gushing blood that stopped the rapist short. "Jeannie? Jea. . ." He turned her head to him. "Oh, God!" he moaned. She lay perfectly still, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. Blood gushed out from the side of her head, her hair turned instantly red. Her skull looked misshapen.
Jareth moved with the ferocity of a gryphon. Anger and magic merged, giving him the strength to toss the man like a rag doll. He landed amid garbage and trash cans, and slumped there, head lolling. Jareth ignored him, the rats, and the reeking garbage as he knelt beside the bleeding girl. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing. He knew she was dying. The vacant eyes unnerved him and he closed them as he tried to decide what to do. He couldn't save her here. Magic was too weak in this world. He needed to take her to his sickroom, where his skilled physicians could bring their magic to bear. But to do so, he needed someone who loved her enough to wish her away. He needed someone who believed, who understood. He didn't consider asking. He just pulled her to him.
Sarah found herself in a filthy, creepy alley, looking at a blood-covered Jareth. She could see he was frantically touching a woman, pressing a cloth here, taking her pulse there. "Help me, Sarah." he pleaded, not daring to look up, away from the dying girl.
Sarah was furious. For five years, he hadn't so much as shown a feather, hadn't come when she had called out to him, but now, when he needed something, he simply yanked her across space. What did he think she was? His toy, or maybe his slave? And who was this woman, anyway? Some woman who'd refused him, probably. She remembered his face when they had fought in her room. She had no doubt his temper could be lethal. But then, she reflected, so was hers. It had killed Jareth's interest in her, killed the girl she had been. "What have you done?" she demanded angrily. "Killed a prostitute?" She moved forward a little, the better to see her enemy. Then she fell to her knees. "Trixie!" She grasped one of her best friend's cold hands. "Trixie, no, no! Please God, no!" She began to cry.
"Sarah, if you want to save her, you must help me." There was no seductive tone in his voice now, just a firm, yet pleading note.
"Did you do . . ." Her question was barely formed in her mind and it was tumbling out of her mouth.
"Sarah, yes or no?" Impatient now, demanding even.
"All right!" Defeated, reluctantly accepting that now was not the time to air her suspicions. "What must I do?"
"Wish her away." He made it sound so obvious.
"What?" she shrieked, her voice echoing. Vince stirred on his garbage pile.
His voice was like a professor's now, so firm and reasonable. "You are her best friend. You can take responsibility. Wish her away, then challenge me for her. I cannot save her here."
"I." she struggled against herself. Finally, desperately, she looked at the face of her friend. "I wish the goblins would come and take you away . . . right now." She closed her eyes. When she calmed enough to see without tears, she looked around. Jeannie was gone. Jareth, the alley, they were gone, too. She was back in her own bedroom. Jareth did not show up. Her fury grew until she was certain he was not coming. She flew into a rage, cursing him and throwing things. She called Jareth every vile thing she could think of. Jareth could not hear her. He was too deeply involved in saving `little Trix.'