Bowie Park
by Gizzard and Gullet
CHAPTER 2: ALLUSIONS
With the money in her hand, Sarah struggled to turn and give it to her attacker. But he didn't understand and grabbed her by the hair, his rough fingers digging into her scalp and his fingernails scratching bloody furrows. Her shriek of pain and desperation rent the night air like the talons of a captive owl as her head was jerked back.
Panicking, Sarah twisted away. Her assailant fell to the right as she stumbled to the left. But suddenly she felt his grip tighten and she was pulled abruptly backward.
From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow swooping across the pavement. Through a haze of dizziness and pain, Sarah witnessed the lengthening of the shadow into something sharp, dangerous and man-like.
Suddenly, the mugger's maniacal grip slackened and his hands slipped away from her throat and hair, leaving a trail of grease as they went. He grunted in surprise and as his foul fishy stench evaporated, Sarah realized he had fled. When she turned to discover what larger threat had scared away her attacker, it was all she could do not to flee herself. There before her, resplendent in a glittering glow that seemed to precede him, stood Jareth, King of the Underground and Lord of all Goblins.
His calfskin boots, knee-high and the palest gray of mourning doves, sheathed his well-muscled calves. Above the shredded leather tassels on the cuffs of his boots, his ebony breeches sparkled suggestively. They were a strange garment, well worn, and had cleaved to their handsome mold with the aid of use. His metallic belt buckle flashed in the distant starlight, like the shimmer of waves on a rolling black sea. Hard armor glinted on his chest as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, giving rise to a glimpse of a dark high-necked tunic. A high collar encircled his proud neck in a shroud of glitter and gossamer. The cloak spiraled in the breeze, oozing whispers to the silence, sweeping round his chest with silken gauzy shreds that spurred Sarah's memory and stirred visions of a stormy sky and a drowsy baby; it was a distressing reminiscence. A neck like carved marble peeked from within the folds of his cloak, leading up to a chiseled jaw- line and the suggestion of a mocking smile. His high cheekbones sliced the air around him and his well-shaped aristocratic nose sat smugly beneath his determined brow. But it was his eyes that unsettled Sarah the most; it was from his eyes that his power came. Like two orbs branding her soul, his intense stare held her fast to her spot.
Holding her gaze, Jareth leaned forward and gently put his mysteriously ungloved hand to her face. A cold sensation started at her cheek where his fingers touched and sizzled down her spine. But just then, she heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws and jerked her head around. Bounding towards them, quiet as a shadow, Sarah saw Merlin coming out of the trees.
*Allusions to Macbeth and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by Gizzard and Gullet
CHAPTER 2: ALLUSIONS
With the money in her hand, Sarah struggled to turn and give it to her attacker. But he didn't understand and grabbed her by the hair, his rough fingers digging into her scalp and his fingernails scratching bloody furrows. Her shriek of pain and desperation rent the night air like the talons of a captive owl as her head was jerked back.
Panicking, Sarah twisted away. Her assailant fell to the right as she stumbled to the left. But suddenly she felt his grip tighten and she was pulled abruptly backward.
From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow swooping across the pavement. Through a haze of dizziness and pain, Sarah witnessed the lengthening of the shadow into something sharp, dangerous and man-like.
Suddenly, the mugger's maniacal grip slackened and his hands slipped away from her throat and hair, leaving a trail of grease as they went. He grunted in surprise and as his foul fishy stench evaporated, Sarah realized he had fled. When she turned to discover what larger threat had scared away her attacker, it was all she could do not to flee herself. There before her, resplendent in a glittering glow that seemed to precede him, stood Jareth, King of the Underground and Lord of all Goblins.
His calfskin boots, knee-high and the palest gray of mourning doves, sheathed his well-muscled calves. Above the shredded leather tassels on the cuffs of his boots, his ebony breeches sparkled suggestively. They were a strange garment, well worn, and had cleaved to their handsome mold with the aid of use. His metallic belt buckle flashed in the distant starlight, like the shimmer of waves on a rolling black sea. Hard armor glinted on his chest as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, giving rise to a glimpse of a dark high-necked tunic. A high collar encircled his proud neck in a shroud of glitter and gossamer. The cloak spiraled in the breeze, oozing whispers to the silence, sweeping round his chest with silken gauzy shreds that spurred Sarah's memory and stirred visions of a stormy sky and a drowsy baby; it was a distressing reminiscence. A neck like carved marble peeked from within the folds of his cloak, leading up to a chiseled jaw- line and the suggestion of a mocking smile. His high cheekbones sliced the air around him and his well-shaped aristocratic nose sat smugly beneath his determined brow. But it was his eyes that unsettled Sarah the most; it was from his eyes that his power came. Like two orbs branding her soul, his intense stare held her fast to her spot.
Holding her gaze, Jareth leaned forward and gently put his mysteriously ungloved hand to her face. A cold sensation started at her cheek where his fingers touched and sizzled down her spine. But just then, she heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws and jerked her head around. Bounding towards them, quiet as a shadow, Sarah saw Merlin coming out of the trees.
*Allusions to Macbeth and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
