SCENE 4 SCENE 4 UNDERWEAR IS NEVER BORING

Jareth decidedly hated court days. Firstly he had to be on his best behavior- demonstrate patience, show civility, and tolerate all sorts of pleasantries. Not that he considered him self a bad tempered individual or impolite, but rather that the court members were simply annoying. This annoyance led to the second reason he detested court days. Court members were stuck-up, brown nosers, who praised the secret recipe punch that was served while at the same time attempting to steel small knick-knacks that were on display. Every gathering resulted in at least one piece from his collection being cracked and at least one badly ruffled, hen pecked moron being evicted from the premises (Jareth him self could never be the one that actually dealt out the punishment, no, his chickens saw to such matters).

He sighed wearily while looking at himself in the mirror. 'Old boy', he thought running a hand through his hair, 'you need a change of pace. Now, now I know the last time you did something a little out of the ordinary you got a bit singed.' Here he rolled his eyes. 'Singed. More like burned. But it has been five years… five years, two days, twelve hours, and…' He paused briefly. 'Twelve hours and five minutes, but that is beside the point! Just a little change- you'd feel better.' Having straightened his jacket he sat his face to a cool, slightly indifferent expression. He had to admit, that despite it being a court day, he looked dang good. "Well old boy you do clean up nice. Show time!" He exited out into the hall.

The guests had arrived. He walked down the ceremonious isle, nodding in recognition of certain individuals. At the dais where his throne was located he raised his arms indicating the commencement of the royal court day. For traditions sake he sat down on the throne waiting to see if anyone would actually approach. Court days were supposed to be the time that any citizen of the Underground could appear before the king to plead a case, make a suggestion, propose an idea, seek retribution, but as of late it had become more of a party than anything else. And all at the Goblin King's expense. What clear thinking fae, be you goblin or elf, would turn down the opportunity for free drink and food, and the chance to socialize? Not many. After five minutes Jareth vacated the throne.

Having inconspicuously slapped the hand of a dwarf who was becoming too familiar with a certain female statue, he attempted to mingle. Someone complimented his jacket. Another asked after the punch's secret recipe, the same question he asked every year. One woman attempted to bemuse him by asking if he had the pleasure of any mortal girls lately, "Or have you given them up finally?" She batted her eyes as if they were giant fly wings.

The group that surrounded her seemed to be holding their breath, debating whether or not to smile.

Jareth allowed for a smirk. He drew the woman to his side, "What a clever question. If you ask it again, I'll have one of my hens see to it you never blink again." With a sharp pinch administered to her waist he walked away. Now he was bored and irritated.

The goblins- his must loyal subjects- rushed about serving drinks. He smiled warmly at one as he passed. The goblin paused and bowed respectfully. "Your majesty!"

"Dink, right? What an intriguing vest you are wearing."

The goblin beamed at the compliment. "Thank you sire!"

There was something oddly familiar about the garment. It was if he had seen it before somewhere, but differently. Jareth was about to inquire further when a loud clatter distracted everyone in the room. A certain fae was dodging a chicken that appeared to be intent upon landing talons extended on the individual's head. The table with the meat and cheese spread had been over turned in the scuffle.

"Excuse me sire." And away Dink ran to aid the chicken in running out the fae. With a satisfied smirk the king looked away as if nothing had happened at all.

It was some where between the traditional toast wishing long days and pleasant nights on the Goblin King and the dwarfs' wine barrel racing that Jareth took notice of the same unique clothing item on another goblin. He cocked his head and puzzled over the familiarity. Then he spotted a red one, a striped one, and a comical pink and green polka-dotted one. Nearly all of his subjects were running about in the vest. He attempted to picture the vest worn in various fashions hoping to trigger the fleeting memory.

If one were to pop one's head through one of the holes… No, that would not work. One arm, one leg? No that looked ridiculous. He crossed his arms and raised a finger to his lips. Say the goblin was to hold the item out in front of his body holes facing down. Then by means of slightly bending over the goblin inserted his right foot in a hole followed his left foot. Yes this was beginning to look much better all ready! Then if the goblin was a female and not a goblin at all, but something taller and slimmer. Add flowing dark chocolate hair and a brea- The Moon protect him!

His subjects were running around before the entire court in women's underwear!

'Old boy,' he thought struggling to hold his face school though he could feel a mild blush burning on his cheeks. 'Boring may have just become a thing of the past.'

As soon as the last annoying fae said his/her last annoying farewell he called all of the goblins to the throne room. Having removed his jacket he situated him self comfortably by sitting sideways on the throne and hoisting a leg over the side. He watched all of his subjects appear all of them in their new favorite attire. 'Where in the name of all that is holy had they found so many panties?' he mused. "All right lads and lasses," he then called out. "Excellent court day! Someone care to tell me how many of my art pieces were molested this time?"

Splot stood up. His choice had been a simple black pair. He cleared his throat. "Our Lady of the Bog will need to be repainted. Saint Vincent of the Turnips will need to have his nose replaced-,"

"Again?" muttered the king.

"Yes sire. Your painting of Summer Solstice In the Woods will require a new frame. But I am pleased to inform his majesty that none of the representations of the Seven Graces miniatures went missing this time."

"Well that is something to be thankful for." He unbuttoned his vest. "I noticed that several of you sported new attire today." Here he paused glancing around the room. His eyes settled on the closest goblin that happened to be the one with the comical polka-dot number. "Very interesting. Who came up with the idea?"

"It was me sire." The great fashion designer known in the Underground as Fash (and Mr. Spectacles to Sarah) proudly held the sides of his vest. "Don't they all just look fantastic?"

"Very. Tell me Fash where did you get such lovely…eerrr… vests?"

Here the goblin looked awkward. "The idea just came to me sire."

"I see. Is everyone satisfied with Fash's brilliant idea?"

"All except Meep," quipped a small, horned goblin.

Fash rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes, poor Meep."

"Why not Meep?"

"We tried something a bit bolder with her today sire, and well…unfortunately pink just isn't her color after all." He shot Dink a shrewd look.

Dink growled, "It's not like it was my original idea!"

Jareth simply couldn't help him self: the whole matter intrigued him on some twisted level. "Call Meep in," he ordered.

Meep looked positively crest fallen. She slumped, dragging her feet as she approached the king. In her hand she held a bright pink material. It was obvious she had been crying. "Here sire," she said her lip trembling. She raised her hand to give the king the reason for her sorrow. "No body liked it!" she then bellowed loudly.

Jareth took the item. Un-rumpling it he was startled by this pair's design. It wasn't just an average pair of woman's underwear; no, it was a thong! He cleared his throat. "I am…sorry Meep, but such are the risks when one tries out avant garde fashion." He made to give it back.

Meep refused it. "It is of no use to me now!" she exclaimed turning away.

Torn between staring at the item, and stuffing it into his pocket, he distracted himself by asking another question, "Tell me Fash, where did you acquire all of these… vests? Surely you did not make all of them?"

Again Fash looked awkward. "Well, no I didn't make them."

"Sheesh!" remarked Dink. "Just tell him you old fool!"

Fash adjusted his spectacles. "I got them from the lady."

"What lady?"

"THE lady sire," said Dink.

Meep pointed up with one timid finger. "That lady."

Jareth glanced at the pink thong. "That lady?"

"You know," began to explain Fash. "The lady whose name you made us swear to never mention again or we would face the bog. That lady."

"Oh, that lady." Yes, that lady, his lady. Gently he rubbed the material between his finger and thumb. He sat up straight on the throne. "You lot have been spending time with my lady? Is she aware that you have been borrowing her intimates?"

"It's her underwear sire," corrected the polka-dot goblin.

"I thought they were vests," stated one rather confused goblin.

"And we haven't been borrowing them," Fash went on. "We've been taking them. Or rather I have been taking them and selling them to the goblins."

"You said we looked intriguing sire!" said a goblin in defense.

"Regardless of what I think," though he was surely thinking a good deal. "Is she aware that her underwear has gone missing?"

"Yes," admitted Fash. "As of recently she found us out."

"And further more is aware you are making a profit?"

"Sort of."

Jareth regarded his subjects. He wasn't quite sure whether to be upset, tickled, or turned on by the situation he found him self faced with. Well, maybe it was a good thing. After all he did rather like her. And if she was indeed aware of the circumstances then he couldn't very well be mad at his subjects.

"All right," he said. "If my lady doesn't have an issue with the situation, then neither do I. Some sort of restitution must be decided though which I shall see to personally. Go on you!" He dismissed them with a smile.

Once alone he picked up the pink thong and studied it. It hardly had enough material to serve its purpose. The backing was pencil thin and the front was rather sheer, and the lining for the sides seemed useless. He was struck by the image of his lady wearing it and blushed a very deep shade of red. 'Easy old boy,' he thought. 'You're rushing head long into dangerous territory. Restituion.' Standing he yelled for his valet. Sarah Williams was going to get the highest quality restitution he could afford.

Note: I used the wrong word! lol A complete idiot moment of me confusing "retribution" with "restitution." oh dear... maybe I should sleep more often instead of writing so much.