Disclaimer: Well, it looks like I'm still in no shape or form owner of even the tiniest part of Labyrinth, because the fraggen goblins mixed up "put in a good word" with "do the magic dance in a cheese shop and blame it on Bon-Bon", so it's going to be taking a bit longer than predicted.
Chapter Four
When I woke up, I decided it was going to be a good day.
I was not going to let the probability of being sneered at and talked about behind my back all day dampen my spirits, and I was not going to worry about what sort of destructive, chaotic mischief the goblins were going to get into during my absence, and I was not going to stress myself over what receiving gifts from the long-absent Jareth meant.
Not going to stress.
Not.
Unfortunately, my brain wasn't cooperating with me, and I found myself looking over my shoulder at every little noise to see if I was suddenly being followed by the Goblin King. During Domino's morning walk, I jumped four times at the cracking of twigs and the like, whirled around in the surety that the twisted shadow next to me was being cast from a wild-haired blonde no less than twice, and gasped, like a teen in a b-line horror movie, a full five times.
It was getting a little ridiculous.
I mean, it wasn't like I wanted him to show up, or anything - especially after the Brown Suit Incident, I wasn't sure my wardrobe could bear the shame of being so hopelessly outclassed - but it just seemed logical that after sending me two gifts (or three, if the bath leaves were separate - I wondered if I should I include that in my return thank-you, whenever I sent it?) he would put in an appearance, to gloat if nothing else. It felt like teasing that he hadn't popped up to demand why my firstborn child hadn't been sent in thanks.
Hah. Alright, bad analogy. I smirked as I ran a brush through my hair.
I wish the Goblin King would quit playing games with me and do something, right now, I thought wryly, tossing a sidelong glance at my bathroom counter as I set my brush down and left.
Shaking my head, I firmly told myself to focus on today, I could be paranoid about my safety from baby-snatching fairy kings later, and got ready for another day in Hell.
Pondering over whether to wear my marshmallow-esque winter parka or my red woolen overcoat, I flipped on the television to a local channel that broadcasted the weather forecast every ten minutes or so to see if Old Man Winter planned on rearing his ugly, frostbitten head again tonight.
It was on some segment about a paragliding hamster or something, so I turned up the volume and moseyed over to make myself breakfast while I waited. I'd just gotten down the sugar-ridden puff-balls that passed for a 'nutritious breakfast' when I heard that cheesy music I now related to all things awful and embarrassing. Whipping back to look at the T.V., I saw a young girl, no older than six or seven, with a gaudy pink microphone standing in front of a reel replaying the horror fest from the other day. Apparently it was time for the 'Kid's View' news bit, and it only played a short clip of me on the floor, surrounded by discarded puppets and draped in energetic children, before shrinking to a small corner in the left side of the screen as the little girl continued talking. My jaw dropped. Really? Honestly? They couldn't find anything better to use as filler than the local children's author crashing and burning?
Well… I suppose when it was put that way…
I squared my shoulders. This was ludicrous. They couldn't just broadcast that awful, mortifying segment whenever they felt like it! There had to be an airing limit. I turned and snatched up my phone, angrily punching in the publisher's number with every intention of telling that arrogant son-of-an-aardvark Garner exactly where he could shove his little program, my brain whirling with all sorts of cutting, legeritous phrases. On the third ring, however, I glanced back at the T.V. and saw, much to my horror, they were now playing home-video-like footage of me.
While I was chewing out Garner.
I hastily hung up and gaped at the scene before me, an acute feeling of dread settling in my stomach. I couldn't believe someone had taped that. How outrageously invasive.
And how in Hoggle's name was I supposed to face all those people now? What if he was there today? (Alright, that was a silly thought - after the Fiasco, there was no reason for him to be there, but still.) If I had been reluctant to go back to the book store before, it was nothing to the abhorrence in which I now held the idea.
Though, I noted dimly, I did look quite terrifying. Old Blue Eyes was quite obviously (and understandably) in fear for his life and possibly his family jewels. A tiny thread of pride wove into my tapestry of self-pity. I really told him off, didn't I?
I watched as my past self shot the unseen camera an intimidating glare, and stormed out. The pride-string was joined by another as I noticed my dark green pantsuit looked quite flattering on camera, and caused my furious eyes to glow with a feral light.
A niggling little memory bobbed about in the back of my mind from last night - how inhuman and gloriously terrible I had looked after my bubble bath. I shook my head clear of the image - it had been a trick of the candlelight, really, it was nothing to get chills over - and focused back on the T.V. just in time to catch the interviews with mothers and reading attendees.
Oh, joy.
"…Honestly, such language in front of the children. And it isn't as though she had any grounds to go on."
"Oh, I know, did you see the complete lack of experience when she dealt with those kids?"
"…Very unprofessional. It's easy to see why she writes books for juveniles."
"…Thank goodness they changed her out of that awful green outfit - she looked like she'd just gotten in from working the streets!"
I scowled. Sure, the suit had flattered my figure, but it was far from indecent. I told myself that the frumpy mother-of-goodness-knew-how-many-brats was just jealous of my figure. And I almost sort of believed it.
"Obviously, she wasn't the first choice for this sort of thing, but I heard she was all they could get…"
I'd had enough. Turning off the television and the parade of waspish mothers, I returned the cereal box to the cabinet (suddenly, I'd lost my appetite) and resumed getting ready for the reading. I was not going to let those women keep me from fulfilling my contract and being a professional.
Even if I did want to go dump dish soap in their gas tanks and cover their cars in bologna.
Alright, Sarah, I schooled myself as I pulled into the book store's parking lot, just don't threaten to skin someone's mother and all will be fine. Be Zen. I tried to force my features into an open, friendly smile, but didn't look in the rearview mirror out of fear my expression would be drastically mangled.
I was simultaneously dreading and eagerly looking forward to today - while it was yet one more opportunity for the snarky, sharp-fanged mothers to flay another strip of pride from my diminishing ego, it was also my last day.
Last Day.
I could practically hear the Hallelujah Chorus now.
After this torture session, I would be utterly free from humanity (aside from the little detail that I relied on them to buy my crazy little books in order to survive) and I would have made enough money to allow plenty of time for my self esteem to make a (relatively) full recovery.
Forcibly bolstering my spirits, I told myself that if all else failed, I could always just burn my house down, fake my own death, and move to Switzerland, where perhaps people were more reasonable and even if I couldn't write, I could always learn how to raise sheep.
Envisioning a nice, quiet, simple life raising sheep far away from all sardonic mums and irresponsible, arrogant bosses, I strode confidently through the door.
Unfortunately, I found myself face to face with Blue Eyes.
I let out a sound that was distressingly similar to a terrified squeak, and tried to pretend I was just a particularly mobile section of wallpaper.
Oh-crappity-crap-crap. Had he seen that horrid news blip? Was he still offended? Was he coming to tell me I'd never work in this town again and if I knew what was good for me I'd be gone before midnight?
I admitted my wallpaper-impression's failure as he gave me a disarming smile, tilting his head in what would have been an appealing manner were he not the Biggest Jerk On The Planet.
"Sarah," he greeted, and I instantly decided I didn't like the way he said my name. His confidence irritated me, and I felt my earlier temper returning.
"Past 'Miss Williams', now, are we?" I quipped, folding my arms defensively across my chest. I found that I no longer cared if he'd seen that stupid home-footage disaster. I wasn't sorry for anything I'd said, I had no intention of apologizing, and he could damn well go suck a fish if he thought he could intimidate me just because he had the power to ruin my career and dash all hopes for my future.
I get a little stupid when I'm mad, sometimes.
His smile faltered, and he looked away, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck -no longer the corporate big-wig. He was dressed in a polo and jeans, obviously not here on company business, and he didn't seem quite so intimidating out of his power suit. I reluctantly felt my spine soften a little at the endearing gesture.
"Look, I'm really sorry. I was unfair and negligent, and there's really no excuse for it," he said, and paused. "Well, there is, actually, but I rather doubt you'd find it adequate and I can perfectly understand why. My employees were rude and judgmental, and their criticisms were unjustified. And I'm sorry if I offended you when I offered to let another take your place if we were to do a regular show; it's just that you seemed so stressed I thought it would be a relief for you. I didn't expect you to be so… enthusiastic about it," he said, glancing at me. I fought down a blush and stood my ground, thrusting my chin out defiantly. I'd had every right to be enthusiastic - I'd written the books, it was only fair that I should get to read them.
He sighed and moved his hand from his neck to his hair, roughly brushing his fingers through the thick, shiny mass. I focused quite deliberately on the tip of his nose.
"I can't take back anything that's already been said and done, but I wanted to apologize. Forgive me?" he finished, and gave me a pleading look with those big blue eyes. I tried to keep my righteous anger alight, but it ignored my efforts and melted away.
I rolled my eyes. "Stop it. I get puppy eyes enough from my dog, I don't need them from my boss," I said shortly, and gave him a small smile.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he grinned. "Of course." He winked. "But I'd much rather just be 'Jeff' than your boss," he said hopefully, and I felt my lips pulling into another involuntary smile. Even if he wasn't exactly my type, he was nice enough.
"Alright, Jeff," I allowed, and started walking past him. "It was nice talking to you again, but I have a reading to do, so…"
"Oh, yes. Permit me?" he asked, and promptly offered his arm. I chuckled and threaded my arm through his, letting him lead me towards my usual reading spot.
"So, I don't suppose you watch much local television, do you?" I asked nonchalantly, determinedly not glancing over at him.
"Not, not really. I don't watch much T.V. at all, to be honest, and hardly ever the local channels. I've found better ways to rot my brain," he joked, and I relaxed, laughing a little. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason. That's a good philosophy, by the way. The local channels around here suck, I wouldn't watch any of them. Ever."
"They usually do. Besides, they've been playing this clip of some poor sap getting his ass handed to him by a reincarnated Goddess of Righteous Fury, and rumor has it that the guy looks a lot like me, so I figured it would be best for my ego if I stayed away from those sorts of channels, for the time being at least," he said easily, casting me a teasing sideways look. I felt my cheeks flame.
"Oh. So you did know about that."
He chuckled. "Yes, I did. And I must say, that the camera most certainly does not do your angry-face justice. You were far more terrifying in person," he said in a flattering voice, and I smirked.
"Thanks, I think." I released his arm as we reached the little pink plastic chair that served as my throne during reading sessions and studied him cautiously. "So, you aren't mad at me for yelling at you the other day?" I asked. He laughed.
"Not since I deserved it. Though, in the future, I will have to ask you to please only yell at me behind closed doors. We can always lock ourselves in a men's room if you feel the need," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. Grinning back at him, I turned and picked up a book from the pile I was going to be reading today, and perched myself with as much regal dignity as is possible when sitting on something with orange ponies decorating the sides.
There were already children waiting on the rug - sitting cross-legged, stretched out on their tummies, cuddled up with enormous stuffed bears who had all seen better days - and as I watched, Jeff settled himself easily among them on the floor. The kids welcomed him in the easy, open manner that only the innocent possess, and soon he was equipped with his own stuffed animal (a faded blue bunny with matted ears), and was being used simultaneously as a chair, pillow, and drink-holder. I had to hand it to him, he was actually really good with the little guys. I smiled to myself as everyone settled down, the kids wiggling and squirming into more comfortable positions, and started reading when everyone was ready.
Jeff was a wonderful addition to my audience. He acted out bits of the stories, laughed in all the right places, and even covered his bunny's ears during a 'scary' part. The kids loved him, and I didn't even have to break out the puppets to keep them interested.
Not to mention, the sideline-dwelling mothers were too busy gawking and gossiping about the gorgeous blue-eyed hunk lounging on the floor with their offspring to do much ragging on me.
Afterwards, when most of the parents had left and I had helped the store employees clean up some, Jeff and I walked out to our cars. I huddled in my coat and fiddled with my keys as we stood on the sidewalk, exchanging goodbyes.
"Alright, well, I'll set up an appointment with my coworkers and we can discuss a deal with you," he said, and winked. "And I promise you'll be the first to know."
I smiled. "I'm holding you to that, mister. You leave me high and dry again and I'll sic my goblin friends on you," I joked, though, if he did screw me over, I had every intention of loosing the little rascals on his pantry, sock drawers, and whatever valuable-looking items were lying about in his house.
He laughed, blissfully unaware of the possible danger to his personal belongings, and held his hand out. I slipped mine into his and gave it a firm shake, releasing to pull back quickly, but he kept his fingers tight around mine.
"I know I can't undo the past, but let me make it up to you. Do you like coffee?"
My smile turned forced. "Yes, I do, but I'm not sure I like coffee with my boss…" I said cautiously, and gently pulled against his grip. He let them go this time.
"Oh, come on, it's just a cup of coffee. Besides, eventually, we're going to have late night meetings over publishing discrepancies that will turn into early morning meetings, and everyone is going to be drinking coffee - with their bosses. You're just getting a head start. Call it practice," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
I studied him critically for a moment, and relented, nodding against my better judgment.
"Alright, fine. One cup of coffee. But, I get to chose the place," I conditioned. No way was I going to get sucked into forcing down a crappy caffeinated beverage at some little hole-in-the-wall café. Jeff grinned.
"I'm fine with that. Should I follow you there, or did you want to ride with me?" he asked, gesturing behind him. I peeked around to see a sweet, sleek, midnight blue, black topped Dodge Challenger convertible.
My mouth watered.
"Ooooh," I managed. Jeff chuckled.
"1970, fully restored. She was my first car; my uncle gave her to me for my sixteenth birthday, and we rebuilt her together," he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. I glanced up to see him smiling wistfully at it, and I smiled a little myself.
Walking toward her, I peered around to see the interior. Leather, it looked like. "Original Hemi engine?" I asked, admiring the majestic purple tape stripes that ran along the sides.
"Of course," he said, and I nearly melted on the spot. I would have killed for a car like this on my sixteenth birthday. Hell, I'd still kill for one. I glanced back at my sad little Integra, and felt my spirits dampen. I knew I should take my own car, that taking his would make this seem like a date rather than two coworkers going out for coffee, but…
A 1970 with a Hemi…
I sighed. I had to take my Integra. Propriety before teenage dreams.
Keys suddenly swooped into my line of vision, dangling in front of my face.
"You could drive, if you like…"
I snatched the offered piece of heaven before he reconsidered and settled myself immediately behind the wheel.
Propriety be damned. I was driving a Challenger.
We made the fifteen minute drive to the coffee shop in a record-breaking seven minutes, and I was quite impressed that Jeff's face was only slightly bloodless, and he wobbled only vaguely as we walked into the coffee shop. I had deliberately taken the twisty back roads to test the Challenger's handling, and when I found it more than adequate, I poured on the speed.
God, I loved muscle cars.
Poor Jeff looked like he needed a shot of bourbon in his drink.
As we sat down at a little table, I slipped Jeff's keys surreptitiously into my coat pocket - I had every intention of driving on the way back. He was too distracted by the novelty of solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet to notice.
"So, I take it you were a stock car driver in your past life?" he asked conversationally. I laughed.
"Something like that," I said, smirking as he held onto his coffee as though it were laced with liquor. "When I was younger, my dad and I went to a lot of car shows. Some of the guys took a liking to the spunky sixteen year old and taught me how to drive like a pro," I said. Jeff quirked an eyebrow. I grinned and told him about my driving lessons.
After my trip to the Underground, I conformed to the image of the 'perfect daughter' - I played with and doted incessantly on my little brother, I did the dishes and vacuumed and dusted without being asked, and I spent the weekends with my dad, doing the whole 'bonding' thing. It just so happened that my dad liked old cars.
At first, I was bored senseless. Who cared about gears and axels and torque? The only thing that interested me about cars were the cute boys driving them, and even then, I was only sparkly-eyed for the blondes. But after my first car show, where I realized how a well-built machine could make the ground tremble and the blood pound in your ears, I was hooked.
My first driving lesson was behind the wheel of an 86 Camaro, candy apple red, with black racing stripes. My dad was ecstatic that I had developed such a passion for his pastimes, and during the remainder of my teenage years, I learned how to handle everything from a sleek little crotch rocket to an F150.
Karen was terrified. I was supposed to be playing with makeup and trying on pretty dresses, not drooling over El Caminos in car magazines.
Dad was terrified of the boys I was attracting. It turned out that teenage boys liked a pretty girl who could talk cars. Unfortunately for them, they didn't have the cars, and therefore fell under my radar.
Over recent years, my infatuation with cars of an age gone by had waned, but the underlying appreciation still flared up when I was confronted with a specimen like Jeff's.
After exchanging mildly amusing teenager-behind-the-wheel stories for a bit, Jeff and I made our way back to his car, me still with the keys in my possession - and no intentions of relinquishing them.
Jeff, silly man, seemed to have the laughable idea that I would be letting him drive.
"But, it's been so long since I've driven such a beautiful machine, and you get to drive her all the time…" I pleaded, doing my absolute best to look pitiable and irresistibly cute. Jeff looked desperately between my best efforts at a puppy-face and the hunk of metal that would soon become a torpedo of speeding doom, a sickly terrified look of resignation in his eyes.
I danced a little inside.
"Alright, fine, but-"
I whooped, leaping in the air and dashing to the driver's door.
"-please, please, keep under the speed limit…" he begged, reluctantly settling himself in the passenger side.
"Sure, whatever you say," I replied flippantly, revving the engine a little before putting her in gear. I nearly melted at the rumbling purr of power beneath me.
I did keep to the speed limit most of the way (mainly because there was a police cruiser following diligently behind me for over half the damn drive), and Jeff managed to actually keep up a running monologue for the ride, detailing humorous anecdotes about the life of a publishing guru. We parted ways back at the bookstore with another handshake (Jeff looked a little disappointed, but it takes more than coffee and a mouth-wateringly gorgeous car to get a goodnight kiss out of me, pal), and I decided that all in all, today had definitely not been a bad day.
"Of all the ungrateful-" Jareth hurled another crystal at a wall, shattering it with such force that the glitter rebounded at least ten feet in all directions. He'd just looked in on Sarah, to see if she was maybe fondling his rose again, or weaving several of his lavender-scented leaves into her hair (he was certain they would look quite attractive strewn through the dark locks, rather like the style she'd had in his ballroom, perhaps), when he saw her laughing with some arrogant, irritatingly average, human.
He was sending her priceless gifts, and she was shunning his attentions for some addle-brained, matching-eyed, drooling mortal, who probably couldn't tell a crystal from a Christmas ornament.
He roared in frustration and whirled around, whipping his riding crop, bi-colored eyes flashing.
Every creature in the entire Goblin City froze in their tracks, paralyzed with the sudden, irrevocable conviction that something Very Not Fun was about to happen to anyone within throwing distance of the King.
There was an earsplitting crack, and suddenly the large arced window to the King's throne room expelled a burst of feathers.
"And all these BLOODY CHICKENS!" bellowed a furious voice, and several naked members of the aforementioned poultry family found themselves flung from the window in a high-swept arc that would land them squarely in the bog.
"Not a good day to be a chicken," said a small, winged, vulture-like goblin to a blue-haired worm.
"That's right. Very glad me and the missus are worms. Care for a cup of tea?" it asked, blinking happily.
"Don't mind if I do," the vulture agreed, completely oblivious to the utterly terrified panic every other inhabitant of the Labyrinth had fallen into.
In a moment of shared inspiration, all the fear-ridden creatures thought two words, and simultaneously disappeared with a single destination.
Lady Sarah.
Author's Note: Oh, dear. I seem to have accidentally gotten trapped in that time-space continuum in my closet again, and a month has passed me by since my last update! How careless of me. I fully understand (even if I do not endorse) if you need to throw sharp objects and cutting, legeritous phrases at me. And for all those who have not seen the announcement in my profile (which I know is probably most of you - I hardly ever check profiles unless I'm hopelessly obsessed with the author), I would like to let everyone know that I am in the Market For A Beta. I tried the whole 'Beta-Shopping' thing offered here, but it had less than desireable outcomes, and I have decided that perhaps it would be more effective to find someone who is actually interested in reading the story. So, if this sounds like your cup of tea, check out my profile for details and send me a message. Or crystal, whatever's handy.
Gilraen R. Luinwe: Lol, thank you! And I promise, next chapter, Jareth will be doing quite a bit, and I fully intend to use his a-s-s as much as possible.
leannapotter: *claps hands* CAMERA! Why didn't I think of that? Lol. Glad you enjoyed, darling, and I wish you a speedy recovery. Ruptured organs and collapsed lungs are never pleasant.
luv2catnap: Oh, stop it, I'm blushing. ^.^ Sorry I kept you waiting so long for the next one!
Natsuko37: Ah, money. Simultaneously the bane and core of my existence. Why can't I just get paid for being a fangirl? It's a full-time job. (I have noticed that my hot pink eyeshadow has gone missing, and I suspect a certain crossdressing goblin is behind it. I sincerly hope his interference is a prelude to a wounded Goblin King showing up while I'm in my bathrobe, but I have a feeling I'm not that lucky. )
hotdancer21: Kudos are always welcome.
xEvilAngel56x: Glad I was able to brighten your day, love.
Athena's Avatar: I imagine they will be overjoyed at all the pretty new things for them to destroy, lol. (Hmm, that's an idea... I think he may. I can forsee all sorts of chaos ensuing.)
J. Luc Pitard: Both! (Suprisingly, the furry pickles are kinda cute. ...in an I'd-like-a-sanitation-suit-before-I-touch-them sort of way)
LDeetz: Lol There's no way the plot fairies would let me off that easy, darling. Rest easy, plenty more to come.
NotWritten: *Big Smile* Thank you, darling.
FaeriesMidwife: Hmm. I am a bit of a parenthetical fiend, aren't I?