Thy Bog Overfloweth

Chapter Thirteen

Jareth glared at the room in general and Izzi in particular. It was all that wicked little its fault, and he refused to refer to Izzi as anything other than it, and neither Izzi nor Sarah could force him to do otherwise.

Three weeks' house arrest. Three weeks! Twenty one days, locked inside a room barely six by four by five, and with a now bulky-gangly Fae wolf and a biting it. Sarah was trying to drive him mad. He just knew it. He had said something, and she was punishing him for it with the clever excuse of the air-raid siren he'd accidentally set off.

Sarah sat behind the counter at the bookstore, keeping an eye on Slidge and jotting down notes on a pad of paper. It's really quite convenient having Jareth locked at the dorm by a spell he taught me, she thought absently. But if he manages to break the door frame and the boxsprings again, I'm going to hang him from the ceiling by his ankles.

It was, partially, Izzi's fault that he'd set off the air-raid siren, but a half-Fae, half-owl creature and a winged wolf had shown up on the radar, not a small wyvern, so the two bumbling boys were warded safely in the dorm. She lowered it at lunchtime and for two hours when she needed silence to study, but otherwise, they were locked away without parole-- the Air Force had been patrolling the area with helicopters since the siren, and Sarah really didn't want to explain to Chame that her son and his wolf fought a helicopter and lost.

Particularly not if they have to be buried in a Fae puree.

Sarah's nose wrinkled in disgust. That's gross. I can't believe I thought that...

Slidge wandered over to the science-fiction books, pulling out a book with a picture of an alien eating a live cow on the front. He read the back aloud, flipped though the pages, and absently tossed the book over his shoulder.

"Slidge!" She hissed the word and the Goblin obediently skipped over to the counter to jump up and perch on the register.

"Ouch!" The owner looked down at the book. "...Sarah? I'm being attacked by B-horror movie scripts. Did you see who threw this?"

Ever truthful, and sure in the knowledge that her boss would expect a snarky reply on such a drizzly Thursday, Sarah responded, "A Goblin sentry, about yea high, bored out of his wits and wearing two mismatched boots. Oh, and his armor is dripping from where he was on the roof--be careful when you're walking on the tile."

The owner blinked, and then nodded like this is the most sensible thing he's ever heard. Which, knowing the eccentric old coot, is probably true. "So he's a sentry? What's he guard?"

"More like a spy, really. He's here to report half of what I do to his King, and the other half to his King's mom." The owner nods again, strolling over to sci-fi to reshelf the book. He toyed with one of the many pens he keeps in the pocket of the orange sweatpants he was wearing, and then he straightens his glasses before turning back to Sarah.

"Why only half?"

"Because the King's mother and I are conspiring against him to make sure he attends his birthday celebration. The King can't know half of what's going on, and the Queen only needs the other half."

Now the owner's head bobbed like one of those dash-board bobble-heads. "Do you need time off for this celebration?"

That gives her a moment's pause. Her boss has always been wierd, but now... "Let me check the calendar," she tells him. "I have to calculate the time difference between the realms." He watched Sarah pull out a page-a-day of Monty Python quotes that D.J. always keeps under the counter. Slidge, tired of being ignored, started unraveling the reciept paper until Sarah swatted at him.

"Hmm, three month and four day difference, party starts August ninth there, that's...June fourth here. I work the Monday/Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday shift during the summer... and it's a Wednesday." Sarah looked up from her calculations. "No, thank you, but it's very kind of you to offer."

Still nodding, the owner gaped at the receipt paper, which (as seen by the owner, who couldn't see Slidge) had been uncurling itself and then ripped off, twisting into a lance of paper to whack at Sarah. Unperturbed by the paper's attack, Sarah went back to working in the ledger.

Jareth was really rueing the day he'd decided that Sarah needed to learn magic. She may not have been as powerful as any Fae, but she was meticulous in her spellwork since the Umbrella Incident (mostly because he'd had several umbrellas framed and hung ostentatiously in her dorm room), and there was no give in the Ward that he could work with.

A curse on you, Sarah, he groused half-heartedly. Death by boredom... what a wonderful tombstone I'll have. Aloud, he recited, "I can see it now. It'll read, 'Here's the Goblin King in grey, From the doldrums, Faded away...' or maybe 'Boredom killed this Faeran man, By a witch's cunning plan.' Oh, how about, 'Gods forgive this restless owl, Killed when he through boredom prowl'd.' 'Upon one listless, rainy day, the Goblin King did pass away, Suicide, at melancholy's call, death by running into a wall.'"

"What the hell are you doing?" Sarah stood at the door, watching Jareth recite mausoleum inscriptions to Faolan, who wagged his tail in approval or rustled his wings in disapproval.

"I'm bored. As anyone in the Underground can tell you, there's nothing more annoying-- nor more lethal to themselves and everyone around them -- than a bored Fae. And it's only the fifth day of the house arrest!"

"It's also the last day of April, which means I have finals in three days. If you're that bored, you can help me study. Good evening, Faolan; Izzi, please don't eat my hair today, alright?" Izzi made a disappointed trilling noise, but when she burrowed in Sarah's hair, she made no moves to snack on it like she had yesterday.

"Study for what?" Jareth was wary, and Sarah couldn't blame him, circumstances being what they were.

"Architecture and Art in History. I'll lend you the textbook, you can copy the highlighted parts so I'll have a study guide, okay?" She tossed the book to him before he could answer, followed quickly by a notebook and a pen.

"Hey, most of this is inaccurate," Jareth said, flipping through the book. "And all these are completely useless-- castles are fortresses, not bloody window conventions. And this is supposed to be a Great Hall? Ha! This is a tea room, compared to the real ones. Sarah! My pencil and pad. It is time to wipe this filth away and leave you with the true information."

Sarah smirked, but did as she was told. She didn't actually have an Architecture and Art History course-- how could she, when she was in Indigenous Peoples of the Americas? Jareth certainly didn't know that. Then again, he also didn't know that he was designing, for the most part, his new castle, either.

Izzi watched curiously as Sarah quickly penned a letter for Chame. Faolan was too busy trying to scratch between his wings and Jareth was still scribbling furiously when Sarah passed the note to Izzi, who flew in an interesting loop before disappearing with a pop, the letter held securely in her jaws.

"So, the plan's going well?" Chame nodded and the High King leaned back, pleased.

"Are you sure Jareth doesn't know what's going on? He's usually pretty good at rooting out conspiracies," Naomhan commented.

"I'm sure. If he found out, Sarah would have noticed and sent me a note through Izzi... Ah, speak of the devil, here's Izzi now! She's Sarah's messenger," Chame explained. "My note, please, Izzi." The drake delicately set the folded paper in the Queen's hand, and then looked inquiringly at the other Fae.

"This is Naomhan, my husband and the Unseelie King. I expect you won't like him much, he's a lot like--" Chame was cut off by a loud stream of curses coming from her esteemed husband. She looked up from Sarah's letter to see Naomhan trying to pry Izzi's teeth out of his hand.

"A lot like Jareth," Chame finished with a sigh before moving to help her husband.

Jareth toyed absently with a crystal as he listened to Sarah and Faolan snore softly (Faolan more loudly than Sarah, it should be noted). He suspected that the it was waiting for him to fall asleep so the it could bite him.

Which was really why he was procrastinating... mostly. Insomnia was another reason, but since it was partially due to homesickness, he'd never admit it.

Within the crystal, Sarah's birthday wish hovered, whispering to itself, building dreams and tearing them down to build new dreams and tearing them down to... A never-ending cycle. The wish knew he was watching it and whispered just a little louder.

"Wish I could see from other people's eyes... Wish I could see what it's like to be someone not me... Wish I could know how other people feel... Wish I could live someone else's life, just for a day..."

"Still playacting, Sarah? My, my, my; but it seems you want to do a little more than mere acting..." Jareth murmured to himself, looking over to find the its glowing green eyes entirely too close to his face. He had just enough time to send the crystal away before the it bit him and his muffled snarls woke Sarah and Faolan.

"Honestly, you two, it's--" Sarah trailed off to look at the clock on the desk-- "three in the morning and you're already fighting. Izzi, let go of him. Jareth, stop provoking Izzi. And both of you... Go. To. Sleep."

Izzi grumbled and didn't loosen her grip at all.

"Now."

Izzi sighed and released the King she was biting-- the second today, she noted, and this one didn't taste as stale as the other one had-- to wrap herself around her tree, sulking all the while.

Now that he had a purpose (teaching Sarah all the inaccuracies of that dratted book she'd left him with) Jareth didn't have as much of a problem with the tiny prison of a dorm. He didn't even have to fight with the it, since the it was off with Sarah. It was nearing lunch time, and Sarah had called from the Italian restaurant down the street, telling him to meet her there, and they had patio seating so he could bring Faolan.

He'd put down the sketchpad immediately, having found himself much hungrier than he'd thought, and cast the glamour to hide Faolan's (still rather useless, and still (unfortunately) growing) wings. The two didn't head straight for the restaurant; they were too hyper from being cooped up inside all morning. Instead, they raced around the park a few times, which gave Jareth time to ponder Sarah's Wish again.

Being a basely mischievous creature-- he was the Goblin King, after all, and he was chosen because he could relate with the tricky little buggers-- his first thought was to turn her into a Goblin. She'd hit him for it, of course, but the Wish specified a whole day as "someone else", nothing else. Goblins count as someones, he thought as he strode several feet ahead of the still-clumsy wolf pup he was racing.

She'd like being an owl, was his next thought, followed closely by, she'd like being anything that flies, if her griffin-back ride was any indication. Maybe I'll turn her into a magpie. It suits her personality...

Faolan started to pull ahead, racing to the end of the street. Jareth snapped out of his mental meanderings to run faster, determined to beat the wolf to the restaurant.

Neither of them seemed to notice the cheers from the students and storekeepers watching them, nor the minor bets Sarah was making. The two Fae were to busy running at breakneck speed to see the people around them, especially Faolan, who was concentrating on not tripping over his still-too-large paws.

Jareth beat Faolan by half a step, and was brought back to what Sarah called the Real World by the clapping and/or dejected grumbles of the gamblers. Sarah seemed to be accepting a lot of money from complete strangers, and the waiter sighed as he left the patio to bring out menus for the two people and the wolf (and Izzi, but the waiter couldn't see her).

"What in the Underground were you doing?" Jareth asked as he watched Sarah pocket the money.

"We saw you two come tearing down the road and we all started betting on who would get here first. I figured turning a situation to my monetary advantage was more face-saving than standing here being mortified by the fact that my guest races wolves. I made out pretty well, too-- forty dollars and free appetizers."

Jareth stared at her for a moment, then looked down at his rival. The Fae man and wolf traded confused looks before turning aforementioned confused looks upon Sarah.

Izzi snickered, a sound akin to both rustling tree leaves and babbling brooks.

The Fae King just shook his head as he sat down, but at least he knew what she was going to wake up as next Sunday. That gives me two days to get ready, and Saturday night to cast the spell, he mused. Wish granted, Sarah. Internally, he cackled with wicked mirth. Externally, he stole Sarah's drink and started the now-expected Noon Word War IX.

Oro: Yes, it's a day late; I'll probably switch to posting on Saturdays soon since Tech starts next week and Tech runs till ten most Fridays. As for today, I was inking my friend's sixteenth birthday present-- a tiger in gold ink on black paper, tribal style and rather fiery. Whoever said a tiger can't change its stripes never drew one three times over.

Quill: With a toothpick, no less.

Jareth: I still don't understand why you couldn't wait to get a brush.

Oro: Details, details, details. I needed something small with a good point to work on the stripes, which are rather thin and count as details.

Sarah: What am I turning into?

Oro: Can't tell you, it'll ruin the suprise.

Jareth: Hey, wait a minute-- she gets to read the story and I don't?

Quill: Yup. Silence, fool, the Stupid One approaches...

Disclaimer: ...Own nothing, sue noone...