Chapter Three: The Lovers
Soundtrack for Chapter Three:
"Neuköln"—David Bowie and Brian Eno
"Poison"—Alice Cooper
Author's Note: The end of this chapter contains allusions to consensual sexual behavior. Reader discretion is advised.
Sarah Williams sat at the table and watched the men do battle with their full plates. Finnvah skipped from one dish to another, sampling everything and moving to the next challenge while keeping up a steady stream of humorous banter. Toby kept an ear open to the conversation but ate through his food like a tank rolling over everything in his path. And then there was Jareth, who treated meals in company like a sniper in hostile territory, swallowing quick bites when no one was looking, a shadow on the field.
I'm the nuclear option, Sarah smiled grimly, realizing she was on seconds already. Just blowing it away and leaving nothing behind. She gave Egg a rundown on every bite she took, how it tasted, how it nourished, apologizing for the spicy peppers and the pickled garlic in advance. She was plump: she was going to be huge. Great with Egg.
She handed a ripe apple over to Jareth, who sliced it for her, carefully ate one of the pieces under her supervision, and handed over the rest. He returned her smile with a look that said, "So there." He kissed her, and his lips tasted of apples.
Sarah hadn't expected to enjoy being so completely coddled. Jareth anticipated her desires as if she were a book he had memorized. And what Jareth didn't know about her or her needs—and Sarah was always surprised to discover what strange and eclectic directions Jareth's store of knowledge took and the odd places it dead-ended—he always attempted to learn. Two weeks ago he had been confused and disturbed when he came to collect her for their morning walk and found her sitting on their bed in hysterics, holding her jeans in her hands.
"They don't fit anymore!" she had yelled, and buried her face in the denim and sobbed.
"Yes, well, you've gotten very much rounder since yesterday," he'd replied logically.
"But these are my favorite jeans!" she'd said, hiccupping through her tears, as if that explained absolutely everything. "And I'm just going to get fatter and fatter!"
"Yes?" he'd said. "I'd thought that was rather the idea." He'd kissed her cheek, and she had been momentarily pacified until he'd made the dire mistake of murmuring "My plump little hen," in her ear in seductive tones.
Sarah had shrieked in outrage and come close to attempted murder. Disaster had been averted when he'd apologized and asked what he ought to do for her.
"I need maternity clothes," she said, sad and horrified at the idea of muumuus and pants with gusset crotches and stretch panels. But Jareth had been delighted with the idea. He'd gathered a long length of green ribbon and used it to measure her for pretty dresses, full of "froo," ones that he intended to make himself. Every place a particular swell of her body met the edge of the ribbon, he tied a knot to mark the measurement.
Her wardrobe soon hung with a rainbow palette of the sort of fairy-tale frocks she'd dreamed of as a child. Better than her dreams, because they weren't just pretty, they were comfortable, and could be accessorized with the showers of jewels he'd threatened her with during their courtship. For herself, Sarah preferred to wear no extra adornment than her wedding-ring and the brass key, her sigil, around her neck.
The measurements of her swelling Egg were carefully and solemnly done every morning now before she dressed. The knots came centimeters apart on the length of the ribbon, and then inches.
"You understand," he said to her one morning, laying a kiss on her navel, which was slowly developing from an innie to an outie, "You're not quite human anymore."
"Oh?" She stroked his hair and he heaved her up into his arms and deposited her naked into the bed he ever-more-rarely shared, and began to make certain and devastating love to her. "I'm already pregnant," she reminded him when, sweating and smiling, he had begun a second round on the heels of the first.
"Well, it never hurts to make certain," he had said.
"Why aren't I human anymore?" Sarah had asked minutes, hours, eternities later, as he lay close against her, arms and legs wrapped spiderlike around her, as if trying to draw her into his body.
"Oh, you're human. Just not… quite completely anymore. It was the fruit you ate, you see. Fairy fruit. A thin veneer of fairy magic, just under your skin," he had replied, kissing the sweat from her neck. "You're like my reflection now, human and fae in three-quarter parts, meeting me halfway. Let me know if you feel strange, or manifest any new abilities, but for now, I think all of your magic is… unconsciously focused inward. On this." And he had stroked her belly possessively, and then stroked lower, his eyes asking for an invitation that was freely given.
The heat of that memory made her blush, suddenly coming to herself in the middle of dinner, with an empty plate and Jareth's hand on her thigh. She patted her belly, feeling content and well-cared-for, and pleasantly useless. At this moment, everything seemed perfect.
Finvah poured them all some of the chewy redcurrant wine, making sure Sarah's was well-diluted with seltzer. She couldn't, and wouldn't, take anything stronger, and she evaluated Finnvah carefully as he poured a similarly barely-alcoholic measure for Toby, though her brother didn't notice.
He's very attentive, Sarah thought. And Toby… Toby loves him. Toby himself was unconsciously resplendent with his new haircut and new black leather jacket. He looked less childlike to her eyes now, more like a young cat than a kitten, and she had an inkling that his day out with Jareth probably had something to do with that, though neither of them had confessed to the day's activities so far.
There had been a throng of goblins dancing attendance on them at the beginning of the meal, and when one of them was in danger of becoming too rambunctious, Jareth had sent him on an errand for outré tableware or improbable-sounding side dishes. Most never returned from these petty quests, and by the time they were negotiating the meal's unconditional surrender in the form of a smashed Pavlova, the four of them were alone.
Toby had brought his sketchbook to dinner, and was showing it to Jareth. Jareth was interested, nay, fascinated by Toby's drawings, far more interested than he appeared to be in dessert, asking questions about the creatures detailed there, what methods had been used to track and corner them. Finn occasionally interjected with color commentary on the fights in question, hanging closely by Toby's side, even daring to wrap an arm around the younger boy's shoulders. Sarah pillaged the Pavlova while the other conquering generals were otherwise occupied.
She looked at the book, and saw rather more pages occupied than not.
"Just how many people have you killed, Toby?" Sarah burst out suddenly, surprising herself.
"None!" he replied with defensive surprise. "Just monsters. Never people." His narrow cat's-face had a moral conviction she wished she could share.
"Just because they're monsters doesn't mean they're not people. Would you kill a goblin?" she asked him, thankful there were none in the room to overhear this part of the conversation.
"I would if it was a monster," Toby replied, with a smug circular logic uncannily like Jareth's.
"Or if they were the pet horrors of the Winter Court," Finnvah broke in. He leaned forward over the table, staring at Sarah. "Why the sudden moral indignation? We're just following your or—ow!" Finn jumped, and Sarah realized Jareth had kicked him under the table. He looked at the Goblin King in dawning betrayal. "You mean she doesn't know?"
"Know what?" Sarah said. "I don't even know what movies are playing right now! Finnvah! Explain! And you," she said, turning her most dire Library Lady look on her husband, who visibly paled, "Don't interrupt."
"It's nothing to worry Your Majesty," Finnvah said gently, and Sarah clenched her teeth. The more courteous Finnvah was, the less inclined she was to be pacified. "With the King of Winter imprisoned here, the Gentry have been doing whatever they like, and what they like apparently is to let all their minions run wild. There's been collateral damage to humanity, and some wolves at doors that are friendly to you and your spouse. Red Branch, at least, isn't willing to put up with it. Neither am I. So we've been performing some public service, keeping the NYC streets clean."
"Public service," Sarah said, wishing her hands weren't trembling. "You mean guerilla warfare. Against the fae." No one made any attempt to spin her statement. Sarah sighed and looked down at her belly. She didn't like to think about the fae. Her few encounters with them had been ugly and taxing. The fae were never truly born and never truly died, but instead made and unmade themselves according to whim and devoured the souls of humanity the way she'd consumed dessert. She had a touch of their magic in her now, and that was disturbing enough. The idea of her brother doing anything to get their attention, much less their animosity, filled her with a fear so deep it seemed to stab.
The baby kicked her, as if to remind her of its nature. She clasped her hands over her stomach protectively. I don't mind you, Egg, but your father's family… they're like gods, capricious, not to be trusted. I hope you take after me instead.
Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her. Sarah looked at Jareth, wanting to lay her burden of anxiety on his shoulders, but she could see he was already weighed down with burdens of his own. "You shouldn't hide things like this from me," Sarah said, as calmly as she could manage. "Not when they affect Toby. Tell me everything."
"Try not to be so vexed, sweetheart," he said. "I was only waiting for young Finnvarrah and Toby to come visit, so I could do just that."
"That talk we were going to have," Finnvah said, enigmatically.
"This is that talk." Jareth pointed at Finn and Toby. "Sit."
"That talk we could have had months ago, the last time Toby and Finnvah were here?" Sarah said with asperity.
"Yes!" Jareth said with guilty exasperation. He leaned forward and summoned a crystal into his palm. The light in the room grew perceptively darker, as though the candles were on a dimmer switch. Jareth's voice took on a distant singsong quality as he twirled the crystal in his fingers. "I wanted to talk to you all about the Labyrinth. A land serene and a crystal moon, moving without care under the feet of the lost and the lonely. The Labyrinth, the last largest stronghold of creation's bastards, always in perpetual bloom. A place that none of my people but me have ever cared to tend." The crystal glowed with a low and homely light, one that spoke of warmth and summer flowers and endless days of innocent delight.
The crystal bubble floated out of Jareth's hand and hovered over the table. "The Labyrinth. My parent, my lover, my child. A place where time runs forward or backward, but nothing ever changes. Until very recently. Now change has come and I cannot stop it. Winter has come to the Labyrinth, and it will be hard, and cruel. My kingdom has never had to bear up under Winter, though the majority of the denizens have endured and survived them out in the mortal world." The light of the crystal swirled through the room. Everywhere the golden light touched, tiny flowers bloomed, and then shed their leaves and dropped petals of autumn sparks.
Sarah felt stricken. Change had come; she had been the one to bring the change. Finnvah had asked her, when she came here last, if she would be willing to let the Labyrinth be utterly destroyed, if it meant she could save Jareth. And she had said yes, yes entirely, with no hesitation. She had meant it, too.
"Turn the seasons back, then," she commanded him. "Reorder time. Make things the way they were." A lightning-flash from the crystal scoured the room white, and miniature thunder echoed inside.
"I can't re-order time anymore," Jareth said. "I've lost the knack along with my talons. The wheel of seasons is stiff and will only move forward. Winter won't be stopped." The crystal floated low, full of snow now like a shaken snow-globe.
"So this is all my fault," Sarah whispered. "I changed you, and I broke everything."
"I believe this change to the Labyrinth was inevitable, with or without your intervention," Jareth said quietly. "It isn't a matter of fault. What concerns me—us—is what can be done to prepare for it." The light of the crystal turned gray, and then blue with cold. "I spent a great portion of this day speaking to certain advocates, certain looked-up-to personages in the various precincts. They will spread the word. Some of the people will stay and do what they've done before—cope. But quite a few more will need to leave, or want to take shelter elsewhere. Finnvarrah and Toby have carved out territory in the mortal world which could accommodate a certain number of … refugees, though I mislike leaving my people to their own devices in a hostile land."
"There are always the Houses of the Free People, Your Majesty," Finnvah suggested. "Red Branch would be happy to take in some of the Labyrinth for the winter. And there are a few others I could suggest. The Jollymakers and House Greensleeves. Red Branch has a good reciprocal relationship with them, and they're not scatterbrained. Bonus points, they speak English and not that archaic Dutch. The Free People owe you. They'll be glad to help. I 'll send messages. I'll send word."
"We will," Toby said, nodding firmly.
"Well, I didn't want to speak for you, honey-Bee."
"I'm going with you," Toby said stubbornly.
"Your faith in my reputation is flattering, young Finnvarrah-Vercingetorix, but it may be misplaced," Jareth said calmly. "Your requests may not be met with enthusiasm."
"I'll generate the necessary enthusiasm. Your Majesty." Finnvah grinned his insouciant grin, and Sarah saw that Jareth even managed a thin smile back.
"Even for goblin guests?" Jareth asked. And the grin dropped from Finnvah's face. Jareth nodded. "That's what I thought. None of the Free People will take in goblins willingly. Too destructive. Too chaotic. Too difficult to control. And most certainly my prerogative and not anyone else's."
"We'll take care of the goblins and the Goblin City," Sarah said. "Even if we can't do anything more, we can do that." She wanted to sit on his knee and have him tell her everything would be perfect and safe, but he only nodded at her, his mind obviously still troubled.
"There's more, isn't there?" Sarah asked quietly.
"Oh yes." Jareth stared at the hovering crystal and then took her hand in his, and squeezed it tightly. "I was desperate enough to go to the Observatory and try to speak to the King of Winter today. I had thought to coerce him into tamping down the season. He wasn't there. Someone, or something, let him out. And not just him. Every one of the higher powers and wild and dangerous forces has also been set loose. The season of Winter is here, in the Labyrinth, and John Company is also set free in this world and yours with all the greater forces unbound in his wake."
Sarah felt nothing for a moment. She heard Finnvah cursing with remarkable inventiveness, and even Toby looked a bit pale, even though he didn't know, he couldn't know how awful the King of Winter was.
John Company wasn't just the King of Winter, he was King Over the World, a tricky fae king of cold intellectual pursuits and closed doors. The King of hardship and greed. Receipts and high-denomination bills blew out from his footsteps, and he hated the world he owned, and wanted every human heart in it to be as cold and ugly as his.
He had told Sarah as much. He had told Sarah, too, that the world wasn't enough for him. He wanted the Labyrinth, and every other outflung branch of the free kingdoms of make-believe and possibility. He wanted to mortgage dreams themselves. She had bound him up, and now he was free.
She didn't hear the words the men were speaking, she only heard the music of their voices, songs of fear and anger and imprecation.
"I'm not afraid," she murmured. "I'm not afraid of him!" They all looked at her, and she could see she'd surprised at least Jareth with her certainty. She stretched out her hand and summoned the floating crystal. It floated over her head in a diadem of golden light which pierced all cold, all fear.
"I'm not afraid," she told them, and Jareth most of all. "So don't you be. Let him come," she said, feeling power in every inch of her body. "Let him come and try to hurt us. I'll teach him fear. I'll teach him to be afraid of me."
It only lasted another moment, that warmth of certainty and courage, but the memory of it soothed her still. She shrugged, and was herself again, and wanted another helping of dessert.
"Hear, hear," Finnvah muttered, with a wry grin. "Well-said, Your Majesty. I believe you."
They talked for another hour, pouring round the water and the wine several more times, laying plans. Sarah tried to keep her attention fixed on the voices and faces of the family Jareth had stitched together as carefully as he'd stitched the dress she wore tonight. But she yawned once, and then a second time, unable to help herself, and Jareth had called the council closed when she yawned a third time.
"You could keep going without me," she demurred, as Jareth offered his arm to her.
"No," he said. "We won't go on without you. It's time for bed. You're tired." And she was, she was. She was working, and she was making, and no matter how important or interesting the discussion was, it wasn't as important to him as she was. The Labyrinth might be parent and lover and child to Jareth, but he was ready to put all cares for it aside, just to care for her.
In their bedroom, she smiled to him as he acted the maid, taking off her shoes and pulling her dress over her head, leaving her in a pretty shift that was both undergarment and nightgown in one. Every day he found time to embroider a flower or an insect against a hem, and it was one of their games for Sarah to discover the new addition. Today it was a bumblebee, fat and fuzzy as the real item, and probably an intentional reminder of her brother's new nickname. She pointed it out without comment. One of the happiest surprises of their marriage so far was how they didn't need constant conversation to fill in empty space and moments. She could just be with him, and feel everything she felt, and relax into the friendly and communicative silence.
He combed through her hair, which was thicker and stronger than it had ever been, curling itself around everything and getting everywhere. She forgave him for not sharing his concerns with her earlier. He had a need for an audience that would, in any human man, be the most disgusting narcissism. But Jareth couldn't help himself. It was his nature to respond, to reflect, to be what others needed him to be. It always had been, even when what they needed was a villain, or a victim. She had seen it before, when she had made him the villain of her rite of passage eighteen years ago. She saw it more recently when they took their morning constitutional together, in different places of the Labyrinth, when the smallfolk who inhabited it came forward and asked him to judge disputes or pronounce judgments or even answer requests for a song or some sage advice. He was King for them, because they needed him to be. And he was also a proud husband and father-to-be, showing off Sarah and her increasingly heavy burden to all and sundry. But whatever the performance was, there was a core of his essential self that wasn't a reflection, and she nurtured it where she found it.
This is why I can deny you nothing you want, for your own, for yourself, Jareth. You ask for so little. He had wanted the baby to be born in the Labyrinth, and had wanted it so badly that she'd agreed, almost without argument, dropping her life and her work to please him. He wanted to dress her up and collect a roomful of electrical instruments that couldn't be played, and he wanted to spend time playing checkers or backgammon or Go Fish with her and stage vast and ridiculous pageants of goblin legends for her, ones that sometimes involved chickens. He wanted to devote some hours to his own pursuits, and give her leisure to explore her own—which most recently was sleep. He wanted to keep her safe. He loved her, and that wasn't a reflection. It was him.
His comforting hand came down at that moment and covered her forehead. Yes, his skin told hers. Yes, that is what I want. You, safe.
You're everything, she told the baby and Jareth both, without words. John Company, the King of Winter, he's nothing. Winter is nothing. Only you are real.
He stroked his fingers back over her scalp and she turned and smiled up at him. He'd let the goblins hack away at his hair again, and it was a perfect and gorgeous mess. She stood and took his hand and led him to the window.
"It's beautiful," she said softly, looking out at the snow. It swirled down from the sky, down on the rooftops and the people outside. The braziers were full and lit, making little beacons of homely light. Despite the late hour, the Goblin City was busy. Some goblins were warming themselves at the fires. Others were engaged in deadly snowball fights. Still others were singing songs in praise of war and blood and the death of Elves and men, and others about explosions, or wolves, or gout to the tunes of Christmas music. The snow seemed to dampen these sounds, making them kindly, even sweet. But Jareth only sighed and pressed his eyes against Sarah's shoulder.
"No, Jareth. It's beautiful. You mustn't be afraid." She took his wrists and moved his hands from her hips to cup around her waist. "Everything is going to be all right."
"Oh, she knows that for a fact, does she?" he asked archly, but she saw in the reflection of the window as he was looking out, and she saw that what he saw didn't completely horrify him. They stood in silence for a while.
"What would have happened to me," Sarah whispered, "If you'd left me alone here?"
He waited a long time before answering, hearing the accusation, and the plea for forgiveness in her voice. "You would have managed," he finally whispered back. Jareth was rarely one to lie.
I would have managed, she thought. But it would have been lonely.
"I prefer things as they are," he added, kissed the bare nape of her neck and rubbed her round belly in careful slow circles. She saw his eyes flicker back outside, watching the flakes falling in their beautiful spirals. His hands were warm.
"It is beautiful," he said with childlike wonder. They watched the snow drift down for endless eternal moments. "Dark as it is, beautiful."
She turned in his arms and kissed him tenderly. "You're more beautiful than the snow," Sarah said. "Take me to bed."
"Bee, what are you doing?" Finn asked him in the dark, as Bee drew back the covers and slid into the narrow bed next to him. The boy's skin was warm from a recent scrubbing, and Finn's next thought was that he was feeling his skin, Bee's naked skin, and the boy slithered around him and he was there, and oh shit…
"I'm cold," Bee said, with an innocence totally belied by his hard and adult member pressed against Finn's thigh. Bee's fingers found the smooth raised lines of the tattoos that curved down Finnvah's shoulders to his arms, and he shivered as the boy traced the lines of the marks that wove down his ribcage, swirled against his hipbones. "Don't you want to keep me warm?" Bee asked, still innocent, but his hands became bolder, knowing.
Sarah said, oh sweet gods of Hell, I want this, in her own house she's going to murder me, and he ignored everything and kissed that open and willing mouth, taking it, sucking the sweetness of Bee's tongue, knowing he was on the threshold of total damnation. "Bee," Finn gasped, knowing he needed to push the boy away now. "Bee, please, I can't."
"Yes you can," Bee said, taking him in a strong grip. "I can feel you can. I want to. With you. Please." Finn let himself drown in one more sweet kiss, savouring the taste, but then pressed Bee back on the mattress, pressed himself away and out of his grasp.
Bee made a sound of hunger and frustration, reaching out for him, struggling to get back to him, but Finn leaned his forearm against his chest and held him down. "Why not?" Bee asked, close to tears. "Why don't you want me?"
"Bee," Finn said. "Toby. " He rested his head against the boy's chest.
"I'm nineteen. I'm legal," Bee said, as if that made everything acceptable. He gripped one of Finn's horns in his hand, a second thumb, a protuberance caught in his fist. It made Finn's skull ache pleasantly. "Can we please, please just fuck already?" He steered Finn's face to his using his horn as leverage. Steer is the appropriate word, Finn thought, even as Bee kissed him in a way that should have completely distracted him. Sarah will make a steer out of me if I do this. But… Bee sucked at his lip, where the bee sucks there suck I, yes—no. No!
"Bee, stop," Finn said, trying to remember just why it was important to say no to the warm and wiggly youth who wanted nothing more than to receive him. "This is an ambush," Finn groaned.
"This is an invitation," Bee said, now sounding irritated.
"You know where we're going next?" Finn asked gently, hoping a sudden shift in tone might turn this all around. He couldn't quite bring himself to let go of Bee, but tried to calm and soothe instead of rouse. "We're about to go back up into the world, and talk to dangerous people. They'll ambush me. They'll lie and cheat and steal. And they won't ask my permission to do the things they'll probably do to me. Or you, if you come with me."
"Of course I'm coming with you! I love you!" Bee looked aside and then abruptly let Finn go. He tried to leave the bed, but Finn grabbed his wrist. Toby tried to unwrap those strong brown fingers, gave up, and turned his face aside in shame. "I'm sorry I ambushed you. It wasn't fair." He shook his wrist angrily, but Finn held on. "Let me go," Bee said.
Finn dropped his wrist and drew a shuddering breath. "Get back in this bed. Please."
Bee did as he asked, but carefully instead of eagerly. Finn tucked his covers in at his waist, a ridiculous stopgap measure.
"I'm not saying no forever. I'm saying no for right now." Bee moved further away, suspicious and angry. "But I'm saying yes for later. Soon." And let Sarah make a liar out of me for that, Finn thought. Just let her try. "You don't know a lot about me, honey-Bee. You may not like me when you know more. Sex… isn't a big deal at Red Branch. It's casual. Friendly. I've had a lot of partners."
"Are you poz?" Bee asked.
Finn wanted to laugh at that, but didn't. He was a veteran of the culture that used that lingo. Such an abrupt and ugly word for leper. "No, Bee." He stroked the boy's face, which was wet. "I'm just trying to do right by you."
I'm really about to do this, Finn thought, But I don't care. I have to give him something. His breath shifted into the low tones of desire, and he felt Bee's skin warming again. "Just lie there, like you're doing. Touch yourself. Lower," Finn said roughly. "Imagine it's me. I wish it was." He fixed his eyes on the motion of Bee's hand, on the blush that rose up on his pale skin. "How I want you. I want…" Finn caressed his own dark skin, fingers shivering goosebumps into his arms. "I want to touch you, there, where you're touching yourself, just lightly, just a little, and feel how hot you can get, how hard. See you twitching and full. And then, when you beg, I'll give you just a little more. Just a little. See your hips thrust like they're doing now, Bee. Put my hands on you harder, firmer. Feel the heat coming off your skin. So hot it seems like your sweat should sizzle. I'll want to lick your skin, just to taste it, see if it burns like a ghost pepper. Hear you moaning. Hearing you call my name. And just as you're about to spill, I'll take you in my mouth…
"Finn," Toby moaned, looking him in the eyes, desperate.
Finn's eyes glowed like molten gold. "And then you'll come," he murmured, "only then."
Bee crossed the forbidden distance between them and kissed desperately at Finn's mouth, losing all control, and making a sticky mess of himself and a portion of their bed. He was frantic, hungry, sucking at Finn's lips, searching for his tongue, reaching for his shoulders. Finn allowed himself just one moment of pure abandon as he kissed Bee back with equal passion… and then pushed the boy away with a lingering caress.
"Hold on to me, please," Toby begged. He was so pretty, so earnest, so undone.
And this is how principles get compromised and promises get broken, Finn thought with resignation. With trembling hands he took Bee back into the circle of his arms and hummed to him gently until the boy slept. He watched him for a long time, and worried about how much more complicated things were sure to get now. He thought about his utter lack of remorse for what he'd just done. And he had to smile, because even without touching him, Bee had screwed him but good.
Next… Chapter Four: "The Star"
Finnvarrah knows his Shakespeare. I bet he's got the Fair Youth sonnets memorized. Jareth also knows his Shakespeare. Possibly also Shakespeare himself. Time is one of Jareth's old lovers.
I think I made a few other literary references in here, but I forgot where I put them. If you see one, name it and you shall have a sweetie.
Many thanks to Frances "Dark Lady" Osgood for acting as my beta and encouraging these shenanigans.
Panda: Sarah should have DEFINITELY shot John Company. But no worries, maybe she'll get the chance again?
Askeebe: Nope, Toby's legal age. He's just innocent. Or maybe not so much after this chapter…
radar wing: Right on. There was enough material to work with after the last story, although what it's getting sewn into is a bit of a surprise for me, too.
Jetredgirl: There should be a Goblin King card in the Major Arcana, we're all agreed.
Kilikina12: Here 'tis!
irgroomer: The plot doth thicken, as doth certain parts of the anatomy, verily, forsooth…
Jalen Strix: Nowhere good, nope.
Kwizzle: Horny Toby is going to get Finn turned into a hornytoad by Sarah if they don't watch out. Goblin Queen don't play.