Sheep in Wolf's Clothing
Written for a challenge of someone impersonating Jareth, intentionally or otherwise.
"And I," said Sarah, her voice oozing with velvety smoothness and British-esque vowels, "an affably evil goblin king of both wealth and taste, shall threaten you, my idiot minions, with Certain Doom That Isn't while I sing you a lovely ditty I wrote about my latest reality warping. Well - laugh!"
The goblins were uncharacteristically quiet.
Sarah had a sudden sinking feeling. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"
There were several pained nods.
She slowly turned around. "Would you believe that was for elocutionary purposes?"
Jareth simply stared at her.
"Plucky comic relief?"
He arched an eyebrow that managed to be supercilious.
"Deadpan snarking practice?"
Both eyebrows lifted.
At last, she raised her hands in defeat. "Would you accept 'sorry'?"
His gaze could have pierced rock. Then he crossed his arms. "I don't really sound like that, do I?"
Sarah sucked her lower lip.
"Truly?"
She shrugged helplessly.
He sat down next to her, decidedly perturbed.
After several moments, she reached over and gently patted his hand. "It's alright, really. All the girls love anti-villains. Especially ones with British accents."
He cast her a sidelong glance. "All of them?"
She flipped him a half-smile. "All the ones with taste, anyway."
