Play the Game

Chapter 2 – Solving Her Labyrinth

“‘No magic in front of the humans,’ indeed,” Jareth growled under his breath, then immediately wished he hadn’t. His usually grand entrance had been stymied by one of Draconus’ final clauses, undoubtedly woven into the spells that saturated the gems around his neck. The transportation spell that was to bring him to the mortal realm as close to Sarah as possible had deposited him in a disgusting little corner of Aboveground completely devoid of human life – and he understood why the instant he had opened his mouth.

Pinching his nose shut with two fingers, Jareth eyed the enormous rubbish bins with supreme distaste. They were metal monstrosities overflowing with brightly colored waste of all shapes and sizes. Soggy stinking things were piled in drifts around the bins, and his sharp, slightly pointed ears picked up the sounds of tiny clawed feet scurrying through the debris. The pungent mess was trapped between two tall stone walls that cast the narrow alley into a humid gloom. Though heavily shaded, the air was almost stiflingly hot and prickled at his skin like tiny needles. A fence of metal mesh blocked the alley at one end, but visible just beyond the giant bins was a patch of bright daylight that illumined flashes of metal and gray concrete. A rhythmic thumping bass shuddered through his chest through the dull roar of fuel-propelled engines and the brush of rubber across pavement.

‘Ugh, a city,’ Jareth grumbled, silently this time. It didn’t seem like the place that a girl who had recited lines in a park would end up, but it had been… how many years? Jareth couldn’t say – he’d never been very good about tracking long periods of time Aboveground. Not enough hours in a day, for one thing, and it only had four seasons!

Shifting his weight and cringing when something squelched under his heeled boots, Jareth picked his way carefully around the bins toward the light and noise. Emerging from the alley, the heat of the day struck him hard in the face, and the fierce sunlight immediately began to soak into his black Goblin armor. He had chosen the outfit for the intimidation factor (and he really liked its swishy cloak), but he hadn’t counted on hundred-degree weather. In fact, he had assumed that he would have been transported to the interior of the sound stage in which Sarah was located, or at least relatively close to it, instead of a garbage-strewn alley off a busy boulevard.

A cherry-red vehicle with no top hurtled past him, its strident horn blaring as three voluptuous women leaned out of the windows waving their hands and screaming over the deafening volume of their music. Propping his hands on his hips and striking a dashing pose, Jareth sent them his most dangerous smirk. The vehicle behind, sleekly silver with dark windows, was forced to slam on its breaks as the women slowed to blow him kisses and one pointed a small black device at him. If flashed, the women screamed, and the vehicle behind sounded its horn in one long barbarian cry. As the women drove away, closely followed by the silver machine, Jareth shook his head long-sufferingly and fluffed his wild blond hair. The black armor always did make a good impression. And he was such a handsome beast.

Unfortunately, it did not put him any closer to Sarah’s sound stage. It had seemed so simple when he had hatched the plan: remove the man playing opposite Sarah in the film she was shooting and take his place. His exposure to films consisted of glimpses on the televisions of wishers, articles in magazines that had somehow found their way Underground (often lightly chewed), and a set of youngsters collected from a location shoot of a film titled Children of the Corn. Apparently, their caretaker had gotten jumpy. Now, he regretted not allowing the focus of his scrying crystal to move beyond Sarah’s general vicinity to reveal, say, what the sound stage looked like from the outside. Not that he was worried in the slightest.

He would make a dramatic entrance onto the stage, and she would be so surprised and impressed that she would literally swoon at his feet. There was also sure to be kissing involved during the production; that’s how theater worked. He would be in close, personal contact with her for many hours of the day. Even if the sheer sexuality and magnetism of his persona didn’t make her fall head over heels (it would), then if she were an actress worth her salt (she would be), she would put all of her heart into her role, and thus, kisses. He didn’t see how he could lose. There was just the business of finding the sound stage.

Glancing up and down the street, he eyed the tall cement-and-glass buildings that lined the street with a wary eye. Several hundred feet down the street was a tall wall and a giant iron gate. A man in a tiny kiosk staffed it, periodically allowing a vehicle entrance.

‘Run her labyrinth,’ Jareth mused to himself. If that wasn’t a gate to a labyrinth, then he wasn’t the Goblin King. With a superior smile, he stalked toward the gate, his cloak fluttering satisfyingly behind him. She had made it so easy for him! The gate wasn’t even properly disguised! He doubted he would even need the thirteen days.

Sauntering past the line of vehicles at the gate, he stepped up to the man in the kiosk as the gate was closing behind one of the vehicles. If he had made a run for it, then he probably could have slipped through, but Goblin Kings did not run to catch gates.

“Sir,” Jareth said as politely as he was inclined, which wasn’t very. “I’ll pass now.”

The man eyed him narrowly beneath a fringe of greasy black hair. His thick mustache bristled as he grunted, “Let’s see some ID.”

Jareth blinked and then frowned. He did not like this man’s tone. Not to mention he hadn’t a clue what “ID” could be. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, his tone clearly indicating the offense he had taken.

The man leaned out of the window and enunciated very slowly, as if Jareth were either stupid or hard of hearing, or both, “Eye. Dee.”

Annoyed and sweating underneath his black Goblin armor, Jareth itched to summon a crystal and send this man straight to the Bog of Eternal Stench. Draconus’ infuriating little rule regarding magic in front of humans was the only thing stopping him. Lifting his arm, he fully intended to drag the man from his kiosk when a sweetly concerned voice spoke over his shoulder.

“There you are, honey! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Jareth turned his head and met a pair of pale blue eyes set in a softly masculine face that was just visible over the top of a heavily tinted window. With a soft hiss, the window disappeared into the car door and the man extended his hand, a small plastic card tucked between two tidy fingers. The man smiled encouragingly at Jareth, then said to the oaf in the kiosk, “Sorry for your trouble, Fred. He’s with me.”

Fred frowned, but inclined his head respectfully to the new man. “Hey, Paul, how’re you doing? He hasn’t shown me any ID,” Fred groused as he took the card and retreated into the kiosk.

Laughing, Paul gave Jareth a thorough eyeing. “Do you see any pockets in that getup? Though why he wore it out of the lot, I’ll never know.” He winked at Jareth, who stomached it all in seething silence. He didn’t mind Paul’s roaming gaze near as much as Fred’s disrespect. He should be admired, loved and obeyed! Had he been able to use his powers, he would have put that insolent human in his place. Namely, the Bog. He wasn’t, however, and Paul seemed to have a certain amount of clout with Fred, future Prince of the Land of Stench.

“Alright, Paul, you’re good to go,” Fred said a moment later and handed back the plastic card, along with several colored pieces of stiff paper. ID, Jareth figured. He should see about getting some. “You, too,” Fred continued tetchily, “but this is just between us. You had better put your ID in your codpiece next time.” With that final warning, Fred pressed a large black button and the gate trundled open.

“No room for it!” Paul giggled, then said, “Well, get in the car, pretty boy.”

“I’ll walk, thank you,” Jareth ground out between clenched teeth and stalked toward the open gate with as much dignity as he could muster.

Paul sighed dramatically and shook his head. “Well, call me tonight!” he called at Jareth’s retreating back. “Actors these days, so temperamental.” He shared a look with Fred and drove through the gate, passing Jareth with a little wave of his fingers. “I’ll be at sound stage twelve, honey!” The canary yellow car accelerated with a coughing roar and disappeared into a tall cavernous building that was already full to brimming with other vehicles.

Freezing in his tracks, Jareth stared after the car and silently cursed. Paul knew where the sound stages were. He could have been Jareth’s ticket to finding Sarah quickly! ‘No matter,’ Jareth thought quickly, dismissing Paul’s usefulness with a sniff. How difficult could it be, really?

---

Sarah stood by the crew’s snack table and munched on her umpteenth carrot stick with tiny crunching bites. Staring blankly into space, she hardly noticed the hustle and bustle surrounding her: the cinematographer brusquely snapping directions or the grips positioning flags for the scene they were to start filming; the puppeteers testing the action of their puppets or the small gaggle of extras that stared at her with starry eyes and whispered behind their hands. Her thoughts revolved around a particular piece of furniture in her apartment and the odd item it had coughed up that morning.

Said piece of furniture was an old vanity that she had found in a thrift store when she had first moved to California and had to furnish her apartment on a limited budget. It had been priced so low that she would have sworn it was a mistake, and yet she had almost not bought it for it had seemed an extravagance that she couldn’t afford. Nevertheless, it had called to her, whispering at the back of her mind as she wended her way through the dusty aisles of the store until she had found herself, once again, running her fingers over its rich varnished top. It was a beautiful piece in ornately carved mahogany with a tall arched mirror set with silvered glass. Somehow, it had miraculously fit in the trunk of her compact car even though the measurements she had taken later put it at several inches too wide to fit.

For over a year, she had completely missed the hidden compartment at the back of one drawer. It was in this secret place that she occasionally found an antique brooch, a set of floppy disks rubber-banded together, a yellowing tooth with a gold crown, a scattering of mouse droppings or nothing at all. On the days that something appeared, she would pluck it from the compartment to inspect it (except for stuff like the tooth or fecal matter); the items that passed muster would be placed somewhere else for safekeeping and replaced with something she wanted to unload. The items she didn’t like were left in the compartment and would disappear on the vanity’s whim. This morning, a small red book with gold lettering had lain at the bottom of the compartment. Sarah had stared at it – hard. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it appearing in her vanity. That book had given her both the time – and the scare – of her life. Its villain still starred in some of her steamier dreams, and on one mortifying occasion, she had accidentally cried his name during a rendezvous with an ex-boyfriend. That relationship had been particularly short-lived, and she’d sworn never to date Fae again; at least not ones who knew the Goblin King. Though she still referred to him as a villain, she hardly thought of him like that anymore. The adventure he had provided her had taught her several important life lessons, and he had only ever done what she had asked. Quite generous of him, really, considering how much damage she had done to his kingdom. Still, the thought of him made her nervous (when it wasn’t making her horny), and she was very careful about how she phrased her wishes just in case he was still listening.

After she had checked her closet and under the bed for Goblins and stray crystal balls (there weren’t any), she had gingerly removed the book and set it on the surface of the vanity. When it had remained an innocuous little book, she had shrugged and closed the drawer, wishing that she had the time to call on Hoggle before heading to the studio. Then again, stranger things had come out of the vanity – who was she to jump at shadows? Or books, for that matter.

“Nibble, nibble like … well, I wouldn’t say a mouse,” a deep masculine voice rumbled by her ear. Sarah jerked out of her reverie and sucked a bit of carrot into the wrong tube, sending her into a coughing fit.

“Oh, I beg your pardon; that was not my intention,” the man exclaimed in a slight brogue and began to pat her back. Through watering eyes, she could see his embarrassed, contrite expression. What caught her attention, however, were his gloriously long black hair, golden eyes and sharp aristocratic features. He was tall and lean, his fitted button-down shirt and dark denim jeans hinting at a toned physique. The presence of such hotness was enough to settle the tickle in her throat. Dabbing at her streaming eyes, careful not to disturb the make-up that Kathy had so meticulously applied earlier, she smiled at the man and waved an airy hand.

“Not your fault! I must have spaced out.” She gave him her most winning smile. ‘Please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay,’ she whispered in the corner of her mind that hadn’t had a decent bedmate for far too long. Offering the hand she hadn’t coughed all over, she said, “I’m Sarah.”

“Of course you are! Who else would you be?” His smile was sharp-toothed and predatory, almost wicked, and Sarah’s stomach did a wriggling little dance. “Draco, at your service. I’m the new PA.”

‘So not my co-star, what a bummer,’ she thought, followed by, ‘Yummy.’ Her pledge to lay off Fae (for she knew that’s what he was with the same innate certainty that she knew a ball would roll downhill) was tossed out the proverbial window.

“What happened to Dana?” she asked as she straightened her posture and tugged self-consciously at her pseudo-medieval dress. She was now quite pleased with its daring neckline. When he shrugged, she felt silly for asking; of course he wouldn’t know. She did wonder what a Fae was doing on the set of Journey to the Center of the Maze, but decided against asking. He wouldn’t expect her to realize that he wasn’t human, and she didn’t want to give him any reason to brush her off – or worse. Fae could be temperamental.

“I must admit,” he said as he leaned against the wall and eyed her with inhuman intensity. Sarah felt deliciously unclothed, but raised a forbidding eyebrow. It wouldn’t do to appear too accommodating. Fae liked games; the more challenging the better. She had to play hard to get to keep his interest. “There is something about you… Film simply cannot capture it.”

“Um, thanks,” Sarah replied, not sure what to make of that comment coming from such a being. Either it was a mediocre pick-up line or he was sensing her magic. Most of the non-humans that she encountered found her irresistible, but rarely understood why until she actually told them. If Draco felt her power, then he was powerful in his own right. She would have to be careful.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Draco, but we’re scheduled to shoot the next scene any minute now…” She trailed off as she glanced around the stage, not seeing her new co-star anywhere. “But it appears that my co-star is late.”

“Perhaps he was detained,” Draco purred and shot her a wicked grin.

‘I’m in so much trouble,’ Sarah thought as her lips pulled upward in an answering grin.

---

“She is in so much trouble,” Jareth muttered to himself as he wandered past yet another huge building that looked exactly like most of the others in this infernal place. He refused to remember that it was his decision to play Draconus’ game and that Sarah, not knowing his plans for her, had not hidden herself in the impossible-to-find sound stage just to be defiant.

If only he had use of his magic! Humans scurried everywhere like busy little brownies, and almost as soon as he had found a secluded corner in which he could perform another transportation spell, another human would pop up. Once, he had managed it, but the constraints under which the use of his magic was placed only resulted in him transporting himself across the campus. He was reluctant to admit it, but he, Jareth the Goblin King, was… not lost, but a bit turned around.

“It’s not f—” Jareth stopped himself before the phrase completely left his mouth, but it still reverberated through his mind. If he weren’t quite so fond of the girl, he would never have participated in the blasted game in the first place. Well, “fond” might not have been the best word… If he were honest with himself, he would say “smitten” and perhaps “obsessed,” but he didn’t really want to think about that at the moment.

“What’s not fair?” a voice asked behind him. Whirling, Jareth came face-to-face with a short stocky man who had his nose buried in a thick sheaf of papers.

“Pardon me?” Jareth asked as if that was not what he had been about to say, nor would it ever.

“I asked,” the man emphasized the word impatiently, “what’s not fair? You actors, always complaining about the fairness of things. Just be happy you’re here and obviously employed, whereas so many out there are waiting tables. Try being forced to go on strike – then you’ll really see not fair.”

“You dare to lecture me, Jareth the Goblin King?” Jareth asked haughtily, completely forgetting in his frustration and offended sensibilities the fact that he was traveling incognito as an actor. “I should throw you headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench!” Twisting his wrist to conjure a crystal, Jareth swore in Gobbledygook when his palm remained empty.

“Method actors,” the squat little man sighed to himself, but Jareth’s sharp ears picked it up nonetheless. Louder, he said, “Forgot your prop, Majesty? You must be from ‘Maze,’ but you’re a bit far from sound stage thirteen. Late too, I bet. Phil is going to have your balls in his soup. Speaking of which, you might want to brush off your, uh… tights, by the way.”

‘My tights?’ Glancing down, Jareth realized that he had somehow acquired a strategically placed smear of dust on his black breeches. He hadn’t a clue how it got there without his noticing, as that was a very sensitive area, but there was no way he was going to wipe at it in front of this man.

“How da—” Jareth bit the word off with a click of his sharp teeth. He had to remember that he was pretending to be a mortal or he could quite possibly lose to Draconus. Even stupid, unimaginative creatures could cause him problems, stripped of his magic in their presence as he was, and he could tell that this man was neither. Since thoroughly bogging him was out of the question and a tongue-lashing would not necessarily further his goal (this was not Hoggle, more’s the pity), Jareth gathered up the tattered remains of his pride and lifted his chin. ‘Oh, the things I do for dear Sarah,’ he thought ungraciously. “How do you suggest I find sound stage thirteen?” he asked as amiably as the clenching of his jaw would allow.

The man’s raised eyebrows were an indication that he hadn’t entirely succeeded, but he answered anyway. “Walk past twenty-seven, past the cafeteria – you’ll see the patio – pass auxiliary parking garage B, and then look to your right. You can’t miss it. It’s the size of an airplane hanger.”

Following the man’s pointed finger, he finally saw the “STAGE 27” sign in large block letters posted on the building in whose shadow he was currently standing. He wasn’t sure how big an airplane hanger actually was, but everything in this confounded place was huge, so he decided to look for a similar building. Thanking the man with reluctant politesse, he stalked in the direction that he had indicated, trying to ignore the blisters that were forming on the sides of his pinky-toes. His boots were beautiful, true, but he had never had the occasion to do much walking in them. Nor would he find another; they were not walking boots. The combination of hot sun and black leather was slowly roasting his feet, not to mention the sweat slicking the insides of his armor and running down the backs of his legs. He was positive that his lovely hair was now a bedraggled, limp mess. It just wasn’t—

It just wasn’t.

---

Sighing heavily for the umpteenth time that day, Sarah once again checked the clock that had been hung behind the film crew. It was almost one o’clock, and her co-star had still failed to make an appearance. “Phil!” she called out impatiently. “Are you sure you gave this guy – what was his name? – the right instructions?”

Glancing up from a rather intimate conversation that he had been having with her make-up lady, Phil scowled at her. “Yes, I sent Gladys to meet him at Gate 3. She’s still waiting for him. And his name is…”

“Yes?” Sarah prompted him, secretly thinking that Gladys probably went down the street to Starbucks to wait. Phil stood with his mouth slightly agape as his eyes squinted with effort, but it was a camerawoman who spoke up.

“Wasn’t it Gerry?”

“No, that’s not right,” Phil snapped. “It’s—”

“Jeremiah,” said Kathy, the make-up artist who now had her hand on Phil’s hip.

“Garrett!” one of the puppeteers piped up from the depths of a foam-and-latex monstrosity.

Draco chuckled darkly across the room, and Sarah felt the vibrations in the marrow of her bones. “Janet,” he volunteered. For a reason unbeknownst to her, Sarah giggled.

“No, no! His name will be Fired if he doesn’t show up soon.” With a wave of his hand, Phil dismissed them, returning his attention to Kathy.

Sarah rolled her eyes and took a deep swig of her soda, relishing the burning pleasure of cold carbonation rushing down her throat. Co-star or no co-star, she was being paid for her time, and if he was any later, there wasn’t a doubt that they’d be shooting heavily into overtime. She did hope he’d show up eventually; the budget might not allow for another change in male lead. As ambivalent about the film as she was, she didn’t want to see it fail before it was even done shooting.

As that thought rolled through her mind, a sudden pang of foreboding struck Sarah so hard that she dropped the can of diet cola that she holding and swayed slightly on her feet. Almost too fast to see, Draco appeared by her side, snatching it out of the air and setting it on the table.

Laying a hand on her shoulder, he said, “Sarah? Sarah, are you alright?” His golden eyes peered down at her with concern, searching her face. “You’re looking a little peaked.”

Gripping the edge of the snack table, Sarah blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it of the lingering dizziness. “Yes, fine… I must have been on my feet too long,” she lied. It had been a long time since she had had such a strong premonition, and that had occurred right before her big break into semi-stardom. Did this mean that something very good was coming her way, or something very bad? Regardless, it felt life altering.

“And had too much caffeine,” Draco added as he picked up the can and tossed it into the garbage.

Glancing up at him and then following the path of the can as it flew through the air, Sarah frowned. She had been drinking that. “That was my soda,” she protested, though she hardly had the energy to put much displeasure into it.

Snapping a bottle of water out of the plastic rings containing several other bottles, Draco handed it to her, neatly twisting off the top. “Drink this instead, it’s much better for your body.” Placing his hand back on her shoulder, he steered her toward one of the folding chairs that had been set up around the sound stage. “Now, have a seat.”

Sinking into the chair, Sarah wondered if pushiness were an integral flaw in Fae character. All the Fae she had met were used to getting their way and didn’t like to take no for an answer. She had better put Draco in his place quickly, just as soon as she was confident that she could stand without falling over. In the meantime, she took a healthy swig from the bottle. The water was room temperature and less than refreshing, but it did help to clear some of the cobwebs from her head. “Thanks, Draco. But really, I’m fine,” she said firmly. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said with a knowing smile. With a slight tremor of foreboding aftershock, Sarah wondered just what it was he thought he knew.

---

A/N: Happy New Year, sister dear! Your second chapter is up. The vanity in this chapter is your vanity from Homecoming. Thanks for its use.

I forgot to mention – the title of this fic is from the Queen song of the same name. Thanks again, leannsidhe1228, beta extraordinaire! And thanks to you readers and reviewers. You guys are the best.

The Zoolander reference in the previous chapter was the bit about falling off the horse. Can’t believe no one got that. *shakes head*

Oh, and one other thing – this fic is slightly AU in the fact that though this is set fifteen years after Sarah’s adventure in Labyrinth, it is actually present-day. A kind reviewer asked about it, so I thought I had better make that clear.

And remember: feed a writer – leave a review!