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The Game is Afoot
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It took days of spell casting for me to recreate another large crystal capable of scrying into the Aboveground; I made sure to cast it stronger, more powerful than my previous. I would find Jareth again, find him and draw him to me. Unfortunately, I had not planned on his powers remaining. I had assumed they would fade once he left this prison; obviously I was wrong.
My original plans required re-vamping. He would not be so easy to glamour back as I hoped. No matter ... I was not without resources and imagination. And my ever present desire for revenge, mustn't forget that. Picking up his trail proved easy as I marked the location seconds before he destroyed my crystal. It glowed a faint aura at the door of the Houston Museum, and led outward into the city proper – a blurry yellowish fog slightly wider than a man.
"Follow it," I command and the crystal pans obediently, the image swiveling and twisting along the sidewalks during some late evening hour. I see how the sunlight tints the concrete a rosy gray, and less people and vehicles fill the roads and sidewalks. But then, I assume this futuristic world worked similar to the one I left behind.
Sitting alone in my dimly lit throne room, I keenly watch the orb track Jareth's trail throughout this strange city. I had yet to remake Sir Didymus, and Hoggle tends to avoid me after my
reawakenings, claims I'm cranky. Well, wouldn't you be? It makes me feel all itching and tight in my skin, takes awhile to wear off. Thinking about the trail, I wonder where it might lead, weaving through the gleaming spires and raised highways shading the ground level. I wonder how and why, of all places in the world, he chose this city to hide in; if, indeed, he hid. I remind myself it
is Jareth; he considers all angles. There must be a reason he resides here. One I have yet to discover.
A steady blinking of the scrying orb shakes me from my thoughts, and I see the trail ends at the door of an apartment. Telling it to pan again, I see the door stands alone within a large lobby accompanied by an elevator opposite, an elaborate bouquet of fresh flowers as tall centerpiece.
"Looks like he's living in a penthouse," I say aloud to no one, my fist supporting my chin on the arm of my throne. "I would expect no less of the arrogant bastard." I sneer, bile rising to my throat. The burn reminds me why I hate him.
Penthouse, indeed! Liked he deserved to live so well after what he did to me, what he probably did to others currently. I had to get to him, trick him. Would he be expecting me so soon? Probably, I had to chance it.
"Go inside." The crystal obeys, shifting the view from the lobby to inside his apartment and I'm astounded by the understated luxury, as if generations of money and taste coated each inch.
"My God, Jareth," I say, leaning closer to the crystal, my eyes staring so long I feel them drying. "What have you gotten into?" Prestige was never my thing, but during my time Aboveground I was not ignorant of haute couture and this home screamed money in every real wood furnishing, high tech electronic gadget I barely recognized, and object's de art which surly must be considered antiques by now. And I few I knew already were.
"Where are you, where
are you?" I murmur, feeling my boot heels slipping on the throne step as my weight shifts forward, my entire body tense and humming. Never has the lack of conjuring sound through scrying frustrated me so; the act akin to watching a silent color movie until ...
there! A flash of movement in the distance, through his living room, reflected in a mirror hanging on the wall.
"Go farther in!" Zooming quickly, the crystal follows my command and I feel bird-like zipping through his home, through a hall painted medium gray – it reminds me of my castle flagstone – and into the farthest room through the open door.
"Oh my God!" There he is! Standing with his back to me, his hair shoulder length and slightly darker, but I recognize his slim build, just as I recognized it days ago. He's facing what looks to be large television screen built into the wall, hands on his hips, and I realize we're in his bedroom because there's a massive brocade bed at the far side of the room.
"Well he certainly didn't give up any perks, did he?" Now's my chance, he doesn't realize I'm spying on him this time; I need to be swift, hope it works, turn his trick on him. Closing my eyes, I focus all my energy on my next spell, the one I've been preparing for years for this exact moment. My power to appear in the Aboveground is limited since I am technically trapped in this 'Underground'; however, I've learned there are loopholes. The same ones Jareth used against me.
Casting my strongest glamour to disguise my visage, I throw myself through the veil of my prison, feeling the strands tug at me like tangled spider webs. Forcing a path, strands breaking, I open my eyes to a new vantage point from within Jareth's television.
This is interesting. I never quite know what reflective surface I'll end up inside or how long I'll stay, but this I can work with because he's staring right at me. And though my view is fuzzy due to the annoying screen I'm looking through, it's good enough to see that his attention is caught. And at least I can hear him now.
"Fuck!" He shouts and stumbles back, arms tossed up. Oh, I
love it! It gives me a tingling between my thighs to see him shocked.
"Come to me..." I intone in my best Goblin Queen voice, deep and sultry, hands stretching out to beseech him. "
Come to me..."
"W-what?" He stutters, his feet shuffling forward stiffly.
"Come to me!" I repeat, putting all my will behind the magic and he jerks forward several lurching steps, his hands rising.
Oh, now this is too easy! Part of me is almost disappointed observing Jareth stumble toward his television, words mumbling from his slack lips. Almost disappointed.
"Who ... who are ..." he tries to speak, I see him resist my draw so I add one last burst of power, sensing my time growing short.
"
Come to me now!" And it ends, rather anti-climatically, when he flies into the screen, hands and face smacking the surface and everything shatters around us. My gloved hand closes around his throat and I drag him through in one great yank.
I've got you! I rejoice internally, pulling Jareth through the veil as if reeling in a wriggling trout and stand triumphantly in my throne room with him dangling from my grip, his toes hardly brushing the stones of my floor. He's struggling, gasping, clawing at my vise fingers. Having nothing live to compare it to, I don't know my own strength; perhaps I've overestimated him afterall. Looking up at the base of his chin, his head tilted back, hair dangling; I admire how my leather clad fingers dig into his pale flesh.
"Not so high and mighty now are you, Jareth?" I say, mocking him, add a little shake which makes him gurgle and turn a sickly blue as I hear a crunch - probably a vital piece to his anatomy. Then something strikes me. He's attempting to speak; should I allow it? Feeling suddenly magnanimous, I lower my arm to better read his lips and my heart skips a half a dozen beats.
"Who the fuck are you?" I shout into this strange man's face, this man who looks vaguely like Jareth but decidedly is not; but he can't answer me, now while I'm strangling him. Enraged, I toss him across the room and he flails – head over ass – into the wall, a wet crunch filters back to my ears. I follow up with a manifested crystal which explodes upon him, stringing him up spread eagle to the same wall. Dazed, this man hangs his blond mane, rapidly matting with blood, to his chest and moans. Not bothering to walk, I teleport the short distance and grab his hair.
With a vicious wrench, I jerk his head upright. "Don't you dare pass out; I have questions for you." He blinks, slowly, red liquid trickles passed his brows, probably stings his eyes.
"Who ... are y- you..." he asks, his voice hardly more than a bruised whisper. It looks like he's having difficulty taking a deep breath and I suspect I may have broken a rib or two. I shove his head into the stone behind him making sure to slam it extra hard.
"I'm your fucking nightmare and I want to know where the fuck is Jareth." I hiss directly into his face.
"J-Jareth?" He sounds stunned. "My uncle?" Now I'm stunned. Fingers acutely numb, I release his hair and his head flops forward, large droplets of blood spattering on my clean flagstone floor.
"What?"
His uncle? HIS UNCLE? What the hell is going on here? Chills creep up my back, settle in my heart and squeeze. I'm afraid to ask my next question, more afraid of it then I've ever been of Jareth.
"Who are you?" I ask. His head rises, shaky, and he stares at me with icicle-blue eyes that I belatedly recognize as Jareth's.
"What's your name?" I rephrase my question, concentrating on keeping my voice strong while his brows furrow. He appears to be debating the risk vs. profit of cooperating, then with a defeated look, his body relaxing into his wall restraints, he answers.
"David Tobias Williams, why?"
Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod! Jareth, what have you done? A/N: D-S- Awesone! Glad you're enjoying it! Dark fics are always touchy to read/write. I've read many that are just unabashed tortore. ick. But then I prefer my charaters with a heart/soul/brain, even my evil ones. I think that's what makes a dark fic more 'soulful' or meaningful. It's not just PWP. There's a reason they do these terrible things to themselves and others. Motive is important; it's essential to the plot of the whole story. And my dark fics give me room to explore those areas my other fics don't allow.
