Play the Game

Chapter 5 – Once More With Feeling

“I’m sorry, Jareth, but they really must come off.”

“I’d rather they didn’t.”

Sarah took a sip of coffee and tried not to snicker as she watched Wensleydale from Wardrobe try to argue the Goblin King out of his gloves. They had several more minutes to resolve the dispute, for the lighting technicians were still taking measurements and adjusting the lights as the stand-ins earned their keep. She was curious as to what was underneath the butter-soft leather as well. Granted, he hadn’t been wearing them last night when he’d been sleeping, but she hadn’t been looking at his hands.

“You don’t really have a choice in the matter,” Wensleydale said, matching the king’s unmoved stare and raising him a haughty lift of his chin.

“I assure you, I do.” Jareth met the raised chin with a tilt of a slanted eyebrow.

The muscles of Wensleydale’s jaw rippled beneath the skin, but the man held his implacable expression. “They are not part of the wardrobe in this scene. Therefore, you must remove them.”

“No.”

She couldn’t help it: Sarah snorted, then tried to disguise it with a cough. Unfortunately, the cough turned into a chuckle and then her shoulders were shaking, and she had to steady her coffee before she ended up wearing it.

Both men glared at her. “Sorry,” she said, not meaning it in the slightest. This was the most fun she’d had on set since the production had started, and the morning had just begun. She fought to school her expression into the gravitas that both men seemed to think that the situation required, but she only ended up snorting again. “Sorry,” she repeated and hid behind another sip of coffee.

“I am pleased that we amuse you,” Jareth sniped. “Wednesdaydale—”

“Wensleydale,” he corrected through gritted teeth.

“Right. I wore these gloves yesterday in the fountain scene. I see no reason for me not to be wearing them in this scene.”

“That is why you are paid to act, and I am paid to dress you. Take them off.”

“No.”

“Now!”

“No,” Jareth drawled more slowly as the wardrobe man’s flushed face began to turn an alarming shade of purple. Sarah had never liked Wensleydale; he was a pompous, self-important pain in the ass that treated the rest of the cast with courtesy all but buried by a thick layer of condescension. However, she didn’t want him to die of an aneurysm because Jareth had chosen that moment to be insufferable.

“Jareth,” she said soothingly, interrupting Wensleydale’s next protest. “Why don’t you want to take off your gloves?”

“I am the Goblin King, Sarah. The Goblin King wears gloves. Therefore, the gloves stay on.”

“Method actors,” Wensleydale huffed. “Listen, you—”

“Wensleydale,” Sarah said clearly, meeting his frustrated gaze and tumbling his will with her own, “one second.” His eyes filmed over, and his face slackened. Perhaps she had overdone it just a smidge. Sarah grimaced as she turned back toward the Goblin King. “Jareth, you made yourself the star of this production. Now you have to start following the rules, which includes cooperating with the crew.”

“Sarah,” he purred, stepping close to her and invading her space. “Do you want to see my hands?” He held up the gloved appendages and splayed his fingers, presenting them as if they were a decadent temptation.

Sarah very much wanted to see his hands, and the thought of it sent a naughty thrill through her blood. It was ridiculous, but there it was, and she made a mental note to take a look that night when he was sleeping so she wouldn’t have to actually admit to that desire. Grasping his fingers and lowering them without giving them a second glance, she gave him a stern look. “I want to start filming this next scene so that we can finish somewhat on schedule today.”

He smirked knowingly and slid his fingers through hers. “The gloves stay on… unless you’d like to make a bargain?”

Freeing her fingers, Sarah turned to Wensleydale, who still stood slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. “I think the scene would be improved by the gloves,” she said clearly and unequivocally. “And perhaps a riding crop,” she added so that he would leave to go find one.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” he said vaguely and wandered off in the direction of one of his gofers. Frowning, Sarah watched him leave and wondered why Jareth hadn’t simply enchanted him, but she supposed that he enjoyed being contrary.

Sarah’s train of thought stuttered as her eyes once again swept the set. ‘Where is Draco?’ she thought, glancing behind her and peering into the darker corners of the sound stage. She didn’t see him anywhere – hadn’t seen him yet that day, in fact. “Kathy, have you seen Draco?” she asked the make-up lady as the woman walked by.

Waving an airy hand, Kathy didn’t even slow her gait to answer, “He’s around somewhere.”

“Who?” Jareth asked, but she didn’t have a chance to elaborate before Phil was shouting for the cast to take their places for the rehearsal of the first scene.

The scene took place in a hedge maze, though instead of boxwood bushes, the walls were tall tangles of white roses. Two long rows of it had been brought in from a local nursery, and the backdrop was a green screen, which would later become the third wall of roses with the Castle Beyond the Goblin City rising in the distance beyond it. Sarah had seen concept drawings, and most of them looked like something out of a classic Disney animation. The Goblin King’s castle, with its asymmetrical turrets and sharp spires, was much more interesting.

This particular section of the maze wasn’t a typical passage, but a wide-open space with a quaint duck pond ringed with lilies and reeds. A willow tree arched gracefully over the pond, its branches weeping to the surface of the water. Puppet birds that looked more like parrots than ducks where placed amongst the plants. She and a three-foot tall puppet cat wearing a feathered hat and thigh-high boots were standing at the entrance of set, waiting for their cue. Her own costume was another faux medieval gown that would have thrilled her as a teen, but was now too tight in some spots and itchy in others.

Finally, Phil gave the cue to begin.

“We can rest here,” Scaredy the Cat seemed to say as the puppeteer maneuvered him to walk along side Sarah. The set was raised, with an open space below and thin tracks cut into the floor so that the puppet could be moved and manipulated from underneath.

“My feet ache,” Sarah recited, “but I don’t think we have time for a rest.”

Scaredy stopped walking, shooting nervous glances around him with his glass eyes. “Nonsense! This way will cut off—”

A throat cleared itself, and Scaredy and Sarah glanced around, finally spying Jareth lounging on a thick willow branch, his back propped against the trunk and his legs crossed at the ankles. He wore a long scarlet velvet tunic over black leggings secured at the waist with a wide golden belt. His cape had a heavy fur collar, and his tall black boots had similar fur ruffs just below the knees: a conglomeration of baron and barbarian. Wednesdaydale— Wensleydale had been right, the fine leather gloves did not match.

Scaredy yowled in fright and cowered on the ground.

“What were you saying?” Jareth said, all false and slightly menacing courtesy. “Please, do continue.”

The puppet hesitated for a moment and then began to quake theatrically in his boots. Sarah resisted the urge to glance at Phil. Those weren’t Jareth’s lines, not exactly, but they were close enough that nobody was stopping the scene. The puppet cat wrung his hands. “Nothing! I— I w-was just, that is to say—”

“Nothing? Nothing? Nothing, tra-la-la?” Rolling gracefully from the branch and landing on his feet, Jareth stalked towards them. Sarah hardly had to act as she took an anxious step backward, her confrontation with this man in the tunnels of Labyrinth coming back to her in full force.

“You weren’t showing her a short cut, were you?” His tone became richer, darker, and he stopped in front of the puppet, glaring down at it. “Well?”

“No!” the puppet squeaked. “Never, Your Majesty! I was showing her the way back to the beginning, I swear!”

“Of course you were,” he said with a sharp smile and then turned to Sarah. “And you, little princess. How are you enjoying my labyrinth?” He relished the last word as he leaned toward her, smirking devilishly.

It took a good part of Sarah’s willpower not to snap that it was a piece of cake. She had always disliked this line. “It is formidable, King Jarlath, but I am up to the challenge.”

Formidable, indeed. She would never had admitted to that.

“Are you now?” he purred, sidling closer and reaching for a lock of her hair. He twirled it between his gloved fingers as he watched her closely. Sarah was silent for a brief moment as she tried to figure out what to say. The king was supposed throw to fly into a rage, not flirt with her! The scene had begun to deviate into foreign waters, but since Phil had not yelled for them to stop, then he must like how it was going.

Lifting her chin, bringing her face that much closer to his, she said, “Do your worst, Goblin King, and I will triumph!”

“Brave little princess,” he whispered, and somehow, his hand was tangled in her hair and he was pulling her into a kiss. His lips had just touched hers when she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“Phil!” she snapped, rounding on her director, who was leaning forward in his chair and for intents and purposes looked as if he had been raptly watching the scene. “This isn’t how this scene goes!”

Phil frowned. “What are you talking about, Sarah? I’ve been following along. If anything, Jareth, here, knows his lines better than you do!” He brandished his copy of the script.

“What? No!” Sarah stalked forward and snatched it out of his hand. Scanning it, she saw that Jareth had, indeed, recited his lines verbatim, and she had misspoken several. “This isn’t right,” she said, flipping several pages forward, then back. “It’s been changed!”

“It’s the same in my copy,” one of the puppeteers said as he peered over her shoulder, comparing scripts. “Though, it does seem like this scene was a bit different…” He blinked owlishly behind coke-bottle glasses and then shrugged.

“It can’t be,” Sarah protested as she skimmed the scene again.

Princess Serena gazes admiringly at the dashingly handsome Goblin King.
Jarlath, G.K: Are you now?
Jarlath is seductive and irresistible to the young princess. He touches her and she falls under his spell.
Princess Serena: (whispers) I will do my best.
Jarlath, G.K: Brave little princess.
Jarlath leans in and kisses the princess, who sways in his arms…


Sarah snorted and handed the script back to Phil. “I’m not saying that shit.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Phil took the script and jotted a few notes in the margin with the pen that had been tucked behind his ear. “Yes, yes, it’s a bit insipid. Your change was fine.”

Refusing to be dismissed, Sarah crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned into Phil’s face. It was the best way to get his attention. “And since when did the Goblin King start kissing the Princess? Aren’t they supposed to be adversaries?”

“I think it lends a certain sexual tension that would otherwise be lacking,” Jareth said right next to her ear. His hot breath bathed the shell of her ear and tickled the fine hairs on her cheek. She would have to have a conversation with him about personal space – right after her heart rate slowed to something approaching normal.

“Sex sells, Sarah,” Phil quipped. “And it’s right here in the script. Take your places.”

“But—”

“Come, princess.” Jareth glided toward his mark and beckoned to her, his wicked smirk much too self-satisfied for Sarah’s liking. He’d done something to the script, she was sure of it, but this wasn’t the time to make a scene.

“Okay, Sarah, let’s start from your line, ‘Do your worst…’ and remember, you are young, innocent, and enchanted by Jarlath. You probably have a crush on him. You want him to kiss you, but you won’t take the initiative. Make him work for it! Jareth, you want to seduce Sarah from her goal with your virility.” Phil shot him a purely male grin that Jareth returned. “I liked your hands in her hair… that’s good,” he said as Jareth wound his fingers around thick locks and stepped close to her. Sarah glared at him, silently promising retribution. “Right! And…” he pointed at them, indicated that they were to proceed.

Seething within, especially about the having a crush on him comment, Sarah composed her features into that of an infatuated, but wary, princess. She was not going to “sway into his arms.” At least this way, she would get to find out how he kissed with no residual guilt about her possibly burgeoning relationship with Draco. Granted, they had only gone on the one date, but she wasn’t the type to date – or kiss – several men at once.

“Do your worst, Goblin King, and I will triumph!” This time, she put more defiance behind the words in the hope that it would irritate him. If anything, his smirk only became more smug.

“Brave little princess,” he murmured, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel the brush of his breath against her lips. The hand in her hair tugged her forward, and she momentarily lost her balance, her lips meeting his with more force than she’d have preferred. He wrapped an arm around her back and cupped her head in his hand, pressing his advantage. Sarah forgot to be annoyed; his lips were warm and silky soft, tasting of peach lip-gloss and something tangy that curled her eyelashes. The altered script, the cast and crew, the thing she might have with Draco melted away in the wake of her desire for more, and she kissed him with an abandon that she didn’t know she had. Later, she wouldn’t be able to remember who had opened to whom, she would only recall immersing herself in the heady deliciousness of him. He pulled away slowly, looking as stunned as she felt and very thoroughly kissed. His pupils were widely dilated, the irises electric blue rims, and he ran the tip of his tongue slowly across his top lip. It was all she could do to not grab two fistfuls of hair and drag him back into another kiss.

Releasing her, he took a cocky step backward and tugged at his collar. The self-satisfied expression fled his features, and he narrowed his eyes. “You can do better than that.”

“Excuse me?” Sarah gasped in incredulity. Was he saying that she was a bad kisser? After that?

“Now what?” Phil shouted in exasperation. “I want to finish this run-through!”

“I said you can do better than that. She is not feeling it.” He directed the second comment toward Phil, who had his head clutched in his hand and was glaring at them between two fingers.

“It looked fine from over here,” Phil snapped. “Quite realistic. In fact,” he gestured to one of the cameramen, “get a close-up of that kiss.” The cameraman nodded and made a note on his script.

“She is supposed to have a crush on me. I do not believe her infatuation.”

“Jareth—” Sarah groaned. What an impossible cad he was.

Jareth held up a gloved finger. “No, precious. If you are going to do a thing, you must do it right.” She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “Sarah, don’t defy—”

“Don’t,” she placed her finger over his lips this time, silencing him, “say it. Can we pick up at the kiss?” she asked Phil over her shoulder. He made a mocking gesture that she took for agreement. “Fine,” she said, trying her best to sound as if kissing the Goblin King were a chore. “I’ll be more infatuated.”

He tried harder this time; she could tell. The hand in her hair massaged her scalp in rhythm with press and pull of his lips. Now that she was expecting his intoxicating flavor, she had the presence of mind to swoon into him, just a little, and to raise her foot daintily into the air. Of their own accord, her hands clutched at his shoulders, and when he slanted his mouth to deepen the kiss, she nearly wrapped her ankle around his knee. Oh, but he was heat and honey and sin… and he was pulling away again. Sarah almost groaned in disappointment.

Extricating himself from her embrace, he fingered his collar again. Sarah felt her eyebrows knit. ‘What is he doing?’ she wondered, and was about to ask when his face fell into a lost expression reminiscent of when she had spoken the words that had ended the game in Labyrinth and sent her home.

“You don’t really feel it,” he said quietly. He took a slow step backward and turned away from her. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of gold in his eyes and pale feathers intermingling in his hair, as if he were on the cusp of transformation.

‘You have no power over me…’ It seemed that she had a certain amount of power over him. ‘What does he want from me?’ she wondered, faint pangs of guilt and remorse plucking at her heart strings, though of what she was guilty, she had no idea.

“Jareth, I was acting. It’s my job.” His head jerked slightly as if in pain. Without thinking, she reached for his shoulder and clasped it tightly, stepping toward him. “Jareth,” she started, but when he looked down at her, his eyes dark with sorrow, she couldn’t remember what she had been about to say. She sighed and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Let’s just get through this. When we wrap for the day, I’ll take you out somewhere fun to celebrate Friday night.”

“On a date?” he asked, a bit of his snap resurfacing in the quirk of his lips.

“Um… sort of like,” she prevaricated. It would have been a date if she hadn’t started seeing someone else first. The idea of dating him was more thrilling than it should have been. It was probably just as well that it wasn’t technically a date; he would be leaving in two weeks.

“You will wear that dress you wore last night.” Raising an imperious eyebrow, the lost and lonely Jareth was replaced by the demanding Goblin King.

“I just wore that last night. And, since I haven’t exactly decided where we’ll go, a dress might not even be appropriate.” At this, he looked intrigued, and the expression was so endearing that she grinned and pecked him on the cheek.

“When you’re ready…” Phil said snidely from his director’s chair. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”

---

She did not wear that dress or any other, but Jareth could hardly find fault with her close fitting jeans or clingy short-sleeved top. Fae women tended to go for elaborate, multi-layered dresses with outrageous collars and skirts too wide to fit through a door. Though he appreciated creativity in fashion, there was something charming in the frayed holes at her knees and the way her tee shirt stretched across her breasts. The rear view was just as delightful as the front, and now he understood why so many women insisted that he walk ahead of them, and it had nothing to do with deference.

The venue, however, left much to be desired. Jareth had read about romantic liaisons Aboveground and had participated in quite a few with various Fae women Underground, so he considered himself an expert on romance. This place was about as unromantic as it could get. It was loud, poorly lit and smelled of greasy food, feet and disinfectant. The greater part of the area was taken up by a number of long varnished wooden lanes, at the end of which were sets of oblong objects standing in a triangle. Sweaty humans rolled balls down the lanes, hooting, hollering and generally carrying on like barbarians when the balls struck the objects. There was enough ale flowing to float the Goblin Army, and that was saying something. Something about the place jogged his memory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. He knew that he had never been somewhere like it before.

“What is this place?” he asked with obvious distaste, eying the row of drunken sods at the bar and feeling his Goblin-kicking foot twitch in agreement.

“A bowling alley!” Sarah chirped brightly as she led him past a counter that held shelves of hideous shoes to a couple of stools at the bar.

“Ah.” So they called this farce of a game “bowling.” Leave it to humans to turn something Goblins did by instinct into an organized sport. “And how does one ‘bowl’?”

“I don’t know; I’m a terrible bowler. I only come for the beer. And that.”

“And that would be?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Rock Band!” She grinned ear to ear. “And look, no one’s using it!”

“Such a pity,” he muttered as she ordered two pints of something and dragged him toward a collection of small plastic objects that resembled musical instruments.

Sarah turned to him earnestly, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Look, I know you like to sing. I’m decent enough at bass. It’s a game and music! It’ll be fun!”

And it was. Once he got the hang of watching the small television for his part, timing the moving lyrics with the little yellow bar and only improvising when his bar was lit with yellow scrollwork, he found that he was quite enjoying himself. Within a couple of songs, he had moved up to “hard” (he had snickered to himself about that term and only moved up to “expert” because he was one) and between he and Sarah, beat the other humans who had dared to compete against them. Sarah was decent enough at the bass line on medium and could be encouraged to sing chorus on some of the songs, though he stopped doing that when it was obvious that she had the musical acuity of a rock troll. They had drawn quite a crowd by the time they played a fast-paced song about something called a “suffragette.” He hadn’t a clue what one was, but Sarah had insisted, so how could he refuse? Not only was it perfect for his range, he was absolutely positive that Sarah had been missing more notes on this song because she was watching his posterior as he strutted the length of the microphone cord. He hoped that she had noticed that all of the other female patrons were watching as well.

As the final notes died, the bowling alley exploded with applause, and Jareth bowed grandly, gracing his audience with a dashing smile. The microphone was tugged out of his hand as several members of the crowd pressed forward, maniacal adoration shining in their eyes.

“Ohmygod ohmygod!” one woman squealed as she clutched at his arm. “I had, like, no idea you were in town! Will you sign my breasts?”

“Well, yes, I’m… What?” Jareth stared, flabbergasted, as the woman hiked down the top of her camisole to expose the top of her bosom. She had pressed a writing utensil into his hand, and he held it limply, almost unaware of its presence. Usually when people recognized him, there was cowering, tears, and sometimes thrown objects, but usually no breast-baring. Los Angeles rose a notch in his book.

“And sign mine too!” a girl next to her exclaimed as she hopped in place, chest similarly exposed.

Sarah came to his rescue with the judicious use of pointy elbows. “Oh, for crying out loud,” she snapped at the women who were in danger of falling out of their tops. They protested stridently as she pushed between them and the object of their fanaticism. Wrapping her hand around his forearm, she pulled him with her toward the bar. “Do you really think he would be here?”

“Sarah, I insist that you unhand me,” Jareth said firmly, though he made no real effort to withdraw from her grasp. Jealousy was a very good sign, and it would do to encourage it. “I must see to my fans.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head, then waved at the bartender to catch his attention. The prize for winning the game was a free pitcher of ale. “They thought you were someone else, a rock star. I seriously doubt that they’ve heard of the Goblin King.”

The soft lights above the bar bathed her in a warm yellow glow, richening the color of her long brown hair. She smiled wryly, a gentle twist of her lips, and her green eyes sparkled with equal parts humor and exasperation. Her face was still flushed with the excitement of their performance, and Jareth decided that he hadn’t seen a more beautiful creature in all the worlds.

Dress or no dress, this was probably the first occasion they had spent together time together where they had not been adversaries. As much as he enjoyed baiting her, he thought the moment called for a little romance. Sarah was a very unique woman, but she was still very much a woman. They liked to be complimented, pampered, and presented with tokens of regard… He should give her a gift. In the meantime, perhaps if he explained a bit of what he felt for her, he could win a kiss that was not acting.

“That is what made you special,” he said, fingering a lock of her hair in mimicry of the first scene they had shot that day. Propping an arm against the bar, he leaned toward her, smiling when she didn’t pull away.

Tilting her head and gazing at him through her lashes, she said, “‘Made me special’? Past tense?”

“Would you like me to enumerate the ways in which I find you special now?” Even in the dim light, he could see her rising blush.

She opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by a strident ring from her purse. The moment broke as she fumbled for the bag, pulling her cell phone from a side compartment. Cursing his luck and inability to perform magic, Jareth scowled at the little device as she put it to her ear.

“Oh, hi!” she exclaimed into it, her smile brightening several notches and illuminating the dirty little bowling alley. Several of its equally filthy male denizens took notice, much to his displeasure. He shot them fulminous glares, and they quickly turned away. “Where were you today? Kathy said she saw you, but—” She paused, and Jareth strained to hear the other voice on the line. The crash of balls striking pins and the “Rock Band” game made it impossible for him to detect anything more than a faint mumbling. Who was she talking to? She had said a name on the set earlier, something like… Draven? Paco? Drogo? He should have paid better attention, but he rarely cared enough to remember someone else’s name, Sarah being an exception. Not that the wretched human’s name was important.

“Oh, I see,” Sarah said into the phone and paused again. “Well, actually, I’m at Pickwick Bowling with a friend. No, just a friend.” Jareth felt his heart dislodge from his chest and plummet into his stomach. “Sure, tomorrow night is fine. Looking forward to it!” The warmth in her voice was telling; she must be talking to the man that she had gone out with last night.

“I think I’ve had quite enough of this,” Jareth said, abruptly pushing away from the bar.

“Hold on one sec,” Sarah said into the phone and then looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What? Why?” Turning his back on her, he didn’t answer, striding angrily toward the exit.

“I’ll call you back,” he heard her say, then her quiet footfalls hurried to catch up with him. “Jareth, wait! Where are you going?”

Slamming through the doors, he stalked into the parking lot. A swift glance around confirmed that he would not be able to transform immediately, and he wanted nothing more than to kick something, preferably the man who had called Sarah. A friend, she had called him. A bloody friend. Friends were for cowardly dwarves and great orange beasts. How dare she flaunt her paramour when she was supposed to paying attention to him!

Movement in the sky caught his eye, and he looked up, spotting a sleek black raven perched on a wire that ran from a tall pole to the roof of the bowling alley. It fluttered its feathers mockingly, and Jareth snarled at it. He’d recognize that bird anywhere. Snatching a small chunk of blacktop from the ground, he chucked it at the bird with a curse. The raven cawed as it leapt off the line, easily dodging the missile, then landed again, croaking in laughter.

“Jareth, stop! What’s wrong with you?” Panting slightly, Sarah planted herself in front of him, arms akimbo as she glared at him.

“Wrong with me?” he sneered. “I knew you could be cruel, Sarah, but—”

“You’re outrageous, you know that?” she shouted, flinging her arms out to the side. “You drop into my life after fifteen years of silence and expect… I don’t know what you expect! What do you want from me?” She all but screamed the last sentence, and her eyes glowed with yellow fire.

Staring stonily down at her after her outburst, Jareth was silent for a long moment. “I want a chance, precious, if you could be so generous,” he finally hissed. He felt the moment he regained access to his magic when the last human scurried out of sight. In a shower of glitter and feathers, he transformed into his owl form and winged toward the sky.

---

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, leannesidhe! Also, I want to express my appreciation for the kind words so many have left me. It really does feed the muse.

I’ve been posting once a week for the past month or so, but I’m only halfway through chapter seven, and I like to have at least a couple of chapters written ahead. I will try to post again next weekend, but no guarantees.

Yes, bits of Labyrinth in this chapter. Still don’t own it.