#labyrinthguardian

Darkness had cast over Sarah’s life long ago, but in the years it had grow darker. She denied it, pretended her life was growing brighter, but that didn’t stop the pitch black consuming her. It had been weeks now since her fiance left the country for work, and their letters slowly grew farther and farther apart. Part of Sarah worried as he wrote her less, worried about the old country he’d left for.

Goblin kingdom? As usual, her travels brought her to a place she knew nothing about. However, this person had at least given some clues to his identity. My realm, combining that with kingdom means he must be king or something similar... That did explain his demeanour.

“So far friend. And you?” Her eyes followed the other curiously.

Her bright blue eyes widened when the man appeared before her. She had found the chant in an old book she found in a dusty old box from the attic. Never in her wildest dreams did she think such a thing would work. 

          ARM IS WRAPPED ABOUT HIS MIDDLE    as she catches him emerging from the small honky tonk that had once been a refuge for those in need of a good time on a Friday or Saturday night.  While she enjoys the idea of THE Goblin King putting a fear of God into her ex husband, Lisa can’t allow a powerful being to play with magic while drunk off his rocker on gut rot liquor poured by the one and only Bobbi Dean Benson. 

cont. (x) | @labyrinthguardian

          A LAUGH ESCAPES HIM. It’s been quite a long time ever since he had a friend with whom he just committed shenanigans with. “Well, chap, it doesn’t help that we’ve been out on the streets since 7pm last night!” Jareth laughs as he swigs a bottle of water in order to not let the alcohol consuming from the night before win. “Now, do you know any good places for breakfast? I got quite a desire for the delectable french toast that everyone seems to love!”

Newton hadn’t thought he still had it in him, late nights. Or drunkenness. It did give him a certain feeling of power to have been able to pull that off. He and Jareth were close these days. Newton would have to watch that sense of power. He knew he would take it too far were he not to tamp it down. Left too long, it’d need a fire blanket. That had been an excitement of a night. Fun, even. Newton had laughed, and smiled, widely. He’d drunk himself daft and thanked everything he could that he was incapable of having a hangover. Jareth might be having one. He’d offer him painkillers but he looked getting on well enough on his own. Another bottle of water, perhaps. He passed one to Jareth’s hand. He nearly missed. Newton was loopy. He hadn’t expected this of himself, but he was enjoying it.

The queen of the underworld was impatient of all things. So used to having things brought to her on a silver platter on demand. If she wasn’t spoiled before, she certainly was now.

This is why she simply walks into the palace of the goblin king. She likes fast results. If anyone had an answer to Mason’s recent blackouts, it had to be Jareth.

She strolls in, as elegant and poised as she’d always been, the ivory and silver crown sparkling in her hair, her long crimson gown looking like a splash of blood against the floor. She almost smiles to herself at the thought. Queen of the underworld, spilling blood wherever she walked? Quite interesting.

It’s not long before she reaches the throne room, sees Jareth perched there boredly.

cont. (x)@labyrinthguardian​

DISGUISED AS A HUMAN OR NOT– Jareth wasn’t going to tolerate any disrespect from anyone, not even the concierge at the restaurant where he was trying to dine with a friend. “He was appalling, Mr. Newton, just truly horrendous.” He answers, a brow held high as he took a sip from his own glass of water. “If this was in my kingdom he’d be sent to the dungeon for disrespecting me so.”

Didn’t Newton know that. He had never imagined the rudeness of the people here. He couldn’t understand it except in terms of civil war. This country was indeed sliding into a state of that, if it hadn’t already. Social civil war. The rich against the poor, the leftists against the conservatives, race against race. It had been barely ten years since Watergate, in Newton’s track of time. The papers had been packed with scandal since he’d arrived. Contras, Abscam. Now it had fallen to broken window syndrome. Chaos perpetuates. No one cared if they were rude when they’d get back to their obscene mansions to see Reagan on TV. Newton did not watch politics channels.