(no subject)
Mannequin
Fandom: Labyrinth (AU)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I have no delusions. Well, at least none suggesting I own the characters or the universe in which they appear.
Summary: For tourniquette99 who requested Evil!Jareth/Sarah that's believable and doesn't have to end happily. I hope this seems believable. There are no happily ever afters.
She dances in a ballroom filled with other graceful figures. All are dressed in sumptuous clothing that floats and drapes perfect figures assuming studied poses. All are jeweled and perfumed in the most decadent and luxurious of fashions. All are masked in glittering, glorious and disturbing creations that only thinly disguise the features of faces that have sacrificed all identity for the idle beauty that passes as ideal.
Sometimes, as she sways and glides, she catches a glimpse of someone who doesn’t belong. For all that the intruder might be dressed as one of them, primped and painted as a mannequin; they do not have the languid ease of one of the Goblin King’s courtiers. They are intruders.
Without a word, the courtiers circle the youthful interloper as wolves do an injured deer. They dash, they mock, they confound and they watch the resulting bewilderment with what appears to be the closest to real emotion they can manage. She does the same, though sometimes she experiences an alien pang as she teases and taunts the newcomer.
When the Goblin King appears on the scene, the courtiers release their prey. Their amusement is ended for the day, but not forever. Someday, perhaps soon, perhaps not, another newcomer will enter the ballroom and the masquerade will gain energy all over again.
He passes by her with nothing more than that empty, mocking smile and a finger brushed against her cheek. She leans into the absent caress unthinkingly. All the courtiers similarly flock and fawn to the King’s passing. Even the youthful intruder leans towards him as he takes her hand and they waltz into the centre of the ballroom.
As they dance past her, she blinks rapidly to dispel a disquieting vision of some otherwhen where she was the frightened young woman, simultaneous attracted and repelled by the Goblin King’s power, persuasion and charm. When, instead of a crown of pale auburn curls on the head that leaned close to his face, there were her darker locks elaborately arranged and trembling around her dizzied head. When it was her face inclining towards his, eyes locked on his face as if there was no other object in the universe worthy of her attention.
Letting a furrow appear in her brow, she breaks away from the languid dance and moves to the sideline of the amorphous ballroom. These troubling moments are rare, but, if she summons all of her concentration, she can recall them all. The music tinkles enticingly and she nearly abandons the painful pursuit of her memory but, turning away from the crowds, she calls upon the past that lies buried below an existence of ceaseless emptiness.
Through dangers untold
And hardships unnumbered,
I have fought my way here
To the castle beyond the goblin city
She remembers the joy that coursed through her veins when she failed in her mission. Joy at the pleasure in Jareth’s gaze, the lazy wave of his hand enchanting a ballgown and tiara for her adornment as the goblins shuffled off with their newest recruit. She never looked back as she took the Goblin King’s hand and waltzed off into a seemingly endless succession of dances and strolls in the many rooms of his castle.
But even perfect pleasure has to end at some point and, in the moments in between, she found herself on the verge of recalling memories from before her accession. Jareth did not like to see her with a frown on her face and chided her whenever she looked out the window too long or gazed upon one particularly sad goblin dressed in red and white stripes.
She smiled less often at the King’s wit and, tired of the ceaseless round of merriment, retreated to a delicate, ivory throne in the ballroom rather than dance the night away. She sighed and pined. Jareth commented, cruelly, on how her looks were fading, her bloom was lost.
She recalls the end of her reign as Jareth’s consort with a distant pang: one morning she awoke in a pale, draped chamber along an endless hallway. There was a wardrobe filled with identical ball gowns and a selection of soulless masks. And every door she opened led back to the same endless hallway. There was no one to answer her questions and when she found herself in the ballroom she knew why. Jareth had tired of her, as he tired of everything. She was now just one more of the mass of courtiers.
Striding quickly to the table, she seized a champagne flute and downed the drink. Freedom she might never have: the Goblin King never released his prizes. But oblivion she could find in the enchantments here: once the liquor took effect, these troubling moments of awareness would fade away.
For my will is as strong as yours
And my kingdom as great
You have no power over me
She mouths the last lines which she never said, the lines which, by omission, kept her in the Labyrinth. As the King follows the fleeing girl she hopes, against hope, that this one can be stronger than she had once been: that she can complete the spell. But the hope and memory quickly fades as the music starts anew and the dancers form for the courante. Soon she is dancing and smiling, her forehead smooth and her face, behind the porcelain mask, as empty and lifeless as those of the others who surround her.
Fandom: Labyrinth (AU)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I have no delusions. Well, at least none suggesting I own the characters or the universe in which they appear.
Summary: For tourniquette99 who requested Evil!Jareth/Sarah that's believable and doesn't have to end happily. I hope this seems believable. There are no happily ever afters.
She dances in a ballroom filled with other graceful figures. All are dressed in sumptuous clothing that floats and drapes perfect figures assuming studied poses. All are jeweled and perfumed in the most decadent and luxurious of fashions. All are masked in glittering, glorious and disturbing creations that only thinly disguise the features of faces that have sacrificed all identity for the idle beauty that passes as ideal.
Sometimes, as she sways and glides, she catches a glimpse of someone who doesn’t belong. For all that the intruder might be dressed as one of them, primped and painted as a mannequin; they do not have the languid ease of one of the Goblin King’s courtiers. They are intruders.
Without a word, the courtiers circle the youthful interloper as wolves do an injured deer. They dash, they mock, they confound and they watch the resulting bewilderment with what appears to be the closest to real emotion they can manage. She does the same, though sometimes she experiences an alien pang as she teases and taunts the newcomer.
When the Goblin King appears on the scene, the courtiers release their prey. Their amusement is ended for the day, but not forever. Someday, perhaps soon, perhaps not, another newcomer will enter the ballroom and the masquerade will gain energy all over again.
He passes by her with nothing more than that empty, mocking smile and a finger brushed against her cheek. She leans into the absent caress unthinkingly. All the courtiers similarly flock and fawn to the King’s passing. Even the youthful intruder leans towards him as he takes her hand and they waltz into the centre of the ballroom.
As they dance past her, she blinks rapidly to dispel a disquieting vision of some otherwhen where she was the frightened young woman, simultaneous attracted and repelled by the Goblin King’s power, persuasion and charm. When, instead of a crown of pale auburn curls on the head that leaned close to his face, there were her darker locks elaborately arranged and trembling around her dizzied head. When it was her face inclining towards his, eyes locked on his face as if there was no other object in the universe worthy of her attention.
Letting a furrow appear in her brow, she breaks away from the languid dance and moves to the sideline of the amorphous ballroom. These troubling moments are rare, but, if she summons all of her concentration, she can recall them all. The music tinkles enticingly and she nearly abandons the painful pursuit of her memory but, turning away from the crowds, she calls upon the past that lies buried below an existence of ceaseless emptiness.
Through dangers untold
And hardships unnumbered,
I have fought my way here
To the castle beyond the goblin city
She remembers the joy that coursed through her veins when she failed in her mission. Joy at the pleasure in Jareth’s gaze, the lazy wave of his hand enchanting a ballgown and tiara for her adornment as the goblins shuffled off with their newest recruit. She never looked back as she took the Goblin King’s hand and waltzed off into a seemingly endless succession of dances and strolls in the many rooms of his castle.
But even perfect pleasure has to end at some point and, in the moments in between, she found herself on the verge of recalling memories from before her accession. Jareth did not like to see her with a frown on her face and chided her whenever she looked out the window too long or gazed upon one particularly sad goblin dressed in red and white stripes.
She smiled less often at the King’s wit and, tired of the ceaseless round of merriment, retreated to a delicate, ivory throne in the ballroom rather than dance the night away. She sighed and pined. Jareth commented, cruelly, on how her looks were fading, her bloom was lost.
She recalls the end of her reign as Jareth’s consort with a distant pang: one morning she awoke in a pale, draped chamber along an endless hallway. There was a wardrobe filled with identical ball gowns and a selection of soulless masks. And every door she opened led back to the same endless hallway. There was no one to answer her questions and when she found herself in the ballroom she knew why. Jareth had tired of her, as he tired of everything. She was now just one more of the mass of courtiers.
Striding quickly to the table, she seized a champagne flute and downed the drink. Freedom she might never have: the Goblin King never released his prizes. But oblivion she could find in the enchantments here: once the liquor took effect, these troubling moments of awareness would fade away.
For my will is as strong as yours
And my kingdom as great
You have no power over me
She mouths the last lines which she never said, the lines which, by omission, kept her in the Labyrinth. As the King follows the fleeing girl she hopes, against hope, that this one can be stronger than she had once been: that she can complete the spell. But the hope and memory quickly fades as the music starts anew and the dancers form for the courante. Soon she is dancing and smiling, her forehead smooth and her face, behind the porcelain mask, as empty and lifeless as those of the others who surround her.