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Jeremy Quinn's bar, named The Underground, is only questionably contained in the mortal world. The entrance moves, or sometimes is in two places at once. Sometimes it's, impossibly, a basement dive in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Other times it's a basement bar in Brooklyn, Queens, or even farther afield, in Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago, or even London. It always appears as a basement to an otherwise innocuous older building. The stairs and door aren't invisible, but sometimes go unnoticed by those who haven't been affected by the supernatural in some way. To those who can see them, the stairs and door sometimes seem to fade in and out of existence or subtly rearrange themselves, as if they're only a pale copy of a real building.

Jareth is monarch of a kingdom that remains isolated and neutral most of the time. The goblins are mischievous and often cruel, but take little interest in their own politics and current affairs, much less anyone else's. The Underground bar is a small pocket of Jareth's realm, outside the Labyrinth and the Goblin City, and so it operates under the Goblin King's laws and power. All manner of creatures, from the benign to the malevolent, can be found there at some point and it's known neutral territory. At least, it's neutral as long as the creature in question remains in the Goblin King's good graces. Those who have been made unwelcome by the Goblin King cannot enter the bar. Often they don't even see the stairs, or they find the door locked and the bar looking as if it's closed.

There's a definite dream-like quality to the atmosphere in the bar, and it's much stronger on normal humans than on anything supernatural. It's possible to leave and not quite remember the entire evening, or write off any inconsistencies to alcohol or a dream.

The entrance of the bar is a traditional bar setup. The door is in one corner and booths line the walls on either side. A bar takes up the opposite wall, with a guarded doorway just to one side of the bar. The doorway purportedly leads to the kitchen, but doors have been known to appear and disappear within the hallway, and sometimes there are no doors at all, just an archway to the kitchen and another leading to a grassy hill overlooking a labyrinth. The wall farthest from the door changes from time to time. Sometimes it is a stage, and live bands, plays, burlesque acts, and even sometimes the Goblin King himself take the stage. Other times, it leads to other rooms, a library, a fancier ballroom, a tower whose stars rarely ever match the stars in the real world night sky. Occasionally a door from the tower leads to a room full of stairs straight out of an Escher drawing. The stairs ascend and descend through seemingly every angle of the room, with no regard to gravity. The doorways in that room lead to other areas of Jareth's castle. Stepping through any of the doorways is a risky proposition, as reality (and the doorway) are prone to shifting, leaving anyone caught inside with a long journey to get back to their world.

Curiously, time doesn't always flow properly within the bar. Sometimes it moves backwards, stops altogether, moves faster or slower. Patrons have stepped inside for a quick drink only to find themselves leaving two days later or they've danced the night away and left two hours before they arrived. It's never predictable and often works against bar patrons.

The food and drink served in the bar is a mixture of goblin, fairy, and human food with very little warning of which is which. The human food is usually prepared decently and patrons suffer no ill effects. The goblin food and drink lowers inhibitions and heightens aggression, while the fairy food and drink is enchanted. Normal humans under the effects of fairy food often forget the real world for a time. It produces a false feeling of peace and sleepiness. It also tends to compound the time problems, and it's not unusual for a normal human who's had too much fairy food to exit the bar weeks later in a different city from where they started. Or get lost in the Labyrinth, sometimes permanently. Both options seem to amuse the Goblin King.

Those bar employees and patrons under Jareth's immediate control tend to flash in and out of their "real" and assumed appearances. They go from seeming like normal, everyday people to horned, hooved, furred, otherworldly goblins or other creatures, then back again. This is especially true for the bouncers, who seem to like standing in their armor with their spears in hand more than they like their disguise as black-shirted bouncers.

The bar has a London theme to its decor, but it's only haphazard and has a last minute feel to it, as if Jareth only wanted an excuse for the name.

Since not everyone is familiar with the fandom, and my interpretation of it includes some stuff taken (mostly) from literature of the Victorian through the modern era, I've written a bit about the creatures of the Labyrinth, as encountered in my writing.

Goblins:

Goblins vary wildly in size and shape, but are comprised of two types: Those that are born and those that are human changelings. There is no physical or mental difference between the two, but that doesn't stop them from getting into fights about it anyway. Of course, none of the goblins remembers which goblin is which, so fights turn into huge free-for-alls, and woe to any bystander who gets in the way.
All of them have scaly feet with blunt claws.
Goblins do not possess magical ability, and are only capable of using limited technology. (Discussion of the Great iPod Escapade of 2001 is grounds for instant Bogging.)
Goblins are not sensitive to iron objects, unlike their King. Many have weapons and armor made of iron or steel.
At best, goblins are mischievous and untrustworthy, prone to pranks of varying damage and bodily harm. At worst, they are malevolent, self-absorbed creatures.
A typical goblin remembers things for about 4 minutes, thus they are always surprising each other with tired old pranks. According to goblin philosophers, thinking is a waste of time and should be done as sparingly as possible. Needless to say, most goblins are illiterate and "common sense" is a dangerous affliction.
The Great Collapse of Good Governance (1450) - A time when the benevolent leadership of the Labyrinth (not Jareth, who has been King for as long as anyone can remember, but rather the goblins in charge of enforcing the law) changed to one based on greed, pride, and envy.
Prevention of Benevolence Act (1451) - Outlawed all sorts of good behavior encouraged before the Great Collapse of Good Governance. The most serious of these crimes is that of the Do-Gooder. Being nice to somebody or doing someone a good turn is likely to end the accused in the Bog of Eternal Stench or worse. The result of these laws is that words like "friendship" and "love" are nasty words to be scrawled on bathroom walls, and fear and envy keeps the kingdom running (however inelegantly).
An important note: Most goblins do not possess the intelligence and wit to get through the Labyrinth.

Jareth, The Goblin King

Jareth has been the Goblin King for as long as any of the goblins can remember. He is tightly bound to the Underground, to the point that what happens to him is reflected in the Underground (see his final confrontation with Sarah). He is the builder of the Labyrinth, and the only one in the Underground that knows the way through.
Physically, he is not the same as his goblins. He is taller, and fair of skin and hair.His eyes appear to be two different colors.
He is sensitive to iron

11:57, and in a small house in the suburbs of Los Angeles, a mother rocked a screaming newborn. The baby was fey and colicky, and now that it was out of its mother, it cried only when it knew it would upset its mother the most. It. She hadn't even been able to call the screaming thing in her arms he, or acknowledge the fact that the baby she and her husband longed for was finally in her arms. This wasn't a baby. It looked at her with knowing eyes. It was born knowing. It was evil, and no one knew but her.

Outside, an owl landed on a branch and stared into the nursery with knowing eyes. The mother didn't see him, a dark silhouette in the enveloping shadows, a flash of white in the storm. The owl saw and heard all. He knew the drama that unfolded within that little house with its perfect fence and swing set waiting to be used. He could see the desperation in her wild eyes, and hear her fear in the strains of the melody she sang to the child in her arms. It wouldn't be long now.

Far away, in the castle of the Goblin King, a nest of goblins stirred. One by one, they opened their eyes and yawned, some showing off bestial fangs. Others scratched curling goats' horns. Some tested the air with animal snouts. All struggled to their scaly, clawed feet and slowly realized what drew them from their sleep.

"Shhh. She's going to say it," a keen goblin said.

"Say what?" a dull goblin asked.

"Quiet!" an impatient goblin hissed. "Look!"

11:59, and the mother finally reached a snapping point. The greedy thing still managed to cry, even around the milk it pulled from her aching breasts. She pulled it from her in disgust and laid it in its crib, where it cried with even more fervor. Its face turned purple with its cries, and its mother screamed her fear and her rage into the uncaring storm. This wasn't a child! It was a monster! A goblin, a changeling child, sent to drive her mad with its demands! She screamed! She flung the child's blanket away and grabbed it by the throat, and when it only screamed louder, curling its tiny fists into balls of infant fury, and stared at her with its knowing eyes, she backed away, horrified.

Outside, the owl leaned closer to the window, peering inside with unabashed interest. It flared its wings at the mother's violence, flapped once, and settled back on its branch when she backed away from the screaming child. She was desperate. It was written all over her face. Like an expert chess player, the owl could see what was going to happen. She was going to say it.

Far away, in the Goblin King's castle, the horde of goblins could barely contain their excitement. They stood on taloned tip-toe, some on top of others, to observe the drama unfolding before them. They hushed each others' eager cries, but none could be distracted from the mother and her ill-fated child.

12:00, and the baby's wails reached a crescendo. The mother covered her ears and sobbed, and in a desperate bid to save herself from the keening thing in the crib, she cried, "Goblin! Creature! I wish they would come take you away!" In an afterthought, in the space between a flash of lightning and the crash of thunder, she whispered, "Right now."

That was it! Thunder crashed, louder than before, deafening, and the power went out in the little house. The owl flared his wings in triumph and launched himself from his perch. His wings battered the nursery window. Far away, in the Goblin King's castle, the goblins howled and roared in their excitement as they vanished one by one. And in the nursery, in the pitch black darkness, the baby grew silent mid-cry. The mother bit back a cry of panic and rushed to the crib.

The blanket laid where she flung it, curled at the bottom of the crib, but now something, several somethings, wriggled and writhed beneath it. It was an obscene slithering, like a particularly nasty bug under silk sheets. Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn't help but to reach down and touch the squirming baby blanket. At her touch, it fell flat, empty. Thunder crashed outside, and the window shattered. She gasped and flung an arm over her eyes.

Then, all was still. Far too quiet. She looked around. Nothing had changed in the room, and yet she felt something watching her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. A nightstand scurried away on scaly claws, before standing still once more. A dresser drawer opened, and glowing cats' eyes watched her from the darkness within. The closet opened, and little horned creatures poured forth, to hide under furniture, in drawers, and behind the glass-covered curtains. Glass...the window! She stared in horror at the owl that perched there, watching her with flat black eyes. Those are not eyes, she thought, they're Pits! The owl stared back, cocked his head inquisitively, and launched himself into the room. The mother screamed and closed her eyes.

The soft rustle of feathers gave way to the soft rustle of cloth, and slowly she opened her eyes, certain the owl had left and those inhuman things were gone. Instead, she found herself staring up at a man silhouetted in front of the window. His hair was shoulder length and blond, and he wore a golden chain around his neck. The rest of his features were hidden in the shadows. Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back, but she didn't scream. There was something...compelling about him. Something hypnotizing in those eyes she could feel burning on her.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Jareth stepped forward, into the light from the hallway, and indicated a bundle wrapped in the folds of his cape and tucked neatly into one arm. The baby slept peacefully in his arms, its crying forgotten and its knowing eyes closed. Jareth gave the mother a predatory smile. "Stephanie, think of this as a new beginning. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life as a slave to an ungrateful beast, one who tries at every turn to drive you to the depths of madness, or worse. It isn't a baby, you said so yourself. Forget about this little horror. Go back to your books and your soaps. Plan that romantic evening with your husband. Forget about the baby."

Stephanie stood horror-struck, unable to even gasp as the blond man conjured a small crystal ball in one gloved hand and tossed it to her. Out of instinct, she reached out to catch it, but it wasn't a crystal that she caught. It was a silver necklace with a diamond pendant, familiar and dear, and pawned weeks ago for the money to buy baby formula and diapers. She gave an involuntary, happy cry and looked up at the blond man holding her impostor-child.

Jareth could see it in her eyes. He'd won. He smiled. "Forget about the baby." He folded the cloak more tightly over the child, even over its head, and when he lowered his arms, the cloak swirled around him, empty.

"Where? Where'd it go?" Even seeing it disappear, she still couldn't call it a he. It was a changeling, a greedy intruder! But...where did it go?

"He will be taken care of. Raised as my own." Here, Jareth's lips curled in a small, private smirk. He raised a hand, and the goblins around the room emerged from under furniture and inside drawers. "He is mine, as you knew all along he was. And now, dear lady, I must take my leave." He smiled at her half-hearted nods and turned back to the window. Lightning split the sky, thunder crashed, and an owl glided silently away.

The goblins stayed. The mother looked around in fear at their bestial faces, their lizard-claw feet, the rapt attention they gave her. Lightning flashed. She screamed and fell to the floor as they moved as one toward her.

* * * * * * *

Three hours later, Stephanie Brooks' husband, Mark, returned from the graveyard shift at the local hospital. Nursing was a tough job, but it paid the bills, and it was nice to know his beautiful new wife and baby were waiting on him upstairs. Stephanie left the lights on for him, as she always did, and he turned them out as he made his way upstairs. Their bedroom was empty, but that was normal. His son had colic, and Stephanie often fell asleep in the chair in the nursery with him. He smiled and opened the nursery door.

What he saw stopped his heart. Glass from the shattered window was scattered about the room. His wife lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, her dead eyes fixed glassily on the ceiling and a shard of glass glittering like a ruby in her torn throat.

His son's crib was empty.

Current Mood: predatory

It was a scene of faded decadence, of wealth so old and jaded in its own power that it didn't see how faded the silk curtains were that enclosed the room like a soft cloud. Wax stalactites dripped from tarnished silver chandeliers, and none of the dancers below ever noticed or cared. The dancers' clothes were elegant once, but they were faded and worn now. They danced to a bewitching tune, familiar and yet dreadfully alien, or else they lounged on silk cushions around the room, feeding each other fresh grapes from silver platters. All wore hideous half-masks, with rams' horns and vultures' beaks, of pigs' snouts covered in silk and jewels. Their eyes sparkled with amusement and with knowledge, as if the world were a joke that only they understood. Their smiles wore nothing of innocence.

All remembered a time when youth and innocence found its way into their midst. She was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, radiant in her white silk gown, taking her first tentative steps into their midst. Her face was unmasked, and full of questions they all answered long ago. The dancers found her youth intoxicating, and not one of them could keep from staring as she crossed the floor. None could keep from admiring her beauty. Ah! If only she wasn't so young! She'd been so beautiful in the arms of their King!

If only. It was a phrase that Jareth dwelled on more and more. He stood in the center of the ballroom, while dancers whirled about him, but he just watched. What if? More and more, the Goblin King who had all the answers found himself asking questions instead. What did I do wrong? Why can't I see?

The answer came to him, as if from a great distance. The words of a lowly Worm, and yet...were they wise? "That's cuz you ain't lookin' right."

The King saw and heard everything. He looked around, now, at the whirling dancers and their weary ball. They were...missing something. Something vitally important. He was beginning to see it, like a picture developing before his eyes. As the colors became more vivid on that snapshot of decaying decadence, the Goblin King turned and strode quickly from the room. If they even noticed him leave, it was only to laugh at the joke of it. They couldn't see they were alien. Wrong. But their King recognized it, even if he didn't understand what was missing in that ballroom.

And as the Goblin King left the dancers behind, soaring silently on velvet wings, it came to him. Sarah understood. And that was why she left.

Current Mood: lonely

In an effort to breathe more life into this character, I grabbed a 50 Drabble Challenge from Insane Journal. They aren't going to be in any contests or whatever, just being used to get me more used to the character and his world. Not all prompts will be about Jareth himself. The topic I want all of them to focus on is the Underground itself, so many of them will be about the Labyrinth, the goblins, and their day-to-day activities.

( 50 Drabble Prompts Behind The Cut )

I am going to try to complete one a day. We'll see how long that lasts. This post will be updated when I finish each prompt.

So, this journal has been revamped, as you can tell. I'm going through my old writing and editing the stuff I want to keep. After long deliberation, a talk with a couple friends, and a good long cooling off period, I have decided to keep Jareth's time in TN as canon information, and may eventually re-app him at TN. It really depends on how things go. My new resolution is to log out of Livejournal when I get that pissed and go play World of Warcraft until I calm down, no matter how long it takes. Or Final Fantasy XIV! September 22nd people! I'm so excited. Blizzard makes okay games, but no one does a good game like Square Enix. If you haven't heard the FFXI soundtrack, shame on you! It is AMAZING.

Okay, back on track.

What does this revamp mean? It means all the old journal entries have been hidden, but they have not been deleted. I will go through and edit the writing I want to save, and the rest will stay hidden. None of Jareth's background has changed. It has been several years since Sarah left the Labyrinth, Toby is six years old, and he may or may not make cameo appearances in this journal.

This journal is still only based on the movie, and not the manga. I do occasionally take ideas for how Jareth speaks and a tidbit here and there for plot ideas, but the manga-verse is not part of his canon.

Midday in Napa Valley. A light breeze blew in off the coast, keeping the afternoon pleasantly cool. It did nothing to dissipate the thick fog that settled over the de Rochefort estate, however, and it billowed, twisted, and turned like a living labyrinth of mist. It carried with it a scent of those wild, untamed lands far from the prying eyes of humanity.

It carried more than that. Creatures moved around in the fog. No two of the bizzare creatures were alike. Though all wore drab, hand-dyed clothing, and many were small, wrinkled, and very brown, others were brightly colored and resembled nothing human. All the goblins were busy placing potted plants and trees their king had given them, twins to some of the plants of the Labyrinth. Tied to the Underground, the plants were recognizably other and would always follow the seasons and weather of the Underground, rather than the human world.

None of the goblins questioned their king. It was never a wise thing to question Jareth if one wanted to remain out of the Bog. And one never wanted to be tossed in the Bog. The smell would never wash out. Besides! The half-fae thing was interesting! One of the smallest goblins crept into the house through an open window and looked around at all the odd things inside. There! On a desk! A small box that made loud noise when you pressed a button! The noise was loud enough that it got startled and dropped the box. It ran and hid from the noisy box, then promptly forgot why it was scared and began poking about again. Down the stairs to the wine cellar. Oh! Fun times down here. Look at all the wine! It tried to pick up a bottle of wine bigger than it was and fell over, breaking the bottle in the process. Drat! A waste of good wine.

It crept back upstairs. There was a bigger noise-box up there, and this one made pictures too! How cool was that? Good smells came from the kitchen! It climbed onto the counter to taste the soup. Yuck! Needed more salt. It picked up a likely looking shaker and dumped it in, glass and all. Yuck! Still not right. It jumped off the counter and kept exploring.

Oooh. It was in a bedroom now! It poked through various drawers and in the closet. Funny looking clothes in here. It took one of the delicate pieces of cloth out of a drawer and stuck it on its head and modeled it in the mirror, then promptly fell over laughing. That was hilarious! These must be funny looking people to wear such weird hats. It would keep this funny hat to show the king. It crept back out the window and down to the lawn, where the other goblins were leaving, back to the Underground. Overhead, a barn owl watched serenely from a nearby tree.

((The cottage in question is owned by sunnotshadows and is also the home of several Fera.))