Jareth, the Goblin King (imovethestars) wrote in spindlesend, @ 2010-06-11 08:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | jason rethmoore, paul ufford |
Who: Jareth, the Goblin King, and OPEN
Where: The courtyard
When: Friday afternoon
Rating: PG
The regal king sat on the bench in the courtyard, surveying his newest surroundings with mild disdain as he spun the ball on his fingers. Contact juggling was a sport he'd learned several years ago, a trick of the eyes and wrists and body language, and he had been fortunate enough that the administration had seen fit to allow him to keep the small acrylic ball he now toyed with. He supposed if he ever were to use it as a weapon or allow it to be stolen from him for such a task, the item would be confiscated by the authority figures here, but he had no intentions of that. For all of his mood swings, Jareth was not a violent figure, and he couldn't imagine harming someone of his own volition.
His fingers moved absently, the sort of muscle-memory dedicated to this particular stunt, as near-black eyes skimmed the grounds that he could see within the wall confines. His heart was a mass of confusion and resentment; Sarah was here, his precious Sarah with her clear eyes like jewels on velvet, her sweet smile. Sarah with her petulant pout and whining, grating voice, Sarah who could not abide the word 'no' when it pertained to her. It was her fault that Jareth was currently imprisoned here, so far from his own kingdom. Here he knew no one, had no allies. He was a displaced King whose throne was light-years away, and he knew that his minions were running amok in his absence, destroying what he'd worked so diligently to build. The kingdom would fall if he couldn't return soon.
Damn Sarah and her wish. And damn her doubly for 'taking it back', for villainizing him when he'd only done as she asked. When he'd only ever done as she asked.
A slight sneer had unwittingly appeared on full mouth and the androgynous boy tossed his head, the ball sliding over the back of his hand with the seamless roll of practice. His hair was a sight to behold, well past his shoulders but styled in such a way that it stuck straight out in layers, exotic and unusual. Back home, he'd gone through cans of styling spray in a month; here he was restricted to doing his hair under supervision, with minimal time to primp. The kohl lining his tilted eyes was in no danger of being discontinued though; he would not surrender his sense of self to this numb blank slate of a setting.
The Goblin King was so lost in thought that he didn't hear anyone approaching, but then he glanced down to finish a particularly complex transition with the clear ball in his hand and was startled to find someone standing within a few yards.
A haughty eyebrow rose, and Jareth ceased his play with the orb. His head tilted and somewhat-arrogant eyes assessed the person standing there silently, waiting for them to speak first.