His Underground, Prologue

His Underground
Prologue
***

All he had left was a few feathers. Those trifles he kept tucked away in a pouch tied to his belt.

All he had left was a few scraps of dark, glittering material. Those trifles he kept wrapped around a wounded hand unable to heal.

All he had left was a single crystal shard. That trifle he kept lodged in his bleeding heart.

Jareth… Goblin King without his Kingdom, his crown shattered beneath the tiny feet of a mere wisp of a girl, stood staring into the dark of the streets. So this was nighttime in New York City. He found the rather bright darkness amusing.

A rat- was it really a rat, or something else?- scurried across the wet, filthy pavement of the alleyway, daring to brush against his foot. Out of habit more than malice, he gave it a kick.

The resulting squeal gave him much more pleasure than he thought it would, and a cruel, familiar smirk started to curl his lips.

He stopped, however, at the sound of a nearby car horn, its blare piercing the air and his sensitive eardrums. He winced, growled even.

With angry strides, he took deliberate steps out of his dark alleyway, into the nightlights. The rat- or is it?- followed him. When he paused, it paused, precisely three human steps behind him. When he moved forward, it moved as well, keeping the same distance between them.

The street he walked onto was filthy but full of life. Women in scraps-for-clothes paced slowly on their corners. Men who had too much faith in their thickly applied cologne leaned against storefronts, offering up their visage as though one should appreciate the mere chance to look upon them. Others- sometimes he could not tell what gender they were- scurried about, much like the rat at his foot; their clothes were tatters, their smell warring with the aforementioned cologne, battling for olfactory dominance.

The people chattered, yelled, screamed… The smell was obscene… The street was cold, but alive. All at once, Jareth felt something familiar stirring inside him.

He was in the middle of the street; few cars drove on this road, the drivers too afraid their tires would be slashed whilst they drove. He lifted his face skyward; their, just peeking from behind one of those horrendously tall buildings was the moon.

He was mesmerized as he stared at it, he felt the stirrings of music in his heart. Cocking his head, lifting a hand to his ear as though to hear it better, he started to sway to its rhythm. It was such a familiar lullaby. A song he had heard since the day of his ill begotten conception. It felt like the fluttering of owl wings against his soul, sounded like a rusty music box that needed to be rewound. He held out his hands, palms down to the street; a groan came from the pavement, a cracking, and all at once he felt his blood heating.

This time, nothing could stop the smirk from curling his lips.

The dust of his crown had merely shifted on the wind, been blown somewhere else.

The rat- no, it wasn't really just a rodent- chattered at his feet. With a nod of his head- what had it said?- he bade the creature lead him on.

Meanwhile, the song of his Labyrinth, his Underground, continued to play on into the night.