The Thief, the King, and the Son
Chapter 2: Turn and Face the…Normal

After ten more minutes of driving, Roy pulled up a street with buildings that didn’t look like any type of structures Jareth had seen before.  They were close together and had many doors, about four per building, and each structure was surrounded with pavement and automobiles.  A few of these structures had children playing in the cold white substance in front of the doors that lined the buildings.  From the looks of it, Jareth could only assume such constructions were to be used as housing from the mere fact that if they were businesses, there would be more patrons running about.

“Where is this?” Jareth asked once Roy stopped the car and began to exit.

“This is my place.”

Jareth eyed the two-story brick structure. “I thought you didn’t want to bring me to your home until I was acceptable by Earth standards.”

Roy led him to the front door and unlocked it, “I just figured why go someplace that will charge you a ridiculous fee when my wife is a beautician and can do your hair free?”

“How generous of you.” Jareth said a little too sarcastically.

Roy stopped just as he began to open his front door, “There you go again with that kingy attitude bull shit.  You’ve gotta stop it if you’re gonna fit in.”

Jareth stood at the bottom of the steps with his hands on his hips, “Roy, I have been a king for three thousand years. I expect you to be patient with me--as I will attempt to be with you and your ways.”

“Boy are you touchy.” Roy led them inside before suddenly shouting, “Irene, we’ve got company.”

Jareth entered the abode, unfamiliar with everything he saw—well, he was familiar with such furnishings as couches and end tables, but the strange frame with black glass on a table and a tall black box with knobs and buttons on it’s front were complete mysteries to him.  But he correctly assumed the person who owned the voice that replied to Roy’s call was Irene.

“It had better not be one of your…” the red head woman with much eye shadow came around the corner just then and smiled brightly when she spotted Jareth, “Well, hey there cutie.”

“Iri, this is Jareth. Uh, he’s from England and needs a place to stay for a while ‘til he gets on his feet.” Roy added emphasis to his next words, as if expecting her to object, “So he’s stayin’ with us.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” Irene said smiling as she leaned against the doorframe and eyed the king.

Jareth was uneasy at how the woman was looking at him, so to change the atmosphere he turned to Roy, “Should we get started?”

“Yeah, sure,” Roy frowned and sounded a little bit uneasy himself, “Just go upstairs, second door on the right.  Be there in a sec.”

Jareth did as directed but kept his ears attuned to the little argument husband and wife were having over her unwanted attraction to their guest.  Normally such a fuss over himself would have made Jareth grin with satisfaction, but not even that could comfort him.  How could he be amused when he felt so lost?

Jareth noticed that the carpet on the stairs, despite being a putrid green, was soft under his feet--he could feel it even through his boots.  It was so different from the hard stone floors of his castle.  He reached the top of the stairs and immediately noticed the entire hallway was covered with photographs.  Most were of Roy, Irene, and he assumed their son.  But the others held different people.  He found one picture containing all four of these other people; some other family unit no doubt.  The father stood tall, but not proud, his hand on the shoulder of the strawberry blonde woman, his wife. Upon her lap was an infant, smiling with just two teeth grown in.  And then standing next to her father was a beautiful girl, hair as black as the night sky and beauty to match any Fae.  She was not yet a woman, but surely out of her child years.  Jareth stared into her eyes; soft green and confident.  He could tell that her heart was full of dreams from those eyes.

“That’s my wife’s brother and his wife and kids.”

Jareth turned steadily at Roy’s sudden appearance, “Handsome family.”

“Yeah,” Roy said sadly, “Karen died from breast cancer…two years after that picture was taken.  Really broke Robert’s heart.”

Jareth just nodded, not having intended to have been told of the family.  He was just certain, almost with a hope, that Karen was the wife and not the daughter.

Roy led Jareth to a dark room.  The king stepped inside, uncertain as to how humans could stand living or doing anything without light--the only illumination being from a blue curtained window.  He caught his reflection in a mirror that reached to the ceiling atop a counter with a basin, which had a hole at its base.  Roy was right--he looked drastically out of place in this world.  His clothes were too white and form flattering, his hair not straight and neat, and even in the shadowed room he could tell his skin was too pale.  It was hard for him to understand, though.  He had met hundreds of mortals from Earth and none of them had ever ridiculed his appearance when they entered the Labyrinth.  Maybe it was because then, at those meetings, he was as they expected him to be.

The room suddenly filled with light and Jareth turned towards Roy, “How did you do that? I thought there was no magic on this world.”

Roy lifted his hand to a tiny lever on the wall and moved his finger up and down, making the light flicker on and off. “It’s called electricity. As far as I know, magic isn’t real…here.”

Magic isn’t real.  Jareth could almost feel his heart panic at the thought of never finding magic, never having that constant energy that reassured him with the knowledge that as long as magic was with him, little could harm him. He no longer had the luxury of such comfort, and he didn’t like the idea that he might have to get used to that fact. “Well, what must be done to change me?”

Roy’s other hand held up a pair of scissors which he had been hiding behind his back, “Time to tame your mane.”

Jareth didn’t like the idea one bit, but he knew there was no way out of it, “Do as you must.”

“He isn’t gonna touch your hair, your majesty.” Irene said, pushing herself into the room and her protesting husband out.  She then shut and locked the door.

“I see he told you who I am.”  At her grinning nod, he was intrigued she was not disturbed, “And you believe him?”

She shrugged, “Sure.  There are too many fairy stories out there for a few of them not to be true.”  She flipped down a cover to a bowl full of water that was close to the ground, “Have a seat.”  Jareth did as she asked and she began to run her fingers through his hair, looking at him with some fascinated awe. “You have the most beautiful eyes…”

Jareth knocked her hand away from his head and looked her forcefully in the eyes, “Madame, do not look at me as you are.  I am a king and you have a husband.”

She blushed, “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry….It’s just, you are quite a looker.  Are all Fae as pretty as you?”

Jareth glared at her, “Just get started.”

She looked in his eyes and over his face before she nodded with a frown and reached for something off a small shelf above him. “You’ve got a cut above your eye I should clean first. Hold on.”

He watched her place a white bottle of a clear liquid on the sink and two fuzzy white balls.  She then removed the cap from the bottle and put it’s liquid on one of the balls before raising it to Jareth’s head.  

At the sting Jareth jerked back, “What are you doing, woman?”

“You men are such babies. Take wounds fine but can’t stand fixing them proper.”  She reached for his head again but he pushed her hand back.  She gave a faint laugh, “Fine. If it gets infected and scars you, don’t blame me.”

“Scar?”

“Yeah, scar…like this,” She rolled back the sleeve of her yellow t-shirt to reveal a pink flaw to her skin, a jagged line nearly four inches long, “My brother tripped me when I was eleven and I fell right onto a rake.  Got eighteen stitches for it.”

“I do not have any scars.”

“I can believe that. You’re perfect.” She fawned dreamily.

Jareth couldn’t believe this woman, nearly eight years his elder in Earth standards, was so attracted to him.  Surely she didn’t expect him to return the sentiment,  “Mrs. Carlson, again, do not speak of me in such ways.”

“You’re right.” She breathed out heavily, “It’s just, Roy, he’s getting on in years and is always away and I…”

“Is it a human custom to share such information with strangers?”

“What, does it bother you?”

“Yes.”

She smirked and deliberately put the cotton swab back on his wound, “Too bad. It’s in my job description. As a beautician I have to tell everyone my problems and in turn, they tell me theirs.”

He grunted his disapproval but tried to keep from flinching as she bandaged the cut.  Whatever the sticky strip of something she put on his forehead was, it felt very awkward.  He raised his hand to pick it away but she knocked it back, “No, don’t touch it.”

She received a severe glare, but he did not voice his irritation at her smacking his hand, “How long must it remain there?”

“Until I say so, that’s how long.”  She said as she placed the bottle back onto the shelf.  

He watched as her green eyes focused on a different type of bottle in her hand and she started squirting a clear liquid from it onto his head.  It didn’t hurt, but it was cold.  Instantly he snatched her wrist, “What is that?”

“Water, from a squirt bottle.  Don’t you know anything of this world?”

“No.” Jareth said, releasing her, “Which is why I’m having your husband educate me.”

“Are you stuck here?”

“I’m not sure. That is why I have to conform to mortal appearance.  If I am to remain on Earth possibly for the rest of my existence, then I have to learn to live a mortal life. The sooner I fit in, the better.”

Irene nodded as she proceeded to wet his hair, “Are you mortal?”

He looked away uncomfortably, “All I know is I no longer have magic.”

“I can already see you’ll have a hard time adjusting.” Irene said lightly, “I bet you haven’t worked a day in your life.”

“If you mean manual labor, no. But if you are implying that running a kingdom is not a task, you are quite mistaken.”

Irene grinned a little at his harsh tone, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She began to run a comb through his hair when she suddenly gasped out, “Oh my.  What happened to you?”

He rolled his eyes, “What now?”

She touched her fingers to the back of his neck, just where it met his shoulders and pressed lightly.  Jareth jerked away from her at the pain and stood in front of the mirror.  He turned and pulled down his shirt collar so that he could look at his back. Sure enough, there was a very prominent purple bruise there larger than his two fists put together.  He was quite sure Roy had not inflicted this upon him.  He said almost to himself, “I fell out of a tree.”

“Ouch. What were you doing in a tree?” Irene asked from behind him.

He turned to her, “I have no idea.  But that is where I awoke in this world.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He twisted his arm at his side, still unable to move it normally without causing pain. “Nothing I can’t live with.”

Irene nodded, “Well, sit back down and I’ll get started. Before I begin anything, do you want your hair a certain way?”

“Yes. I would prefer it to remain as it is. But since your husband tells me that is not an option, just do what is common.”

“You aren’t a common person,” Irene chuckled. “I’m not really picturing you with short hair.  I’ll still leave it past your ears-just have to make it not so wild.”

Jareth rolled his eyes, “Stop talking and just get on with it.”

Irene went to work in silence, her normally smiling face blank and eyes a bit hard.  She was angry at his snapping at her, which was a mistake on his part since she ultimately could destroy his hair.  But he wasn’t one for apologizing and let it slide.  Every snip of the scissors, every clump of hair that fell to the floor made him think he was listening to his old life being cut away from him, never to be retrieved again.  He hoped these feelings he was having weren’t ominous.  

The scissors stopped and Irene placed some gel substance into his hair and told him she was through.  

“Well, go ahead and look at yourself.  If you don’t like it I can only make it shorter.”

Jareth returned to the mirror and looked at himself, raising his eyebrows from what he saw.  Gone were the feathery wisps that had once framed his face.  Now his locks hung softly behind his ears in one, nice flow…although a few strands refused to be completely tamed.  It was strange not to feel his hair fall to his shoulders any more, but he had to admit, this look fit him as well. “I approve.”

“Glad to hear it.” Irene beamed as she unlocked the bathroom door, “Lets see if Roy’s found something you can wear.”

Jareth followed her out into the picture-lined hallway and into the room directly across from the bathroom to find Roy standing outside the bedroom closet, examining a light blue T-shirt.

“Find anything for him?”

Roy tossed the shirt onto a pair of jeans already laying on the bed, “I suppose those will have to do for now.” He then looked at Jareth, “You can dress yourself, right?”

Jareth was sure the man wasn’t meaning to always insult him, but he glared at him nonetheless, “I am quite capable.”

Roy looked at him curiously, then nodded to Irene, “You did a good job on him.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Jareth said, snatching off his current feathered shirt and reaching for the T-shirt Roy had set out.

Roy noticed his wife’s gawking blush, “Hey, J, buddy…you don’t just undress in front of other people.”

Jareth gave an exasperated sigh as he yanked the T-shirt fully over his head, “Fine.  I expect you to teach me the etiquette of your customs as well.”  He stared at them as if they were idiots, “Do I have to leave or shall I dress here?”

“Oh,” Irene said, pulling her husband out the door with her, “We’ll go.  Just meet us downstairs when you are through.”

Jareth had never worn material such as jeans, but he found it was not uncomfortable; although this particular pair was made to fit Roy’s larger body.  The man had been thoughtful enough to leave out a leather belt, so Jareth was able to keep them on well enough.  That completed, he stepped to the mirror that hung from the closet door.  So, this was who he would now be indefinitely.  He looked entirely different from the royal king he knew himself to be.  He looked mortal--but he didn’t have to become it.  There had to be some way for him to find magic and return to his kingdom.  His kingdom? He hadn’t really given it much thought before now, having gotten caught up in his own dilemma.  Without him, would the Labyrinth be able to survive?  Would the kings know how to control it, or would they loose patience and choose to destroy it?  He just hoped he could find a way to return before those types of questions became reality.