amelia_petkova (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amelia_petkova) wrote2015-01-08 10:27 am
amelia_petkova) wrote2015-01-08 10:27 am
Entry tags:
"Naughty or Nice"
Title: Naughty or Nice
Fandom: Labyrinth
Author's Notes: Written for Winterfest 2014 at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
labyfic
Summary: It was the first time somebody had wished Santa away but it wouldn’t be the last. A look at some of the encounters between Santa Claus and the Goblin King over the years.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, I don't want to end up on the 'Naughty' list.
The first time it happened was a shock. Santa had been standing in the wooden toys workshop, reviewing the latest designs for a miniature horse. He was in the middle of saying “flexible joints” when the world melted around him and changed from the cozy building strewn with wood shavings into a large, stone-floored room overrun with chickens and small, dirty creatures wearing mismatched armor.
“Welcome to the Labyrinth, Santa Claus.”
Santa turned around. Seated on a throne was a man with pale hair and impressively tall boots. The Goblin King.
Swearing was considered “Naughty” but for a moment Santa felt the desire to engage in profanity. Out of all the worlds, he had to end up in this one. Not much was known about the Underground, except that it was a chaotic place ruled by either a Goblin King or a Goblin Queen at any given time, neither of whom was ever a goblin.
“Hello, Your Majesty. Just what am I doing here?”
“Somebody wished you away. It was probably some human brat whose mother said you weren’t going to bring him a puppy for Christmas.”
Santa consulted the most recent updates to the “Naughty or Nice” lists in his head. So, ten-year-old Jim Fowler was to blame. He definitely wasn’t going to receive a puppy now. “Send me back.”
“I’m sorry to say that can’t happen. You’re in my realm now and the rules of the Underground have to be followed, after all.”
“What ‘rule’ of yours has to be followed so that I can get home?”
“Traditionally the person who did the wishing must solve the Labyrinth; however since this is something of a special case I suppose I could let you choose your own…champion.” He beckoned and three of the nearest goblins ran over to the two men.
“Very well,” Santa said. “I want Mrs. Claus to come for me.”
“You heard the man,” the Goblin King said to his minions. “Go and fetch his wife.”
“She lives at the North Pole,” Santa added.
“We got it, boss!” one of the goblins said. He saluted, but the motion bumped his soup pot helmet, which fell down over his eyes, and he ran into the side of the throne.
“North Pole, South Pole, North Pole, Equator…” the two remaining goblins chattered to each other as they scampered away.
“Hey, wait for me!” The third goblin ran after them with the “helmet” still over his eyes, bouncing off of chickens and other goblins until out of the room.
“Out of curiosity, what happens if my ‘champion’ doesn’t reach the castle in thirteen hours?” Santa asked.
“You will be turned into a goblin forever.” The Goblin King smirked. “I have to admit, it would make Christmas rather interesting.”
“I don’t think I have to worry about that.”
“Everybody should worry about being turned into a goblin. Now, then—I’ve heard that you have a list ranking every human on Earth as ‘Naughty’ or ‘Nice’ during the year. Out of curiosity, which column would I fall into?”
“Naughty,” Santa said, almost before the Goblin King finished speaking.
“Thank goodness for that. Can you imagine the damage it would do to my reputation if I were to be considered—” he shuddered with more theatricality than seemed necessary “—nice?”
“How awful.”
#
Santa was well aware of how easily time could be manipulated—he made deliveries to every household on Earth in one night, after all—and he had started to wonder if the Goblin King was playing with time here. The castle’s clock showed that only five hours had passed since he was wished away but it felt at least twice as long. Then again, the feeling could simply be due to his own impatience and frustration. The Labyrinth’s inhabitants were entertaining but by no means could be thought of as soothing.
The goblins easily grasped the concept of a ‘Naughty or Nice’ list, though they possessed wildly different standards from his on which kinds of behaviors fell into which categories. Shoving a fellow goblin to the ground was considered ‘Nice’ under the conditions of helping to catch a chicken, wanting to watch the goblin in question bounce through the Escher Room, or getting him out of the way of the Goblin King’s boots. Helping a wisher make their way through the Labyrinth, on the other hand, was always considered ‘Naughty’.
Santa’s efforts to persuade the goblins that reindeer wouldn’t want to fly his sleigh above the Bog of Eternal Stench were hampered by the Goblin King, who insisted that flight over the Bog would be excellent endurance training. Santa could practically see the ruler of the Labyrinth’s name sinking lower on the ‘Naughty’ list every minute.
“Do you have any idea how far along my wife is?” he asked.
A crystal ball appeared in the Goblin King’s hand. “If she’s anything like you, she’s probably having tea with that blue worm at the beginning—oh.”
“ ‘Oh’ what?”
“Well, this is…interesting.” The crystal faded away as footsteps began to ring out in a nearby corridor.
Mrs. Claus strode into the throne room. In her left hand she held the bright orange-and-gold head of something that blinked and laughed as she walked. “Hey, lady, this is fun! You should take off your own head and let me carry it!”
“What is that?” Santa demanded.
His wife glanced at the disembodied head that continued chattering away. “Some type of creature called a fiery. It turns out they can detach all of their limbs without harming themselves.”
The Goblin King clapped. “Bravo, madam. I’ve never met anybody who could take a part of a fiery and get away from them.”
Mrs. Claus smiled. It was the same expression she had whenever she caught one of the elves sneaking cookies. “But I didn’t get away from them.”
A wild ruckus arose in the hall. If it was at all possible, the Goblin King grew even paler. Santa hid a smile.
A mob of thin, long-limbed, furry creatures bounced into the throne room, shrieking and laughing all the way. “Hey, king! How’s it hanging?” “Great trick, lady!” “You should let us pull of your own head!” “Chilly down for Christmas!”
They spread out across the room, tossing their own body parts around and snatching up goblins until the resulting chaos made Santa’s workshops on Christmas Eve look like a monastery by comparison.
Mrs. Claus hadn’t yet released the fiery’s head in her hand. Now she tossed it at the Goblin King. It landed in his lap and chortled, “Hey, is that a sock or are you—”
“ENOUGH!” The Goblin King threw the head out of a window and stood up. “What do you want?”
“I should think it was obvious—I want my husband back. I was informed that’s the prize for solving your little maze.”
“Little…maze…” the Goblin King ground out.
“It was a piece of cake,” Mrs. Claus said serenely.
“She designs all of our puzzles,” Santa added.
The Goblin King continued to look as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “Fine, you get him back.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“What?”
“It’s likely that my husband will be wished away again by a child on the ‘Naughty’ list. I don’t have the time to solve the Labyrinth whenever that happens. I want your word that whenever that happens, you will send him home within three hours.”
“Not immediately?” Santa asked.
“I thought you might be able to make a good impression on the inhabitants here, dear.”
“Done,” the Goblin King said. “Just make it stop.”
Mrs. Claus curtsied mockingly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” She turned to the chaos. “Who wants milk and cookies?”
Silence fell. One goblin shattered the peace by shrieking as a fiery tickled him. The Goblin King kicked them out of another window.
“Just so you understand, that’s the sort of thing that lands you on the ‘Naughty’ list,” Santa muttered.
A muscle in the Goblin King’s jaw twitched.
A goblin tugged at Mrs. Claus’s skirt. “’Scuse me, lady. What’s milk?”
“This is milk.” She pulled a cup and pitcher from the deceptively small pouch hanging from her belt.
The goblin looked as if he wanted to cut off his tongue after guzzling the cold milk. “Can we just have ale with the cookies, lady?”
“Yes, you may.”
The goblins stampeded toward the kegs, with the fierys close behind.
“Stop. Right. There.” The creatures froze at Mrs. Claus’s tone. “Take turns, or you won’t get any cookies.”
The Goblin King looked almost as the creatures lined up for ale before sitting down with their cookies. “This is unnatural.”
“Would you rather return to ten minutes ago?” Mrs. Claus asked as she approached the two men. “Have a cookie.”
The Goblin King looked at the sugar frosting distastefully but nibbled on it all the same. “Get out of here before I turn both of you into goblins.”
“With pleasure.”
He summoned a crystal in the hand not holding a cookie and blew it at them. The bubble enclosed Santa and his wife. As the room melted away he heard the Goblin King call out, “Goodbye, Santa. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
#
The throne room looked much the same as it had on Santa’s first visit, except for the garlands of weeds that were strung up along the walls. A half-rotted peach hung from one doorway. He wasn’t certain if the goblins had meant it as replacement for mistletoe but he still planned to avoid it, just in case.
“Santa want eggnog?” one of the goblins one of the goblins greeted him. It held up a stained tankard that brimmed with something the same color as eggnog, but smelled as though the eggs used to make it had been cracked at least one Christmas ago.
“No, thank you,” he said. It was fortunate that his belt pouch held cookies and carrots. His standard policy of not consuming food or drink in other worlds seemed to count for double in the Labyrinth.
The goblin shrugged and swilled the “eggnog.” Its skin briefly turned a disturbing shade of blue-gray before it cackled with delight and rejoined its companions. A group of the goblins were clustered around a series of barrels that (Santa suspected) all contained the Labyrinth equivalent of eggnog. He wondered if it was more or less appalling than the ale they had been swilling last time.
“Well, Santa? Have I been naughty or nice since our last visit?” The Goblin King’s voice rang out across the room. It was a welcome interruption to Santa’s thoughts, not that he would ever admit it.
Santa consulted his mental file on Goblins, King of the. “Still naughty, though less extreme this time. I see you’ve bogged fewer of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants.”
Jareth spread his hands. “Before you stick any kind of altruistic label on me, it was for entirely selfish reasons. The smell was getting to be far too much. I’ve found that oubliettes work almost as well where punishment is concerned.”
“Of course. It’s ridiculous of me to think that you might every do anything good.”
#
“Naughty,” Santa said before the throne room finished solidifying around him. “All the way at the bottom of the ‘Naughty’ list with no possibility of ‘Nice.’ ”
“That’s uncalled for,” Jareth sulked.
“You fed her a drugged peach!”
“It was a justifiable tactic under the circumstances.”
“Was the worm in the peach also justifiable?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
#
Santa sighed as his surroundings changed from the reindeer stable to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth. It was only two days until Christmas and he was far too busy for this nonsense.
This time a woman stood next to the throne, talking with the Goblin King. She appeared to be fully human and had a slightly frazzled expression on her face. As he approached he heard, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to install some baby gates—” she broke off as Santa approached. “Who’s that?”
“This is Santa Claus. Ungrateful mortals periodically wish him away,” Jareth said.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Santa’s real?”
“You are surrounded by goblins in a labyrinth that people frequently use for wishing children away. Do you really need to ask?”
“Good point.” She grinned and waved. “Hi, Santa! Can I have my student loans paid off for Christmas?”
“We’ll see.”
A crash sounded from just outside the throne room and a child began to wail. “Sorry, gotta go.” She ran toward the increasingly-chaotic sounds.
“You hired a baby-sitter?” Santa asked.
“Christmas has turned into a busy season around here. You can’t possibly expect me to deal with all these sniveling brats myself.”
“Have you fed this one any hallucinatory fruit?”
“Shut up.”
#
For once, the throne room was empty. After all of Santa’s previous visits, the silence was almost unnerving. He half-expected goblins to flood into the room at any moment, carousing while pursued by manic chickens.
It took a bit of juggling, but Santa was able to remove the small package without resting his sack of presents on the dirty floor. The package was only a little larger than one of the Goblin King’s crystals, and wrapped in shining paper. He double-checked the attached note: “Congratulations on being on the ‘Nice’ list this year. I know how much you worry about your reputation but what’s said is said, and what’s done is done. I hope this present will in some small way help to make up for the indignity. Merry Christmas.”
Santa gently set the present on the throne and readied his magic to leave. The night was young, and there was still much to do.
Fandom: Labyrinth
Author's Notes: Written for Winterfest 2014 at
labyfic Summary: It was the first time somebody had wished Santa away but it wouldn’t be the last. A look at some of the encounters between Santa Claus and the Goblin King over the years.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, I don't want to end up on the 'Naughty' list.
The first time it happened was a shock. Santa had been standing in the wooden toys workshop, reviewing the latest designs for a miniature horse. He was in the middle of saying “flexible joints” when the world melted around him and changed from the cozy building strewn with wood shavings into a large, stone-floored room overrun with chickens and small, dirty creatures wearing mismatched armor.
“Welcome to the Labyrinth, Santa Claus.”
Santa turned around. Seated on a throne was a man with pale hair and impressively tall boots. The Goblin King.
Swearing was considered “Naughty” but for a moment Santa felt the desire to engage in profanity. Out of all the worlds, he had to end up in this one. Not much was known about the Underground, except that it was a chaotic place ruled by either a Goblin King or a Goblin Queen at any given time, neither of whom was ever a goblin.
“Hello, Your Majesty. Just what am I doing here?”
“Somebody wished you away. It was probably some human brat whose mother said you weren’t going to bring him a puppy for Christmas.”
Santa consulted the most recent updates to the “Naughty or Nice” lists in his head. So, ten-year-old Jim Fowler was to blame. He definitely wasn’t going to receive a puppy now. “Send me back.”
“I’m sorry to say that can’t happen. You’re in my realm now and the rules of the Underground have to be followed, after all.”
“What ‘rule’ of yours has to be followed so that I can get home?”
“Traditionally the person who did the wishing must solve the Labyrinth; however since this is something of a special case I suppose I could let you choose your own…champion.” He beckoned and three of the nearest goblins ran over to the two men.
“Very well,” Santa said. “I want Mrs. Claus to come for me.”
“You heard the man,” the Goblin King said to his minions. “Go and fetch his wife.”
“She lives at the North Pole,” Santa added.
“We got it, boss!” one of the goblins said. He saluted, but the motion bumped his soup pot helmet, which fell down over his eyes, and he ran into the side of the throne.
“North Pole, South Pole, North Pole, Equator…” the two remaining goblins chattered to each other as they scampered away.
“Hey, wait for me!” The third goblin ran after them with the “helmet” still over his eyes, bouncing off of chickens and other goblins until out of the room.
“Out of curiosity, what happens if my ‘champion’ doesn’t reach the castle in thirteen hours?” Santa asked.
“You will be turned into a goblin forever.” The Goblin King smirked. “I have to admit, it would make Christmas rather interesting.”
“I don’t think I have to worry about that.”
“Everybody should worry about being turned into a goblin. Now, then—I’ve heard that you have a list ranking every human on Earth as ‘Naughty’ or ‘Nice’ during the year. Out of curiosity, which column would I fall into?”
“Naughty,” Santa said, almost before the Goblin King finished speaking.
“Thank goodness for that. Can you imagine the damage it would do to my reputation if I were to be considered—” he shuddered with more theatricality than seemed necessary “—nice?”
“How awful.”
Santa was well aware of how easily time could be manipulated—he made deliveries to every household on Earth in one night, after all—and he had started to wonder if the Goblin King was playing with time here. The castle’s clock showed that only five hours had passed since he was wished away but it felt at least twice as long. Then again, the feeling could simply be due to his own impatience and frustration. The Labyrinth’s inhabitants were entertaining but by no means could be thought of as soothing.
The goblins easily grasped the concept of a ‘Naughty or Nice’ list, though they possessed wildly different standards from his on which kinds of behaviors fell into which categories. Shoving a fellow goblin to the ground was considered ‘Nice’ under the conditions of helping to catch a chicken, wanting to watch the goblin in question bounce through the Escher Room, or getting him out of the way of the Goblin King’s boots. Helping a wisher make their way through the Labyrinth, on the other hand, was always considered ‘Naughty’.
Santa’s efforts to persuade the goblins that reindeer wouldn’t want to fly his sleigh above the Bog of Eternal Stench were hampered by the Goblin King, who insisted that flight over the Bog would be excellent endurance training. Santa could practically see the ruler of the Labyrinth’s name sinking lower on the ‘Naughty’ list every minute.
“Do you have any idea how far along my wife is?” he asked.
A crystal ball appeared in the Goblin King’s hand. “If she’s anything like you, she’s probably having tea with that blue worm at the beginning—oh.”
“ ‘Oh’ what?”
“Well, this is…interesting.” The crystal faded away as footsteps began to ring out in a nearby corridor.
Mrs. Claus strode into the throne room. In her left hand she held the bright orange-and-gold head of something that blinked and laughed as she walked. “Hey, lady, this is fun! You should take off your own head and let me carry it!”
“What is that?” Santa demanded.
His wife glanced at the disembodied head that continued chattering away. “Some type of creature called a fiery. It turns out they can detach all of their limbs without harming themselves.”
The Goblin King clapped. “Bravo, madam. I’ve never met anybody who could take a part of a fiery and get away from them.”
Mrs. Claus smiled. It was the same expression she had whenever she caught one of the elves sneaking cookies. “But I didn’t get away from them.”
A wild ruckus arose in the hall. If it was at all possible, the Goblin King grew even paler. Santa hid a smile.
A mob of thin, long-limbed, furry creatures bounced into the throne room, shrieking and laughing all the way. “Hey, king! How’s it hanging?” “Great trick, lady!” “You should let us pull of your own head!” “Chilly down for Christmas!”
They spread out across the room, tossing their own body parts around and snatching up goblins until the resulting chaos made Santa’s workshops on Christmas Eve look like a monastery by comparison.
Mrs. Claus hadn’t yet released the fiery’s head in her hand. Now she tossed it at the Goblin King. It landed in his lap and chortled, “Hey, is that a sock or are you—”
“ENOUGH!” The Goblin King threw the head out of a window and stood up. “What do you want?”
“I should think it was obvious—I want my husband back. I was informed that’s the prize for solving your little maze.”
“Little…maze…” the Goblin King ground out.
“It was a piece of cake,” Mrs. Claus said serenely.
“She designs all of our puzzles,” Santa added.
The Goblin King continued to look as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “Fine, you get him back.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“What?”
“It’s likely that my husband will be wished away again by a child on the ‘Naughty’ list. I don’t have the time to solve the Labyrinth whenever that happens. I want your word that whenever that happens, you will send him home within three hours.”
“Not immediately?” Santa asked.
“I thought you might be able to make a good impression on the inhabitants here, dear.”
“Done,” the Goblin King said. “Just make it stop.”
Mrs. Claus curtsied mockingly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” She turned to the chaos. “Who wants milk and cookies?”
Silence fell. One goblin shattered the peace by shrieking as a fiery tickled him. The Goblin King kicked them out of another window.
“Just so you understand, that’s the sort of thing that lands you on the ‘Naughty’ list,” Santa muttered.
A muscle in the Goblin King’s jaw twitched.
A goblin tugged at Mrs. Claus’s skirt. “’Scuse me, lady. What’s milk?”
“This is milk.” She pulled a cup and pitcher from the deceptively small pouch hanging from her belt.
The goblin looked as if he wanted to cut off his tongue after guzzling the cold milk. “Can we just have ale with the cookies, lady?”
“Yes, you may.”
The goblins stampeded toward the kegs, with the fierys close behind.
“Stop. Right. There.” The creatures froze at Mrs. Claus’s tone. “Take turns, or you won’t get any cookies.”
The Goblin King looked almost as the creatures lined up for ale before sitting down with their cookies. “This is unnatural.”
“Would you rather return to ten minutes ago?” Mrs. Claus asked as she approached the two men. “Have a cookie.”
The Goblin King looked at the sugar frosting distastefully but nibbled on it all the same. “Get out of here before I turn both of you into goblins.”
“With pleasure.”
He summoned a crystal in the hand not holding a cookie and blew it at them. The bubble enclosed Santa and his wife. As the room melted away he heard the Goblin King call out, “Goodbye, Santa. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
The throne room looked much the same as it had on Santa’s first visit, except for the garlands of weeds that were strung up along the walls. A half-rotted peach hung from one doorway. He wasn’t certain if the goblins had meant it as replacement for mistletoe but he still planned to avoid it, just in case.
“Santa want eggnog?” one of the goblins one of the goblins greeted him. It held up a stained tankard that brimmed with something the same color as eggnog, but smelled as though the eggs used to make it had been cracked at least one Christmas ago.
“No, thank you,” he said. It was fortunate that his belt pouch held cookies and carrots. His standard policy of not consuming food or drink in other worlds seemed to count for double in the Labyrinth.
The goblin shrugged and swilled the “eggnog.” Its skin briefly turned a disturbing shade of blue-gray before it cackled with delight and rejoined its companions. A group of the goblins were clustered around a series of barrels that (Santa suspected) all contained the Labyrinth equivalent of eggnog. He wondered if it was more or less appalling than the ale they had been swilling last time.
“Well, Santa? Have I been naughty or nice since our last visit?” The Goblin King’s voice rang out across the room. It was a welcome interruption to Santa’s thoughts, not that he would ever admit it.
Santa consulted his mental file on Goblins, King of the. “Still naughty, though less extreme this time. I see you’ve bogged fewer of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants.”
Jareth spread his hands. “Before you stick any kind of altruistic label on me, it was for entirely selfish reasons. The smell was getting to be far too much. I’ve found that oubliettes work almost as well where punishment is concerned.”
“Of course. It’s ridiculous of me to think that you might every do anything good.”
“Naughty,” Santa said before the throne room finished solidifying around him. “All the way at the bottom of the ‘Naughty’ list with no possibility of ‘Nice.’ ”
“That’s uncalled for,” Jareth sulked.
“You fed her a drugged peach!”
“It was a justifiable tactic under the circumstances.”
“Was the worm in the peach also justifiable?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
Santa sighed as his surroundings changed from the reindeer stable to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth. It was only two days until Christmas and he was far too busy for this nonsense.
This time a woman stood next to the throne, talking with the Goblin King. She appeared to be fully human and had a slightly frazzled expression on her face. As he approached he heard, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to install some baby gates—” she broke off as Santa approached. “Who’s that?”
“This is Santa Claus. Ungrateful mortals periodically wish him away,” Jareth said.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Santa’s real?”
“You are surrounded by goblins in a labyrinth that people frequently use for wishing children away. Do you really need to ask?”
“Good point.” She grinned and waved. “Hi, Santa! Can I have my student loans paid off for Christmas?”
“We’ll see.”
A crash sounded from just outside the throne room and a child began to wail. “Sorry, gotta go.” She ran toward the increasingly-chaotic sounds.
“You hired a baby-sitter?” Santa asked.
“Christmas has turned into a busy season around here. You can’t possibly expect me to deal with all these sniveling brats myself.”
“Have you fed this one any hallucinatory fruit?”
“Shut up.”
For once, the throne room was empty. After all of Santa’s previous visits, the silence was almost unnerving. He half-expected goblins to flood into the room at any moment, carousing while pursued by manic chickens.
It took a bit of juggling, but Santa was able to remove the small package without resting his sack of presents on the dirty floor. The package was only a little larger than one of the Goblin King’s crystals, and wrapped in shining paper. He double-checked the attached note: “Congratulations on being on the ‘Nice’ list this year. I know how much you worry about your reputation but what’s said is said, and what’s done is done. I hope this present will in some small way help to make up for the indignity. Merry Christmas.”
Santa gently set the present on the throne and readied his magic to leave. The night was young, and there was still much to do.