Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth.

Author's Note: Before you get into this, I should give you a little insight into my master plan. It is, of course, an evil master plan. This is only because I am evil and therefore everything I do is, naturally, evil. But, when it all comes down to it, there is no real evil goal for this story. Just an evil master plan.

More's the pity.

Anyway, about the evil master plan. I tend to write stories in one of two ways. There are those in which I plan out each detail from start to finish before I write one word and then there are those that I basically write by the seat of my pants. Oddly enough, those latter tend to get the strongest response from readers. In an experimental effort to maximize the whole 'I have no more clue what is going to happen next than my readers' concept, I give you Twists and Turns. At the end of each chapter, I will leave a number of option as to what might happen next. You all, my lovely and most adored readers, will have one week from that time to post your vote in a review. It is all very simple, straightforward and evil, isn't it?

Quick Rules: (1) One vote per person. As such, while reviews left by those who are not logged in to fanfiction(dot)net are allowed, they will not be counted amongst the votes. (2) Only votes for those options left at the end of the chapter will be counted. This doesn't mean I don't appreciate suggestions for future shenanigans, just give them to me in a Private Message and don't waste your vote. (3) I should have thought of the rules before I started enumerating them, as you can't just stop at two. (4) Oh, I got it! If you want the bloody bugger updated then send me reviews, private messages, emails, and whatever else it takes. Why? Because I'm damned lazy.

Warning: If you are the type who dislikes cliffhangers at the end of chapters, get out now. That's like... the point of this whole bloody thing, you know?

Anyway, on with the show...

Twists and Turns

Written by:

Danika Lareyna

With the support of:

Viewers Like You!

Chapter One:

The Goblin King was Bored

The Goblin King was, as the chapter's title so aptly put it, bored. By general consensus of the Labyrinthine population, this was a bad thing. In fact, there was on old saying in the Underground, passed down by generations upon generations of fairy tale creatures, that went, "A bored king can only trouble bring." It was not a very good saying, but it was coined by goblins, so you could not expect too much. It is important to note that, though the phrase had been spoken by thousands of goblins over the years, it always referred to the same king; the only king they had ever know: Jareth, the ruler of all things magical and fantastic (as he had had printed on his luggage).

One might wonder what exactly was so terrible about a bored Goblin King. Such a one would, without doubt, be from the Aboveground and, therefore, never have witnessed the horror of Jareth's boredom first hand. Certainly every creature of the Underground had experienced it, and most now trembled in fear at the very thought. You see, though Jareth was not a goblin (he was not entirely certain what he was, but he was most adamant that it was not that), he had absorbed the goblin sense of mischief. Or perhaps it was he who had originally instilled the mischief into his subjects. Jareth could not remember (it was a long time ago, after all), so it had become a sort of 'chicken and the egg' riddle for goblin philosophers to ponder. As goblin philosophers are an extremely rare breed, not much headway had been made on the quandary.

While the Goblin King had become quite good, through long years of practice, at looming intimidating, glowering menacingly, and smirking seductively, he was, at heart, a rather childlike being. This, combined with his impish nature, meant that, when bored, Jareth tended to gather his jollies at the expense of others. While he would never actually hurt another living being just for a laugh, he was not above scaring a few years off their lives or placing them in sticky situations (the sort that sometimes took months to work out of). It is not surprising, then, that the citizens of the Underground tended to cower under their beds when rumor circulated that their monarch was in one of his moods.

It was most unfortunate for a young goblin by the name of Crudmudgen Alonzo Natalie Scumscrounger III (Cruddy, to his friends) that he did not hear the rumor until it was too late.

That particular day, Crudmudgen had been minding his own business, looking for stinkbugs. He had a rather impressive collection of live stinkbugs in a sort of homemade terrarium in his modest hut near the outskirts of the Goblin City. It would have been more impressive if he had not had to start over every couple of months or so. The problem was, one part of young Crudmudgen appreciated stinkbugs for their delicate beauty and charming odor, the other part just thought they were plain tasty. Occasionally, the latter got the better of him and soon thereafter he would be forced to begin his collection anew.

It is a little-known fact, in the Aboveground, that when Jareth first commissioned the stone trolls of the deep south to build his majestic castle, he had decreed that it would need a name as awe-inspiring as the castle was certain to be. After much deliberation, Jareth had dubbed the edifice, "Lucy." Hence, the castle became known, to everyone but the king, at least, by such titles as, "The Castle Beyond the Goblin City," "The Castle at the Heart of the Labyrinth," or, simply, "The Goblin Castle." It was to this illustrious place that Crudmudgen had made his way that fateful day, feeling that, though he normally limited himself to the common stinkbugs of the Goblin City and the surrounding junkyard, it would be fine to add some high-class, castle-born bugs to his collection.

Crudmudgen ambulated along in a sort of shuffling squat, bent at the knees and with his head low, keeping a sharp eye on the dirt-strewn hallway floor. Those beetle-black eyes gleamed with rather more intelligence than your average goblin (though that was not saying much), and they glittered with excitement as they fell upon a particularly splendid specimen of stinkbug. The lovely critter was quite large and well proportioned, with long, elegant antennae and a beauteous orange-green shine to its exoskeleton.

With a delighted, gurgling grunt, Crudmudgen lunged. So intent was he on his pulchritudinous prize, that he failed to notice that it was crawling about on the toe of none other than the Goblin King’s dark, leather boot. A lightning fast twist of the ankle and the ill-fated insect was crushed beneath Jareth’s heel. A split second later, the Goblin King’s foot rose up at just the right angle to intercept poor Crudmudgen, still mid-lunge, directly on the nose and send him bouncing off the rough, stone walls.

When the little goblin had at last settled in a heap on the corridor floor, he ruminated that, though the loss of the delightful bug had been lamentable, at least he had gotten a good kicking out of the deal. Goblins are unusual creatures, rather rubbery by nature and nigh on indestructible. They enjoy little more in life than being bopped, booted, blasted, and, on occasion, dropped from very high places. Lifting his gaze to Jareth’s face, Crudmudgen intended to thank his king and, perhaps, ask if he might have another. His plans were halted, however, when he found, not the wicked grin that usually lit upon Jareth’s face while roughhousing with his minions, but an apathetic scowl.

A chill ran down Crudmudgen’s spine as he realized the horrible truth: the Goblin King was bored.

Gracefully, Jareth crouched down to Crudmudgen’s level, his elbows on his knees and one hand cradling his chin. His normally vibrant, blue eyes were dull and the mismatched pupils, one that only saw reality and one that only saw magic, were fixed on the unfortunate goblin with a weighing look. "Hello, Crumb-muffin," the Goblin King intoned, his refined voice flat.

Crudmudgen climbed to his feet, attempting to hide the tremor in his knobby knees. Bobbing his head, he murmured, "Please, er, call me Cruddy, Your Majesty..."

The monarch waved one gloved hand dismissively. Pursing his lips, Jareth gave his subject a penetrating look. "Do you know what I am, Cuddly?"

The trembling he had been failing to disguise spread quickly to all parts of Crudmudgen's twisted, little body, including, surprisingly enough, the tip of his long, pointed nose. Thinking quickly, especially for a goblin, he babbled, "Magnificent? Multi-talented? Irresistible to the ladies?"

The corner of Jareth's mouth twitched in what came very close to a momentary smile. "I always knew you were one of the clever ones," he said, appreciatively. Crudmudgen puffed his chest out, beginning to think that perhaps he had escaped his doom. Then Jareth leaned closer and, dropping his voice ominously, said, "Do you know what else I am?"

His heart sank swiftly into his toes. An image of Rabblesnork, the last goblin to cross Jareth's path when the King was bored, flooded Crudmudgen's vision. Jareth had decided that it would be great fun to rearrange Rabblesnork's limbs. The poor thing now walked about on his hands. On the up side, he had become quite talented at knitting with his toes. With a resigned whimper, Crudmudgen replied, "...bored?"

A wide grin spread across the Goblin King's face and he straightened up, planting his fists on his hips. "That's right," he exclaimed, sounding quite delighted by it all. "I am bored out of my ruddy mind. If something interesting doesn't happen soon, I am liable to rip a hole in the fabric of time and space- just to see what happens. Now, what do you propose we do to change this?"

Now let it be known that Crudmudgen was very fond of the fabric of time and space just as it was, but then he was also rather attached to the current layout of his limbs. His brain scrabbled about in his skull, desperately attempting to come up with an answer to the Goblin King's question that would put neither in jeopardy. Unfortunately, though Crudmudgen was quite bright as his kind went, this was a task even he was not up to. In the end, he merely twitched a bit and drooled down the front of his jacket.

Jareth’s momentary enthusiasm sloughed away as he regarded the goblin’s expression, his shoulders slumping. “No ideas, eh?” he said. Without waiting for a response from his dazed subject, the Goblin King nodded and continued, “Yes, yes. I am at a loss as well. I thought that it might be amusing to give someone’s toenails sentience, to see what they have to say, but then I remembered that I had done that just 248 years ago.”

Crudmudgen wiggled his toes (safely concealed in the pair of boots he had made from an old muffin tin) and felt sorry for Old Quink, who now had to listen to ten separate, tiny voices yelling at him for not washing his feet often enough. Vaguely, he wondered what would happen if he tried to sneak away while the king seemed somewhat distracted.

His hopes were dashed, however, when Jareth’s eyes refocused on him. “I know!” the monarch exclaimed, snapping his gloved fingers, “I’ll make you a deal. You get one hour to come up with something entertaining for me to do and, if you succeed, I’ll let you sleep in the Royal Midden Heap for a week. How does that sound?”

A light entered Crudmudgen's dark eyes at the thought of such an enchanting treat. Usually, the King kept his personal Midden Heap well guarded by three burly waurgs who, it was rumored, had developed a taste for goblin spleen. To be given access to that paradise for a full week! Why, even Spoonikity (who was the King's official boot-shiner and took that as an excuse to boss the other goblins around mercilessly), would turn purple with jealousy.

But let it not be said that Crudmudgen was a reckless creature. Hesitantly and with amazing foresight, for a goblin, he replied, "Your Majesty is most generous, but what if I fail?"

The Goblin King's brows drew down and, in a flat tone, he replied, "Now why would you want to do that?"

Crudmudgen shivered all the way to his kidneys. Jareth decided to take the goblin's panicked expression and pale, bloodless face to mean, 'Of course I would not want to do that. What a silly thing to say! Though, I am a goblin, after all, and silly things tend to fall from our wretched mouths like feathers from an overly flustered chicken. Well then, I am off to go find some fantastically jolly thing for you to do, Your Majesty. Toodle-pip!'

Nodding affirmation to the goblin's unspoken (and frankly, unthought) declaration, Jareth snugged the glove on his left hand. "Right then," he said, startling the already terribly agitated Crudmudgen, "I will expect you in the throne room in one hour." Turning regally on his heel, Jareth strode back down the hallway in the direction he had come. Just as Crudmudgen began to think that it was safe to collapse into a quivering puddle on the castle floor, though, the king paused. Turning his head just enough to fix one cold, blue eye on his minion, the Goblin King intoned, "One hour, Chubby."

As the monarch disappeared around a corner, Crudmudgen let out a pathetic whimper and turned to run the other way.

xXx

The ill-fated goblin quickly scuttled down the streets of the Goblin City, capitol of all the Underground. He was headed to the only place he knew where he could be assured peace and quiet to sit and think. Such places are extraordinarily rare in an area populated mostly by goblins, but Crudmudgen was no ordinary goblin. In fact, he was Professor Crudmudgen Alanzo Natalie Scumscrounger III, the only member of his species employed at the esteemed Labyrinth University, where he taught goblinoid history and literature (not, it must be confessed, terribly popular subjects of study).

The Labyrinth University was located just outside the eastern walls of the Goblin City, presumably to be as far from the rather rank Junkyard, located along the western walls, as possible. It was to this side of town and the University campus itself that most non-goblins who found themselves spending any significant amount of time in the capitol city gravitated. It was kept much cleaner than the rest of the city, which in itself was enough to keep the majority of goblins away. Of course, there was the occasional over-achieving goblin who saw all that organization as a target, to be scoured from the Underground as swiftly and messily as possible, but they were usually caught and disabused of this notion by the Labyrinth University residents rather quickly (seeing as most goblins felt that, if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing noisily).

Crudmudgen, however, had been teaching at L.U. for nearly three decades now and the beings who inhabited the campus had grown to recognize him enough that he had not been chased out in almost eight years. A fact that he was quite proud of.

As the young goblin scurried towards his shed (he had originally had an office in the Humanities building, but the other professors had unanimously voted him out after the mayonnaise incident), he spotted a familiar form crouched under the single, small window. He recognized her immediately: Kixxy, his girlfriend.

She was quite comely, as goblins went. She had large, violet colored eyes on either side of her head and her blond hair (which had just a hint of chlorine green to it) hung in well-kept tangles to the small of her back. Most people, including the Goblin King, found it rather difficult to distinguish a male goblin from a female. Kixxy, however, had taken a fondness to wearing large, garish bows on the top of her head, which tended to give her away.

Whenever Crudmudgen's eyes fell upon Kixxy, a shiver ran down his spine, his hands became sweaty and rational thought seemed to go out the window. One might assume that this indicated that he was in love with the goblinette. Actually, though, it just meant that he was utterly terrified of her. But then, Kixxy assured him that that was quite normal in a relationship.

He was not even sure how she had come to be his girlfriend in the first place. He had known her since childhood, then one day, a few weeks ago, she had simply declared that they were an item. Crudmudgen had tried to protest (and then he had tried to run away), but the maiden would have none of it. Again, Kixxy assured him that this was quite normal in a relationship.

Crudmudgen had given up fighting it.

His fear of her was apparently justified as, peeking over her shoulder, Crudmudgen discovered that she seemed to be in the process of setting fire to his shed. Kixxy’s favorite hobby was setting things on fire, followed closely by shredding things to slivers and chopping things to bits. With a put upon sigh, the goblin kicked dirt over the fitfully flickering flames that she was attempting to fan into an inferno. Kixxy hissed with much vexation and stood, turning to face him. When she realized who it was, she batted her eyelashes and booted him in the knee.

Well, Crudmudgen could not claim that his girlfriend was not affectionate. Still, he frowned at her as he asked, “Why were you trying to set my shed on fire? My books are in there.” Goblins, it is well known, are quite fond of books, especially with ketchup and perhaps a bit of sauerkraut. Crudmudgen was considered a strange one in that he preferred to read them, rather than have them for supper.

Kixxy shrugged and nonchalantly replied, “Gue’s in there, too.”

Crudmudgen’s beady eyes darted to the window and within he spotted his cousin, Gue, sleeping in the professor’s favorite chair. Gue was, to put it mildly, not the brightest of creatures. In fact, even the other goblins generally thought of the poor lad as rather slow, which put him at about the intellectual level of a rotting turnip. When Crudmudgen had been just a child, he had accidentally dropped the infant Gue on his head and had since blamed himself for his cousin’s lack of wit. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to take into account that goblin mothers as a whole felt that a baby needed to be dropped on its head at least once a week or it might grow up with an ugly, round skull.

Gue was, without doubt, Kixxy’s favorite target for incineration. Had it not been for Crudmudgen’s interference, he was sure that his poor cousin would have been goblin toast months ago. As it was, his coarse, reddish hair always seemed to have singe marks at the ends and the tip of his tail was rather darker than the rest of his body.

“Well leave off,” he growled, pushing the door open. “I need to think.”

Kixxy was a bit taken aback by this unprecedented show of nerve on Crudmudgen’s part and found herself quite attracted by it. She was quite confident that, if the boy ever grew a backbone, he would make a fine husband and they would share wonderful, screeching fights for the rest of their lives together. Following him into the shed, she cooed, “Why you gotta think, Cruddy? Didn’t all your students drop your class this s‘mester, like usual?”

Giving Gue a good shove, which both woke him and sent him sprawling onto the floor, Crudmudgen flopped into his, now vacant, favorite chair. “Whoza what?” Gue grunted, sitting up and blinking sleepily.

Exhaling deeply, Crudmudgen brought his thick fingered hands up to massage his temples, being careful to avoid scratching himself with jagged, claw-like fingernails. In answer to both their questions, he replied, “The Goblin King is bored.” Kixxy gasped in horror and Gue swallowed in mid-yawn, sending himself into a fit of coughing. Without looking at them, Crudmudgen continued, “I have to think of something for him to do or he’ll... he’ll... I don’t know what he’ll do, but it will be bad.”

Dejectedly, Crudmudgen allowed his dark eyes to wander around the tiny room, crowded by the three little goblins within. It was a good study. Books of all sorts were piled haphazardly here and there, a desk was tucked up against one wall with random papers jutting out of every drawer, and a heavy, lidded kettle sat in the corner, wiggling occasionally as its contents tried to escape, holding a snack for later. The roof creaked occasionally, as if at any moment it might cave in. It was certainly messier and more run down than his office in the Humanities building had been, for which Crudmudgen was quite grateful.

He sighed, wondering if he would be able to appreciate his little sanctuary if the Goblin King turned him into a pineapple.

"Oh my poor Cruddy!" Kixxy wailed, dabbing at her eyes with a large scrap of some unknown, filthy, paisley-patterned cloth. "What'll you do? Wait, what'll I do? I'll have to find a new boyfriend!" She buried her face in the questionable material, her sobs redoubled.

Gue, who was rather large as goblins went, reaching nearly to Jareth's waist when he stood at his full height, sat comfortably on the floor, scritching his head beneath his conical, metal helmet. His vacant gaze shifted from the blubbering goblinette to his mute cousin and back. Finally, he grinned, showing off his overly large, squareish teeth. "Cruddy smart. Cruddy tell Kingsy whats to do."

Crudmudgen turned a flat gaze on his cousin, his large, round ears flapping irritably. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

The larger goblin tilted his head to the side, squinting and turning slightly pink with the effort of thinking. Finally, he opened his eyes and replied, "Golf?"

"Gue, don't be stupid," Crudmudgen snapped. Truly his temper was getting the better of him in his frazzled state, as he was usually the epitome of patience with his dull cousin. "The king swore he would never play golf because he doesn't like the pants, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Gue replied, looking crestfallen. Then he was distracted by a bucket and was happy again. Ah, the simple life. Crudmudgen glanced at Kixxy, but did not bother to ask. She was too absorbed in lamenting her swiftly approaching single status to be of any use in brainstorming, Grumbling, the goblin blocked out his surroundings and got down to some serious thinking.

...thirty minutes later and the best he had come up with was ’Underwater Hopscotch,’ which he doubted his monarch would appreciate. He had, he realized, just enough time to return to the Castle at the Center of the Labyrinth before the King came looking for him. Heaving himself to his feet, he said, "Well, I suppose that's that. I'm doomed to live out the rest of my life with a duck-billed platypus for a head, or the like."

Gue gazed at him, a cheerful smile on his face. "I like ducks."

Crudmudgen patted his cousin on the head, having to reach up to do so even though Gue was sitting and he was not. "I know," he said, sadly. "I know."

He turned towards the door. "Well Kixxy, it was nice while it lasted... I guess."

The goblinette's only response was to howl, "Girlfriend!" at the top of her lungs, and wipe her pig-like snout on the now dripping cloth.

With his hand on the doorknob, Crudmudgen’s body froze but his little brain spun with sudden activity. Could he-? But didn’t he-? And what if-?

Whirling back to the room, Crudmudgen exclaimed, “Kixxy, you’re a genius!” He grabbed her hands, swept her in a circle once, plopped a quick kiss on the end of her snout, and dashed out the door.

The goblinette stared after him, rubbing the end of her nose and wondering what she had done to deserve such a bizarre boyfriend. Gue just chortled vacantly.

xXx

“You’re late!” Jareth barked as Crudmudgen scampered into the throne room. From his place at the Goblin King’s feet, Spoonikity glanced up from the boots he was busily shining and glowered. There were no other goblins, or any other creatures for that matter, in the room. They had all caught one whiff of Jareth’s boredom and scrambled for safety. Spoonikity might have joined them, but then who knew what riffraff might claim his spot at the base of the throne?

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Crudmudgen stammered, halting in the center of the room. “I was just, er, making sure that I came up with the best, most entertaining thing for Your Majesty to do.” Beads of sweat popped out on the goblin’s forehead and he stared at his feet, suddenly uncertain whether his brilliant idea would save his hide or not. Softly, he heard Spoonikity snicker.

The Goblin King affected disinterest, but his eyes glittered and he swept his riding crop down to bat Spoonikity off his perch. The little goblin went tumbling down the steps and rolled into a wall. Crudmudgen suppressed a jealous sigh. “Well?” Jareth asked, staring at his subject with one eyebrow slightly quirked.

“Erm, right. Well, Your Majesty, it’s like this,” the flustered goblin stammered, “I was thinking about what you said, about you being bored and wanting something interesting to do, because you told me to think about it, so I was thinking about it. I thought about it and thought about it and then I thought-”

“Will you get on with it?” Jareth interjected.

Crudmudgen swallowed at the lump that seemed to have lodged in his throat. Then he realized that it was his tongue. Replacing it in his mouth, where it belonged, he resumed his speech. “Of course, uh, right. So I thought about when was the last time I’d seen you really cheerful and laughing and such and I remembered that it seemed like an awfully long time ago. So I thought some more and I remembered that the last time I’d seen you like that was when that girl was here-”

“Girl?” Jareth snapped, interrupting Crudmudgen again.

“Um, yes Your Majesty. The girl. The one who wished away her brother? The one who defeated your Labyrinth? The one who-”

“I am well aware of whom you speak,” Jareth said, a rather hard edge to his voice. He shifted his leg off the arm of his chair to plant both booted feet firmly on the castle floor. Leaning his elbows onto his knees he loomed over the little goblin and said, “What off her?”

Sweat had made little streaks in the dirt on Crudmudgen’s face as it dribbled from his brow to drip off the tip of his long nose. “Well... well... well I was thinking, that is, I thought... I was thinking and thought that maybe if you were bored it would be a good idea to, uh, to see that girl again, and then maybe you won’t be bored anymore or, at least, if you decide you’re still bored and you need to, em, turn someone’s head into an aquatic, egg-laying mammal, you could do it to her instead of m- anyone else.” Crudmudgen finished in a rush, breathing hard.

Jareth stared at him for a long, silent and incredibly tense moment. As he waiting for a response from the king, Crudmudgen antsily shuffled his feet, tapped his claws together and blew bubbles out of his nose, becoming more anxious with each passing second. At last, just as Crudmudgen became certain that he would not be leaving the throne room in anywhere near the same state he had entered, Jareth stood.

Casually kicking Spoonikity, who had been stealthily resuming his prior perch, back into the wall, Jareth stepped down from the dais upon which his throne sat. Stroking his chin with one gloved hand, he paced back and forth once or twice. “Hmm,” he said. “Hmmm...”

He watched the dark, leather boots pass before his eyes once, twice, three times. Then, feeling as if he could not possibly stand the suspense another second, Crudmudgen ventured, “Is Your Majesty not pleased with my suggestion?” Before the king could respond, Crudmudgen cowered a little, his hands coming up to shield his round head.

Jareth paused in front of his throne and turned a penetrating, blue-eyed gaze on the trembling goblin. “Sarah,” he said, musingly. “Well, well, Crusty. I must admit, the idea has... merit.”

xXx

Votin’ Time!

Please clearly state your vote in a (logged in!!) review (along with any other comments or suggestions, of course). You have until midnight Sunday, January 20th to cast your vote (Mountain Standard Time). As to when I actually update again... Well, who can say? As I said... damned lazy.

Option A - Jareth should go visit Sarah in the Aboveground!

Option B - Jareth should bring Sarah to the Underground!

Option C - Forget Sarah! What Jareth needs is a nice OC to keep him company!

(Yes, I know your options are fairly simple today. They’ll get rather more elaborate as the story goes on, I should think.)