========
To: Labyrinthians <labyfic@issl.atl.hp.com>
Subject: VISITATION
From: IrishCreme <tatertot@neosoft.com>
Date: Thu, 23 Oct 1997 17:28:08 -0500
--------
Okay, many thanks to Afton for this idea.  After reading One Awesome
Night, this little diddy popped into my mind.  Thought I'd share it with
all my dear Labyrinthian friends.  Enjoy...and don't forget to send your
comments!!!
Beannacht from Tir Nan Og...IrishCreme

IrishCreme's aqua-blue eyes were glued to the monitor.  Not by choice,
mind you, but by trance.  She had just finished reading all 20 messages
she had received from the Labyrinth fan-fic mailing list that day and
replying to those that required it.  Her eyes couldn't move from the
screen because she had become hypnotized.  God, I spend more time at
this computer than I do in bed, she thought painfully, finally able to
pull away from her computer.

IrishCreme stood and stretched her aching muscles, walking in circles
before returning to her computer chair.  She had read so many wonderful
stories just that day, not to mention those archived in Amethyst's site.
She too had submitted material for posting and had received very good
responses to her fiction.  It warmed her Irish faerie heart to know that
the other Labyrinthians enjoyed reading her work and sometimes asked for
more.  She certainly relished every tale she came by but always wondered,
What happens to all this fan fiction?  Is it just archived by the
wonderful, talented and beautiful Lady Amethyst [brownie points**brownie
points**brownie points] (I already think you're wonderful, luv. But this
story certainly earns you extra points - Am) ?  Or does something special
and magical betide this special and magical writing?

IrishCreme sigh heavily, wanting so much more for the manuscripts she
cherished.  "I wish I knew what happened to all the Labyrinth fan fiction."

Suddenly, all the lights in her room went out, except for the light of
her monitor.  The wind outside whipped violently against her bedroom
windows, and tree branches tap-a-tap-tapped on the glass.  The whole
scene was just a bit eerie for IrishCreme, and she sat perfectly still
in her chair, frozen in anticipation.

"I can answer that question for you," said a deep, accented voice from
behind her.

No, no, no, IrishCreme thought, shaking her head in disbelief.  I am
imagining all this.  Too much time on the computer. Yes, I am imagining
this, and when I turn around, Jareth will not be sitting on my bed.  She
slowly swung her swivel chair around, the creaking of the joints adding
more creepiness to the situation.  Her bright eyes opened widely when
she perceived the Goblin King reclining on her medievally canopied bed.

"Don't seem so surprised, IrishCreme," he stated playfully, that
ever-present sexy grin playing upon his handsome face.  "You always knew
deep down inside that I really existed."  He pushed himself off her bed
and pulled a chair beside IrishCreme, turning her to face the computer.

The screen showed Netscape Mail, no messages had appeared since she had
checked before the "visitation."  Her breathing was returning to normal
and her heartbeat was slowing, but her hormones, on the other hand, were
running rampant.  "Why are you here?"

"To answer your question, of course," Jareth answered, touching her
perky nose with an index finger.  "What happens to the Labyrinth fan
fiction?  Well, my dearest IrishCreme, it lives on in the Underground."

"What?" Her expression reflected her confusion.

"You see, darling, every time an idea pops into a Labyrinthian's head
and he or she begins a story, that story comes to life in my world.
Every character comes alive, every action is carried out and every word
is spoken, just as it happens in print."

"But so many tales are going on at the same time, most of them involving
you.  How can you do them all at once?"

Jareth laughed heartily.  "It's not easy to explain. Things don't work
the same Underground as they do here.  Just suffice it to say that every
work from a Labyrinthian's mind is taken care of."

Questions were still racing through her cluttered brain.  "But what about
the stories involving list members?  Do they go Underground as well?"

"Why don't you ask Afton, Amethyst, spOOky or any of the others.  They
can tell you of their experiences."

IrishCreme was dumbfounded.  She stared in Jareth's direction but not at
him.  He waved his hand before her glazed eyes, snapping his fingers
occasionally.  She blinked her lids rapidly, as if blinded by a bright
light, and gradually regained her composure, as well as her feisty
attitude.  "So, which story do you like best?"

"Ah, so there's the question." Jareth put his chin in the palm of his
hand and drummed his fingers against his cheek.  "Which one do I like
best... hmmmm... that's tough one.  I'd have to say... all of them!"

"Oh, Jareth, that's not fair!" IrishCreme exclaimed, instantly regretting
spurting out the taboo line.  "Oops!  That's not what I meant.  I really
meant... "

"Oh, don't worry, my little faerie.  I'm not going to summon the cleaners
or anything of that nature," he reassured, his tone mischievous yet
sincere.  He caressed her smooth cheek.  "I would never do anything to harm
my faithful ones."

IrishCreme was undaunted by Jareth's charm.  "You need to answer my
question more concisely, your majesty, so I will rephrase: I realize
that your like all the Labyrinth fan fiction that has been created, but
which stories stick out in your mind as being especially... memorable?"

The Goblin King leaned back in the chair and contemplated IrishCreme and
her question.  "Well, Afton and her friends really drove me up the wall
with their antics.  I think the Fireys are still angry.  spOOky's Poe is
quite a character.  I really like him, even though he tries too hard to be
like me sometimes.  Amethyst introduced me to some of the most interesting
people in her saga.  That was quite a ride.  I'm still deciding whether or
not I like Dreamspinner's idea of pairing me with a cat.  It's funny, but
that cat sheds like crazy.  There are many others that touch my heart, but
of course, I can't leave out Celeste, now can I?  I imagine Celeste as
being an extension of you, my lovely IrishCreme.  Could I be correct?"

IrishCreme smiled coyly at Jareth.  "I'm not saying.  My creations are
not subject to discussion with you."

"Oh, but dearest, I do so love discussing things with you."  Jareth
wrapped a strand of IrishCreme's flaming red hair around his finger.

She gently slapped his hand away. "Puh-lease!  What do you want from me
that you're being so sweet and bewitching?"

Jareth grinned devilishly (what other way can he grin?) and answered, "I
would like to know when you are going to scribe yourself into one of your
captivating tales?  I anxiously await your arrival in the Underground."

IrishCreme smiled provocatively and clicked out of Netscape Mail and
into a new Microsoft Word document.  "Well, I don't know, Jareth.  I
guess you'll just have to wait and see!"

THE END

======================
26th Oct 1997
Amethyst writes:
----------------
It's been a while since I wrote anything, but I liked IrishCreme's little
tale so much...

    It was early evening deep in the middle of nowhere in England. Well,
maybe not the middle of nowhere but it certainly wasn't Glasgow. Amethyst
couldn't figure out whether she was too warm or too cold. Her fingers on
the keyboard were icy but her body was warm in the heavy padded shirt she
bought a few years back on Arran. The floor was cold thanks to the shoddy
carpet that had come with her new, rented, home.

    It was getting pretty dark now and she paused in her archiving to
light a swathe of candles across the room and switch off the cold main
light. She just wished the house had a few doors here and there instead of
the front door coming straight into the living room and the stairs straight
out of it. It was as cosy as she could manage. She needed some furniture.
She smiled at her complaining, if she got off her backside and bought some
furniture she would have some.

    She leant back on her cushion (the seat cushion from her one armchair
removed and placed on the floor in front of her computer, which sat on
boxes full of unpacked books and magazines) and stretched some of the kinks
out of her back.

    'I wish,' she thought, unprovoked. Then smiling she whispered, "I
wish" in almost a purr, playing with the words. She moved to go back to
editing "Stardust in the Labyrinth".

    "Wish what?" he asked.

    She paused, not turning around. "You're here... I thought you wouldn't
come back until I got over my writer's block."

    "You remember then."

    "Now I do, now you're here." Her voice broke slightly. "Until a moment
ago I thought it was only a story."

    He moved across the room from the shadows near the door, dressed in a
loose white shirt and grey tights, and knelt down beside her as she leant
her head against his shoulder.

    "I still can't believe that it all just disappears when the story
ends. Only you remain, only you remember... " she looked up into his eyes
and whispered, "our son."

    "He exists, he is real," Jareth insisted.

    "He is dead!" she spat bitterly. "I created him and then I killed him.
When my story came to a halt so did he. Dead and buried in my computer!"

    "I should not have come here. But when IrishCreme reminded me of all
the stories past..."

    "All the stories," she repeated quietly. She turned fully away from
the computer and rested in his arms, staring past his shoulder at the
flickering light of the round candle on top of the television. "A whole new
definition of a girl in every port."

    "You knew what I was when you started your tale, I am owned by those
who believe in me. I have no power over them." He smiled wryly at the term.

    "I knew..." she turned back to look into his eyes, one hand going to
touch his cheek. "But I didn't understand. I still don't."

    "What am I?" he said. "Is there a me or do I change with every tale.
Is there anything that is not a story, is there a me without a you... or
without them." His face was troubled. "I don't know."

    "You remember the events as stories once they are told, but while you
are within them they are real. Is this a story that I am writing, or
perhaps the event happens and then the story is written. The author doesn't
remember the event itself." She paused in her musings. "How cruel."

    "But that doesn't make sense," he argued. "Stories don't end with
everything back the way it was. Our story never ended at all."

    "So the story comes first, and you are truly at our mercy and we will
never know if you are real."

    "You are just depressing yourself... and me for that matter. Stop it."

    She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Sorry, I've made depression into
something of a fine art."

    "And you are very talented at it, but I think that will be quite
enough for tonight."

    "Yes." She smiled and straightened up. "I have missed you, it's been
too long. Far too long since I wrote anything myself and that one story
by... Persephone was it?... when I was kidnapped by you was never
finished."

    "You can't rely on other people's stories," he grinned.

    "Just tell me that you're real and you love me and I'll believe you."

    "I am real and I do love you."

    "I believe you," she whispered.

    She rose up higher on her knees as she ran her hands under his arms
and up his shoulders. He took off her glasses but her vision remained
clear, she smiled at that. She had forgotten. He ran his hand through her
hair and grasped it tight at the nape of her neck as he drew her forward to
his lips.

    She started in front of the computer. Unfamiliar words glowed in her
face and her stomach rumbled as she remembered she hadn't had dinner yet.
In the corner one of the candle's in her stand was guttering and needed
replaced.

    She fixed it and went back to the screen, memory returning. Of course,
it was the story she had been writing. To follow IrishCreme's visitation.
Shaking her head in mild bemusement she saved it and then copied it to
paste into an e-mail to send to the list.

----------------------
Dreamspinner wrote:

    Dreamspinner sat at her computer and pondered IrishCreme's message.
"Well- it is entirely possible." she said to herself.
    "Of course it is, you of all people should know that." came a gentle,
but chiding voice from behind her.
    Dreamspinner spun around and ended up nose-to-nose with the infamous
goblin king. "Oh, my!" she nearly jumped out of the seat, "What on earth
are you doing here- you should be safely behind the labyrinth walls!" she
said, reaching for something to defend herself with.
    "But I thought we were friends, hmmm?" he all but purred.
    "Okay. Fine. But if you are here, that means Gwydion could be here
too, and my present husband would not like seeing a duplicate of himself...
One of him is enough, thank you." she said primly.
    Jareth threw his head back and laughed heartily at that. After he
stopped laughing he said, "Oh, thank you for getting rid of the cat- I do
realize it was not your intention to have anyone think that I tried to mate
with it- I don't know why they'd think that..." he trailed off quite
indignant, then turned to look in her large blue-green eyes, "I hope you
will keep your dreams alive, they are very important. But you know that. I
do enjoy our talks in your cottage."
    "So glad you approve," Dreamspinner spat out the sarcastic retort.
    "I see we are a bit miffed?" he said as an ironic smile twisted his
mouth.
    "Wouldn't you be? You're not supposed to do things like this! I didn't
make a wish. I wouldn't." her ire was raised, and she pouted at him. She
turned around and sulked for a bit, then turned back and looked him in
the eye, "What game are you playing now, Jareth?" she asked him softly.
    He gently turned her back around so she was facing her computer
monitor. "Don't worry so much little one. It was not my intention to upset
you." he said softly, looking at her in apology, "and no- you don't need a
valium. I'm really here." he said as he noticed her looking at the bathroom
door, "you create worlds for others, but can't traverse them yourself? Come
now- what kind of thinking is that." he tutted at her.
    "Jareth, I don't think I need to tell you what's going on here. I
can't fly anymore. My wings are gone- broken."
    "So you paint wings for others to soar with. I see..." he arched an
eyebrow.
    "Please don't do this to me."
    "Why don't you do as you dream?"
    "Don't quote the Neverending story!" she glared at him. It seemed that
they were at an impasse.
    He knelt down beside her and glanced at her worriedly. "You're not
going to write about me anymore?"
    "I like Gwydion much better." she said flatly.
    "I'm sure you do. You were there when you wrote that, didn't you
guess? You even heard the music. Don't run away from dreamtime, or from me,
for that matter. I find it most fitting that you chose the Lord of the Hunt
for your husband." he wasn't sarcastic- he was serious. Dreamspinner was
quite taken aback. So she did what she always did when he came for a
visit- asked him if he wanted a glass of mead. He accepted and they
talked abit, till he announced that there were others on his list for
visitations that night.
    "Go on- get!" she said as she made to shoo him out of the house. He
smiled at her, and opened his arms to receive a hug. Dreamspinner hugged
him fiercely, her tears burning his chest. He wiped a few of her tears
away, stepped back and looked at her sadly, holding her by the sholders.
    "I would change it if I could," he said softly.
    "I know," she said. He gently kissed her cheek  ...and with that, he
was gone.

========
To: Labyrinthians <labyfic@issl.atl.hp.com>
Subject: QUIT BUGGING ME, JARETH, OR I'LL NEVER GO UNDERGROUND
From: IrishCreme <tatertot@neosoft.com>
Date: Sat, 25 Oct 1997 09:35:07 -0500
--------
I turned off my computer and crawled into my soft, comfortable bed.  As
sleep descended upon me, I yawned, mumbling something about buying fish
the next day for my daughter.  Before my eyes could close, Jareth
appeared, sitting at the foor of my bed.

"You rang, IrishCreme?"

His silky voice startled me.  "What are you doing here?  I didn't call
you."

"Yes, you did.  You said 'I wish,'" Jareth returned, smiling coyly.

"I said, 'Buy fish,' you idiot, not 'I wish!'"  I slipped out of bed and
stood before the overly handsome and overly annoying Goblin King.  "I
call on you once, and now you jump at any chance to come here.  You'd
think there was nothing for you to do Underground.  Next time, listen
more carefully before popping into me bedroom."

Jareth was quite astounded by IrishCreme's verbal attack.  "I'm very
sorry for disturbing you, dear.  It certainly won't happen again...
unwarranted, that is.  But since I'm here...when are you coming
Underground?"

"ARRGGHH!!" she exclaimed, stomping her feet like a spoiled child.  "Stop
asking me that!"  IrishCreme saw the pitiful look on Jareth's face and
regretted yelling at him.  "Look, I e-mailed Afton about writing me into
One Awesome Night--"

"Oh, I like that one," Jareth interrupted.

"Ahem," IrishCreme coughed irritably.  "As I was saying...I sent her my
bio so that she could put me in the story, so you'll have to talk to her
about it.  But if you don't stop bugging me, I'll tell her to leave me
out and I'll never go Underground."

"Alright, alright." Jareth upheld his hands in surrender.  "I'll only
come when invited from now on...I promise."

"Alright, then.  Thank you very much."  Jareth got up to leave.  "Well,
wait a minute, Jareth.  Since you're already here..."

"Yes?" he raised an eyebrow.

IrishCreme smiled kittenishly.  "I'm working on something else and I'd
like your opinion."  She went to her computer and started booting up.
"Do you mind?"

"Certainly not," he answered, taking a seat next to IrishCreme.  "Let's
take a look..."