When Jareth finally paraded down the corridor into his throne room, Zakiyah was already there, dressed in the usual wildly clashing vestments of a gypsy that, in Jareth's opinion, did absolutely nothing for her. He smiled slightly. Of all people, the young mortal was the only one he felt any kinship with, and this itself was a feat. He remembered her arrival, and his delight when she was blatantly rude and defiant. So few people had the nerve to stand up to him, and the mortal had, without any qualms. He had admired her for this, yet his stubborness would never allow him to tell her. He grinned a bit more as she attempted to explain something about hoop earrings to the gawking goblins surrounding her. She was amusing, but more, someone who understood him. As much as that prospect frightened him, it was in some ways comforting. Jareth placed on his best 'everything is in order' front and strode into her view.
"Discussing fashion with the goblins again?" He quipped, smiling sweetly. Zak made a face at him and looked in exasperation at the still confused goblins.
"They dress a heck of a lot better than their leader." She mimcked his smile and he had to struggle not to let a chuckle free of his lips.
"Mortal tastes..." he sighed and draped himself over the throne, swinging his legs over one armrest, and leaning his head against the other. "What mischief are you up to today, my dear gypsy?" She gave a slight shrug and cast a reproachful glance to where the goblins had been. They had all vanished hastily at Jareth's entrance. All the better, Jareth thought.
"Nothing so far. It's boring today." Zak faked a yawn to accentuate her boredom and tilted her head to one side looking at him with a suddenly quizzical expression. "Hey, who's the oddball fella who showed up last night anyway? Some buddy of yours, J?" Zakiyah had long ago decided Jareth to be too cumbersome of a name, and therefore chosen 'J' as his tag. The nickname had become so much of a habit Jareth hardly noticed anymore. His grin vanished and a frown of agitation appeared in its place.
"It's a long story." He said simply, sercretly wishing for her curiousity to kick in and allow him to spill the tale to someone. He was in luck. Zak plopped down beside the throne and looked up at him in particularly child-like hopefulness.
"J, you know I ain't going anywhere. Besides, I'm kinda curious. Don't think I've ever seen you look half as worried. Yer grin don't fool me remember? Ye look like a wet week." Jareth smiled wanly at her colloquial wording.
"Zakiyah..."He began and tapped a talon tip to his cheek in thought before continuing. "How old am I?" Zak lifted a single eyebrow.
"Over the hill and half way down the other side?" She grinned. Goddess, that grin was irritating! Little did he realize, it was the expression he donned the majority of the time. Jareth pursed his lips and looked at her disapprovingly.
"Oh, a court jester are we?" He quickly began another sentence to avoid having to hear her smart answer and loose track of the conversation. "I am 5125." Zak looked smug. He hastily added, "yet I am far from old for one of my race."
"Right. You're a regular spring chicken, J."
"Ha ha," he muttered drily. "As I was about to say before I was so rudely cut off..." You've tossed people into the bog for less than what she just said, Jareth, he reminded himself. You're getting soft. Quickly, he shrugged off the notion and cleared his throat. "That 'oddball' as you put it, is someone I never intended to see or think about again." She nodded, then suddenly snapped her fingers and pointed one and him. Zak looked quite pleased with herself.
"He's yer father ain't he?"
He sifted through the drawled words and sighed. "Well obviously. I thought you would have figured it out already.
Perhaps I overestimated you..." He grinned provokingly, only to receive the exact response he calculated. Zak scowled.
"Overestimated and nothing! I knew he was yer father from the minute I laid eyes on 'im! He's got yer cheekbones J." Even the remote association she made was enough to cause a withering sensation even to the marrow of his bones.
"I'm far from interested in petty physical similarities." He lied, though the comparison made him livid. To think that, thing who called himself his father looked even remotely like him was gruesome. Zak made a keep going motion with her hand and sighed.
"Bits and pieces J, I need more than that."
"His name is Lukas. He was...is my father. But," Jareth began to stumble verbally, an occurance that was totally foreign to him. "He was killed, or he died rather. Long ago, when I was very young. I believe I was sixteen or so at the time." He spoke casually, adding 'or so' at the end of his statement as a result. "At any rate, he's changed somehow." Jareth knew he was jumping to conclusions, making statements like that which sounded like a written and stamped fact, but he was beyond caring.
"How come I smell dramatics unfolding?" he ignored her.
"Something is wrong with him. For one, he's alive. Lukas was dead, very dead, and now he's roaming my castle."
"Whoa whoa whoa there..." she raised a hand. " He's yer father, he's alive. Don't that make it his castle?" There it is Jareth, the cold hard truth staring you in the face again. It is his kingdom, by law. He's alive, and you'll be forced to step down.
"Like hell it is. He can take his bloody kingdom over my dead body." Jareth's eyes had immediately gone a burnished copper colour. "click, click, click" the repetative clacking of his long, silver-tipped talons echoed through the throne room as he drummed them on the armrest of the throne. Zak took a deep breath. He wasn't telling her something. A piece of important information too. Why else would he be this edgy? From her vantage point, Jareth looked about ready to jump at the throat of the nearest person, and he'd done it before too. Zak inched back from the throne a little.
"And I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say that the two 'a ye don't get along." A touchy subject indeed. This gave him the opportunity to tell her about the year of Lukas's rule. Jareth could show her the scars receieved as a result of his father, or he could say nothing.
"No we don't." His tone was flat and deflated.
"Well then, I guess yer in a bit of a pickle then ain't ye?" Zak glanced at the dagger handed clock hung slightly to the side of his throne and hopped to her feet. "Oops. Gotta run. Promised Tytrophin I'd help him out. See ye around J. Don't sweat it eh?" She smiled again and fairly skipped out of the room. An easy feat for someone who hasn't a care in the world, he thought in envy. Well, going for a ride might do him some good. With that in mind Jareth swung his legs from the armrest, and brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his midnight blue vest and strode out.