Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Labyrinth Imagine-Jareth

We're always little late getting news--I found my mother crying, listening to The Man who Sold the World. Upon hearing the news, I joined her for a bit. Rest in peace, Mr. Bowie.

In honor of a talented musician and, as it were, an actor, here's a labyrinth imagine for everyone to enjoy.

Labyrinth Imagine

Note: Dedicated to David Bowie, pictured above (or to the side). Little shoutout here to anyone who read 'Return to the Labyrinth'--if you liked it you shouldn't read this. I'm killing the story, dancing on its bones, and then torching it.

Warnings:

Labyrinth Imagine--AU

Y/n sighed and glared up at the building. "Simpletons." She heard a light snicker and whirled around. "Hello?" When no answer came, she just sighed in agitation. "Well, it's good to know that someone finds me amusing." She adjusted her grip on her messenger bag and set off, slight heels thudding on the pavement. Her steady pace denoted purpose and confidence, she walked evenly with her shoulders back. This was not the walk of a woman who had just been fired, though she faced ahead stoically. It was late, streets lit by near dead lamps, and the asphalt had a mucky wetness to it. Where she lived, when it wasn't raining it was still wet. It wasn't as though she minded, sitting inside was made less infuriating by the sound of pattering rain. She had been a vice president, and when she organized a sale to save the company, she was fired. They told her that they would recover on their own, without her.

Trouble was, they wouldn't. She knew very well that they would be broke before the end of the fiscal year. That wouldn't stop them, oh no. She should have been running the company, and she knew it too. She was incredibly smart, and very keen on how things should be run. Young, too, barely twenty-three and killing it exceptionally. She quickly veered off the path to her apartment, and easily found her way to a seedy bar.

"What can I get ya, sweetheart?" She slid onto a stool and glanced up at the man behind the counter. "I'll have a whiskey. Neat." He raised a brow and made her drink before passing it to her.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this? Nice clothes, pretty face. You're asking for trouble."
"You see barkeep, a girl like me is the reason boys come to a place like this. And that's an interesting sentiment." Already he was done with her. He turned to another intoxicated barfly, leaving her to cautiously sip on her drink. There were about six people in the bar, her making seven, and they were all loud drunks. Even if she did get hammered, which was unlikely, she was a brooding drunk. She'd hunch over a bit as her face flushed, and she'd keep ordering neat, but she'd be more likely to sing the blues than to go home with a man.

She was sitting at the very last stool in a line of about fifteen, and at the opposite end a couple fell over one another. The bartender was busying himself by adding complex drinks to their tab, expensive and time consuming drinks. She almost had sympathy for the fat, lonely, older gentleman, but she quickly shook that off. She wouldn't waste her pity on others, as she had a tendency to do. She heard the slight chime of bells, as did the bartender, as he glanced up. "Welcome to..." His trailing off had her ready to look at the new patron, but she was spared the effort when he sat on the chair right next to her. "Give me your finest spirit." She glanced over at the man and nearly laughed.

He was dressed exceptionally finely, but in a foreign way. His clothes were obviously nice, but they were so inconceivable at the same time.

"Get him a top-shelf brandy on the rocks. He seems to have a predilection for nice things. And put it on my tab. Oh, and another neat for me." Her empty glass implied slightly lowered inhibitions, and a bit of amusement played in the corner of her eye. He was staring at her blatantly, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.