In an effort to prevent death of my Verdigris-ians... (if that isn't a word, I proclaim it one now
) Part Seven in it's entirity.
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Soothing water gushed over her verdant arms and continued on down her bare back in multiple rivulets. Elphaba hadn’t been allowed the courtesy of a shower in so long that she
herself had almost begun to believe that water would melt her.
The lies people will believe. Elphaba shook her head to both express her disgust and to knock the water out of her ears. Grabbing for a nearly threadbare white towel, she wrapped it around herself and climbed out of the shower stall--
-- directly on to the cold stone floor. Thoroughly shocked by the sudden temperature change, Elphaba jumped and dropped the towel in alarm. “You couldn’t have furnished the castle with bathmats, could you Yero?” She spoke to the empty room, allowing herself for a moment to imagine he was actually there with her. He would probably do something mock-pompus like protest her criticism of his family’s prized castle.
“You’re lucky to have a shower at all.” Imaginary Fiyero chided her.Elphaba rolled her eyes as she bent down to reclaim her terrycloth cover. “But of course.”
He laughed as he perched on the edge of the tub. “Can you imagine what people would say if they saw you here? Soaked and soapy?”“They’d probably pass out from the shock. Or claim I had magiced them in to some strange hallucination.” She started to re-wrap her body slowly.
“Don’t.” Fiyero took her by the shoulder. “Don’t cover it up.”Elphaba started to tug at the towel in protest, but found her hands freeze where they were and drop the towel to the ground. She walked to the mirror, imagining his reflection behind her in the glass…
“What’s so special about me?” Elphaba stared at her naked, radiantly green torso in revusion.
“Everything.”“Stop… stop that. I want to—“
“Go on hating yourself?”She stood in silence.
“Remember who you are. Who you really are. Don’t let them turn you in to a twisted, evil thing. No matter what they say, that’s not you. This is you. A powerful, strong woman. When you start to doubt yourself, you give them control over you…” He blew gently on her shoulder, raising goosebumps across her back.Shivering, Elphaba shook off the hallucination and seized the terrycloth folds with both hands. She tucked the towel securely around her and began drying off. Was it a sign of madness when a woman started acting out conversations with her dead lover? She touched her exposed shoulders and was surprised to find the imagined gooseflesh was real. “What in Oz--?”
Turning around slowly, she caught sight of her wide open bathroom window with her dress hung before it like a curtain…
It was just the breeze. She reassured herself. She wasn’t crazy…. Yet.
* * * * * *
Fiyero entered the palace at a dead run. He had to get to Dorothy before the Tin Man came back. If he could convince the little girl to leave with him this instant, he would have time to explain the situation to her and take her with him to Kiamo Ko. It would be hard to soften Dorothy to Elphaba, (and vice versa) after all that had happened, but he had to try.
. . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . .
Dorothy looked up and a fresh wave of tears broke over her cheeks. “Miss Glinda the Good! It’s you.”
Glinda brushed herself off and concentrated on not being completely grossed out by the drippy-nosed, snotty little girl before her. She had a certain public image now, (whether or not she really wanted it) and turning up her nose at little girls in trouble wasn’t a part of it. “Unfortunately...” she muttered before remembering herself. “I-I mean…” she plastered on her public ‘happy face’, “My goodness, dear. Whatever is the problemotion?”
But the girl was too hysterical to make any sense. Her words ran together in teary, choked sobs until Glinda could barely resist the urge to clamp her hand down over Dorothy’s squalling mouth. With a sigh, Glinda scooped the emerald-nightied child up in to her arms and carried her down the hall to the private suite specially designed for one “Glinda the Good.”
But don’t
drip on me, kid. I just had this thing dry cleaned last night. . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . . ~^~ . . .
Fiyero came around the corner slower than he wanted to, having been forced to reduce his pace to a jog with so many palace guards buzzing around. They couldn’t suspect anything was up, or his life would become infinitely more complicated.
The sound of a door closing down the side hall he had just passed suddenly caught his attention. He wasn’t certain why, but he felt an irristable impulse to stop, turn around and return to it. He just
knew he had to see whatever was behind that door.
Nervously, he approached and was about to knock when he noticed something engraved on a nameplate to the left of the slightly ajar door:
Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.
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Dorothy brightened a little as she took in the room around her. She could only describe it as a land of pastel; a vision in various shades of pink. The walls were covered with alternating stripes of rose-pink and creamy white, the pillows on every furnishing were a similar shade of pink and, well... just about everything in the room seemed designed to comfort and cushion. On one wall there was a massive rack of shoes in just about every color and style one could imagine.
So much wealth, and yet not a single pair could match up to what she wore on her feet. Not for the first time she felt the weight of her enormous responsibility- these shoes had to be very special if even Miss Glinda did not own something like them.
Shaking her head, she pulled her attention to the other wall on which hung a beautiful portait of Glinda. It was probably painted by some ardent munchkin artist admirer, she reasoned. Dorothy smiled at the obvious talent the painter displayed- but quickly stopped as she noted a smaller picture tucked in to the corner of the frame. It was a pocket-sized photo of Miss Glinda… but my how young she was! And she was with another girl… a girl with heavy-framed glasses in a simple blue jumper… heavy brown combat boots… and with… with green skin?!
Before Dorothy could ask exactly what this meant, Glinda noticed what her young visitor was staring at and hurriedly scooped the girl back up in to her arms. Anxiously glancing back at the painting, she walked them both through the room and out in to a small, canopied courtyard. The sound of light rain pattering on the canvas cover provided accompaniment as she carried the child over to a glass-topped table with matching ivory chairs.
“Now, Dorothy we’ll have none of that,” Glinda sat the girl down on top of the table and absently pulled a handkerchief from its hiding place in her cleavage. “And blow your nose, for the love of Lurline.”
Dorothy’s eyes went big as she accepted the lace-bordered kerchief. What a place for a handkerchief! Everyone she knew used their pockets… but however strange, it was what was most convenient for Miss Glinda, Dorothy supposed.
“Uhm…” Glinda blushed a bit in spite of herself. The handkerchief thing was an old habit- one she had polished to perfection for the benefit of the overly eager male students of Shiz- but she realized too late that it probably wasn’t such a great thing to demonstrate to a twelve year old. She cleared her throat, “Now I’ll ask you again: What could have happened to make you so upset?”
With a fairly loud honk, Dorothy set about the task of wiping her nose. “H-have you seen my friends?” She asked in a small voice after a long silence.
So
that was all? All this fuss over a misplaced tin can, straw heap and twitchy feline? Glinda shook her head in disgust, but quickly changed it to what she hoped looked like an appologetic ‘no’. “Unfortunately, I—“
“There you are!”
Glinda yelped in surprise and turned to see a familiar individual standing right in the middle of her sitting room.
please? heh
