Post by N0tThatGirL213 on May 13, 2004 17:17:34 GMT -5
Author’s Note: This is an idea I got while listening to Wicked on tape for the third time…It’s a kind of “what if” story, starting with the scene in which Dorothy and crew arrive at Kiamo Ko. The scene below (after the quote) is during the scene in which everyone is eating dinner, invited by Nanny. It’s first-person from Elphaba’s perspective.
I’m really not sure I like this, or that I’m going to continue it…In fact, the continuation or discontinuation of this fic will be based entirely on the feedback I get. So if you want more, be sure to let me know. If not…let me know that too.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Wicked, Wizard of Oz, or any of the characters. They are the property of Gregory Maguire and L. Frank Baum. Oh, and any dialogue that sounds familiar…is probably Maguire’s and not mine. There are parts where I’m taking quotes from the book and incorporating them into the fic. Oh, and I stole the title from Idina Menzel’s song…everyone must go listen to it and then buy her amazing cd.
Enjoy!
Michelle
<>
She could give the Lion a history, and think of him as that abused cub in a Shiz science hall. She suspected that Nick Chopper was the victim of her own sister’s spite and magic, casualty of the enchanted axe. But she had no way to place the Scarecrow.
She began to think that behind that painted cornmeal sack of a face, there was a face she would know, a face she had been waiting for.
She lit a candle and said the words aloud, as if she really could do spells. The words blew aside the taper of grayish smoke that rose from the fatty tallow. If they had any other effect in the world than that, she didn't know it yet. "Fiyero didn't die," she said, "He was imprisoned, and he has escaped. He is coming home to Kiamo Ko, he is coming home to me, and he is disguised as a scarecrow because he doesn't yet know what he will find."
It would take brains to think up such a plan.
And though she tried not to sleep, on occasion she could not help it; her dreams brought Fiyero closer and closer to home.
-Wicked, pagse 389-390
<>
“Fae, come with me. Just for a little. I need to talk to you.”
It’s the voice again. I scan the room yet again for some hidden intruder, someone playing a cruel trick, careful not to let the others see my discomfort. Nothing. The girl, all sparkling brown eyes and plaited brunette hair—and that nauseating earnesty. Liir, wide-eyed and stuttering, sitting across from the girl and ogling her shamelessly. And Nanny, gone more eccentric than ever in her old age, prattling on about various unrelated subjects that no one can or wants to follow. But no mysterious speaker.
“Where?” I breathe, so softly that I can barely hear myself. I cough to cover the motion lest anyone else see. Great, I think, just wonderful. Now I’m talking to myself.
“The attic.”
For a moment I’m certain I feel breath on my neck and shiver, unnerved. I push back my chair and am on my feet before my mind can catch up with my body’s desperate actions. The room goes silent and I can feel everyone’s eyes boring into me.
“Wh-where are you going?” stammers Liir finally.
My mind reels as I search for an explanation.
“To—feed Chistery,” I say unconvincingly, then turn my back and leave the dining room before they can pester me any further.
The trip to the attic is relatively short—two hallways and a spiral staircase, but it seems to last an eternity. I reach the top of the staircase and close the trapdoor behind me, then look around once more. Still no uninvited guest. Strange, I think. Somehow I had expected the apparition to appear once I was alone.
“Who are you?” I call out, terrified that there will be no reply besides the obvious fact that my sanity is quickly fleeting. “Where are you then? What are you?”
The trap door bangs behind me and I turn just in time to see it shut again, unaided by a person. My heart feels as though it might burst out of my chest at any moment. I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. I can’t remember the last time I was anything but numb.
“You walk too fast. Give me a little warning next time.”
The voice sounds out of breath, but now that it’s more than a whisper, I recognize the sound. My skin crawls.
“Who are you?” I repeat, “and why are you tormenting me?”
“Tormenting you is the last thing I would try to do.”
I laugh bitterly.
“Then you succeed much with very little effort.”
I jump at the sensation of something brushing my elbow. Something human.
“I need you to promise me something,” says the voice. “I need you to promise that you’ll try to stay calm and you won’t go and get the others until you’ve heard me out.”
I sigh. I know that promising could very well put my life in danger, but I’m well beyond caring and I need to know.
“I promise,” I whisper.
“Close your eyes.”
I obey, my heart pounding unbearably.
“All right,” says the voice.
It takes me a moment to muster the courage to look. I finally manage to open my eyes and feel like I’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning. My knees go weak and my eyes burn with tears.
“Fiyero…” I gasp, still unable to believe it, “No, it can’t—I—“
He holds up a hand for silence.
“It is me, Elphaba. Listen, I can prove it.”
“No.”
“You grew up in Nest Hardings. Your father was a minister there. You attended Crage Hall at Shiz—“
“Not good enough,” I choke, still afraid to believe it.
“You were part of an anarchist cell in the Emerald City. You had a white cat named Malky, we--
“Stop!”
“You sang for us in a pub one day when we were all still at Shiz. Years later you told me how your father used to make you sing to help with his missionary work in Quadling Country. Fae, please believe me. You know I’m the only one who could know.”
I’m going to faint. My head is spinning and black dots are dancing in front of my eyes. I know I have to believe it. I’ll die if I don’t.
I sink to my knees and Fiyero is at my side in an instant, kneeling beside me as though somehow sensing my surrender. He pulls me into a crushing embrace. He’s trembling and his breath is coming in ragged gasps, but I’m sure I’m in no better shape. I run my fingers through his long dark hair, over the blue diamonds on his face. He kisses me desperately, passionately, as though his life depends on it. No, I’m certain that it does. So we sit like that, in the middle of the filthy attic of Kiamo Ko, just holding one another for the first time in fifteen years.
<>
Anyone want more?
I’m really not sure I like this, or that I’m going to continue it…In fact, the continuation or discontinuation of this fic will be based entirely on the feedback I get. So if you want more, be sure to let me know. If not…let me know that too.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Wicked, Wizard of Oz, or any of the characters. They are the property of Gregory Maguire and L. Frank Baum. Oh, and any dialogue that sounds familiar…is probably Maguire’s and not mine. There are parts where I’m taking quotes from the book and incorporating them into the fic. Oh, and I stole the title from Idina Menzel’s song…everyone must go listen to it and then buy her amazing cd.
Enjoy!
Michelle
<>
She could give the Lion a history, and think of him as that abused cub in a Shiz science hall. She suspected that Nick Chopper was the victim of her own sister’s spite and magic, casualty of the enchanted axe. But she had no way to place the Scarecrow.
She began to think that behind that painted cornmeal sack of a face, there was a face she would know, a face she had been waiting for.
She lit a candle and said the words aloud, as if she really could do spells. The words blew aside the taper of grayish smoke that rose from the fatty tallow. If they had any other effect in the world than that, she didn't know it yet. "Fiyero didn't die," she said, "He was imprisoned, and he has escaped. He is coming home to Kiamo Ko, he is coming home to me, and he is disguised as a scarecrow because he doesn't yet know what he will find."
It would take brains to think up such a plan.
And though she tried not to sleep, on occasion she could not help it; her dreams brought Fiyero closer and closer to home.
-Wicked, pagse 389-390
<>
“Fae, come with me. Just for a little. I need to talk to you.”
It’s the voice again. I scan the room yet again for some hidden intruder, someone playing a cruel trick, careful not to let the others see my discomfort. Nothing. The girl, all sparkling brown eyes and plaited brunette hair—and that nauseating earnesty. Liir, wide-eyed and stuttering, sitting across from the girl and ogling her shamelessly. And Nanny, gone more eccentric than ever in her old age, prattling on about various unrelated subjects that no one can or wants to follow. But no mysterious speaker.
“Where?” I breathe, so softly that I can barely hear myself. I cough to cover the motion lest anyone else see. Great, I think, just wonderful. Now I’m talking to myself.
“The attic.”
For a moment I’m certain I feel breath on my neck and shiver, unnerved. I push back my chair and am on my feet before my mind can catch up with my body’s desperate actions. The room goes silent and I can feel everyone’s eyes boring into me.
“Wh-where are you going?” stammers Liir finally.
My mind reels as I search for an explanation.
“To—feed Chistery,” I say unconvincingly, then turn my back and leave the dining room before they can pester me any further.
The trip to the attic is relatively short—two hallways and a spiral staircase, but it seems to last an eternity. I reach the top of the staircase and close the trapdoor behind me, then look around once more. Still no uninvited guest. Strange, I think. Somehow I had expected the apparition to appear once I was alone.
“Who are you?” I call out, terrified that there will be no reply besides the obvious fact that my sanity is quickly fleeting. “Where are you then? What are you?”
The trap door bangs behind me and I turn just in time to see it shut again, unaided by a person. My heart feels as though it might burst out of my chest at any moment. I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. I can’t remember the last time I was anything but numb.
“You walk too fast. Give me a little warning next time.”
The voice sounds out of breath, but now that it’s more than a whisper, I recognize the sound. My skin crawls.
“Who are you?” I repeat, “and why are you tormenting me?”
“Tormenting you is the last thing I would try to do.”
I laugh bitterly.
“Then you succeed much with very little effort.”
I jump at the sensation of something brushing my elbow. Something human.
“I need you to promise me something,” says the voice. “I need you to promise that you’ll try to stay calm and you won’t go and get the others until you’ve heard me out.”
I sigh. I know that promising could very well put my life in danger, but I’m well beyond caring and I need to know.
“I promise,” I whisper.
“Close your eyes.”
I obey, my heart pounding unbearably.
“All right,” says the voice.
It takes me a moment to muster the courage to look. I finally manage to open my eyes and feel like I’ve been struck by a bolt of lightning. My knees go weak and my eyes burn with tears.
“Fiyero…” I gasp, still unable to believe it, “No, it can’t—I—“
He holds up a hand for silence.
“It is me, Elphaba. Listen, I can prove it.”
“No.”
“You grew up in Nest Hardings. Your father was a minister there. You attended Crage Hall at Shiz—“
“Not good enough,” I choke, still afraid to believe it.
“You were part of an anarchist cell in the Emerald City. You had a white cat named Malky, we--
“Stop!”
“You sang for us in a pub one day when we were all still at Shiz. Years later you told me how your father used to make you sing to help with his missionary work in Quadling Country. Fae, please believe me. You know I’m the only one who could know.”
I’m going to faint. My head is spinning and black dots are dancing in front of my eyes. I know I have to believe it. I’ll die if I don’t.
I sink to my knees and Fiyero is at my side in an instant, kneeling beside me as though somehow sensing my surrender. He pulls me into a crushing embrace. He’s trembling and his breath is coming in ragged gasps, but I’m sure I’m in no better shape. I run my fingers through his long dark hair, over the blue diamonds on his face. He kisses me desperately, passionately, as though his life depends on it. No, I’m certain that it does. So we sit like that, in the middle of the filthy attic of Kiamo Ko, just holding one another for the first time in fifteen years.
<>
Anyone want more?
