Chapter Text
As soon as the remnants of the Charmed Circle had departed for the last hour of their afternoon classes, Galinda had set herself into planning mode. Eyes bright and mind sparkling, she had been journaling every spare moment that evening, the fountain pen scratching incessantly during supper (much to the vexation of Crope and Tibbett), sketching shapes of dresses, conspiring concepts of colours (contrasting and complimenting), and flowers and their significance as well as their accompanying fragrances. Sitting with the journal resting atop her bent knee, Galinda could only work so much under lamplight that evening until Elphaba insisted she shut the lights off for the night. She threw the duvet over her form with little argument, immediately cloaked in warm dark. She briefly considered prompting some envious feelings to spill forth on the off chance that it could produce an arcane spark, just so she could continue to doodle in the dark, but she had a semblance of common sense to not risk an aneurysm and potentially a house fire for a speck of subtle light.
The next morning the anxious excitement continued, which led to a rare occurrence of both roommates rising and preparing for their day at the same time.
To any sane functioning person, it would be considered an impossibility to expect roommates to avoid each other forever.
But by Oz, the two girls had tried.
The weight of the tension in the room was suffocating as they attended their morning routine. They were familiar with the space enough to navigate the room without lifting their eyes up past navel level. An outsider looking into the bizarre scene could assume that this odd behavior could only be explained if the girls had suddenly become pious nuns that abhorred eye contact.
For looking each other in the eye would reveal at least two unspoken yet understood truths:
One; Elphaba's presence was requested by the sovereign of the land; The Wonderful Wizard himself. Meaning that whatever was promised to her would potentially, very likely, take her away from Shiz. And, by extension, Galinda.
And two, most importantly; Galinda and Elphaba almost kissed.
If both girls didn't acknowledge it, it would fade away like a whisper on the fleeting wind.
But that plan was promptly scrapped once Galinda, in need of her facial cream, passed Elphaba into the bathroom and, gaze averted, her knee made sharp contact with the side table.
Who could have forseen this? Not Galinda–quite literally.
The shrill that expels from her is enough to shake the foundations and wake the majority of Crage Hall up from their weekend slumber.
Galinda whines as she crumples to the floor to cradle her struck knee, her pink night dress making her form resemble a sad melted strawberry ice cream; valid reasons to be dramatic.
Elphaba, for her part, briefly forgot the awkward pretense and instinctively falls beside her roommate, a flash of concern in her sap greens. “Oz–Galinda! That didn't sound pleasant. Are you alright?”
Galinda kept her eyes shut. Mostly from embarrassment from the sound that left her mouth rather than the pain that throbbed at her knee.
“M-m’fine!” she insists with a squeak, blinking away the tears that wet her eyes. She throws a glare and a huff at the offender, giving it an accusatory prod with her finger. “Who put that there?!”
“You did, Galinda,” Elphaba deadpans, lips pulling in to swallow her amused smirk. She taps a lacquered nail against the nacre inlaid into the pastel pink suitcase. “It has your family crest right there; quite literally has your name written on it.”
Galinda pauses, stilling her chin wobble, staring at the ‘G’ that was her namesake. She scoffs, crossing her arms with an impressive pout, wincing as she sits up on the floor. “Well, I don't recall doing such a silly thing. I bruise like a peach, as you well know!”
A bubble of laughter cannot help but escape Elphaba's lips, rolling her eyes at the Gilikins' antics. “I missed your dramatics.”
Galinda's squabbling explanation falters through her lips as she sees the slow coy grin spread across Elphaba's face.
“I have missed–,” Galinda stutters, close enough to see the freckles of gold in her eyes, the light that catches them. “I…have missed you, ” she finds herself saying, her voice too earnest–achingly so.
At that, Elphaba blinks rapidly, the words striking her chest. It's suddenly a bit too much, and she breaks the charged gaze to stare at a fray in her nightgown, fingers picking at the loose thread at the hem.
By Lurline, she feels like a child. Incapable of saying what she desperately wants to.
Galinda clears her throat, chasing away the awkwardness before it suffocates. She inspects the dent in the soft skin of her knee. A swipe of angry pink between the joint. Just as well winter called for woolen tights, most of her skirts barely went past knee length so it would be impractical to hide such a blemish.
Still, she attempts to lighten the mood, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a ‘hrmph!’-- the surefire way to get her into Galinda-mode.
“I suppose I can forgive you for this transgression…” she exclaims with a pout.
Elphaba exhales a small laugh from her nose, not immune to the Galinda Upland Charm.
“But I admit, it's what I get for not–for not…paying attention…”
The morning gleam of sun peaked through the balcony door, the perfectly pristine glass causing the chromatic beam to radiate across the dorm floor with fractions of rainbow.
Clean. Pristine. Unbroken. Fractureless.
The glass had been replaced.
Galinda gasps.
“Elphaba, what happened to the door?”
Elphaba frowns and looks over her shoulder to follow her gaze. “I made a request to Miss Coddle, they sent some handymen to finally fix it the other evening–I'm surprised you hadn't noticed, especially with winter creeping in–”
“You didn't talk to me first?”
Now Elphaba was perplexed, eyes squinting incredulously as she rose back to her lanky height. “I don't see why I'd need to? The glass was broken and needed to be replaced,” she stated, as if the reasons were as crystal clear as the new pane. Besides, talking hasn't been our strength as of late.”
Galinda winced, rising to her feet. That wasn't entirely wrong, the awkwardness between them was palpable. And yet it felt like such a betrayal, in an odd way.
“But–but you broke that…” she mumbles.
Elphaba's response is dry, as if speaking to an uninformed child. “In a moment of weakness, yes. It's no good a door if it doesn't permit the weather, is it?”
“You don't–” Galinda closed her eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing the panic trembling from her gut. “Elphaba, this is our shared space. We're supposed to talk to each other in regards to matters of the shared space.”
“Well, when things are broken, we fix them–”
“I know!” she shocks Elphaba and herself with her shout. “But–but I was suddenly used to the broken glass. I even grew to like it; flaws and all.”
Galinda had caused the glass of a bathroom mirror to crack and shatter not even a month prior, and no doubt it would have been replaced by now. Why should this be any different?
Because it just was.
And why did it feel as though they weren't talking about the glass anymore?
Because they weren't.
“I'm not used to change, Elphaba…” she mutters, her voice small and vulnerable.
And by the long pause and the way she drew in a shaky breath, the green girl knew it too.
“It's just a door, Galinda…” She says in a way that maybe she convinced herself that she believes it. And she passes by Galinda, averting her gaze from those those desperate cocoa browns–and the protruding pink suitcase–and enters the bathroom.
As the bathroom door clicked shut, the quiet in the lonely dorm was deafening. Galinda found herself walking toward the pristine door before she even realized why. The flawless pane was free from imperfections, almost too bright with how the sun beam pierced through it cleanly. No pesky breeze slithering through to nip at her skin in the late night, no stray gnats buzzing through uninvited, no scent of the marigolds from the balcony garden bed greeting her with the morning sun.
She hated it.
Directly beside it on the green girl's side of the dormitory her eye catches another gleam of glass. Resting in a crystal pitcher of water atop Elphaba's desk was a handsome strawflower, waxy cat claw like petals of blood orange and maroon, gathered in a tight coil that stood skyward.
A gift from the Vinkun prince, undoubtedly.
She took it back with a bitter scoff; It wasn't handsome actually, it was an eyesore. Terrible colours that didn't compliment each other at all.
And, directly behind it, the purple and yellow colours of a rogue violet that once stowed itself away in Galinda's hair a week prior.
She swore then she could taste the pollen from that day, still lingering in between her teeth. The very memory made her jaw ache. Elphaba said the scent was peppery and sweet, and it reminded her of Galinda. The soft reverence that carried in her voice when she pressed it to her nose makes her face flush now just recalling it.
She half expected to see the pseudo-gift discarded the evening after Dillamond's arrest.
But she had to admit, to see hers and Fiyero’s flower sharing the same vessel of water, it did bring her wonder. The pitcher had space for two, perhaps a bit overencumbered, but still space plenty.
She felt awfully greedy all of a sudden. She didn't know if she wanted to share. Was that terrible of her?
It was just a flower.
And she and Elphaba almost kissed.
And Elphaba was leaving.
With a sharp breath, she picks up the journal from the floor and that anxious excitement possesses her, and she's dressed and out the door before Elphaba can realize that she's gone.
The boutique they had visited after school hours was surprisingly quiet. It might have been possibly due to the time of day, but it was more likely due to the mixed human and Animal owners, of whom worked tirelessly on commissions behind the staff curtain. The only customers that frequented the shop this hour being Galinda, Crope, Tibbett, and Nessarose; the latter of which insisted she come along to support her friend (And any excuse to be surrounded by rich and extravagant fabrics. Galinda suspected that she was the only one of the Thropp sisters that actually enjoyed shopping and dressing up. Elphaba tended to drag her feet in Galinda's experience, and felt more comfort in a bookstore or library. Not that there wasn't anything wrong with having preferences, but something had to be said to the joy of perusing a hobby with a friend that aligned so perfectly with your own).
But Galinda was very quickly learning that written exemptions afforded her many things within Shiz, but outside of it, they carried very little weight.
“Yer after a dress in colours that yer not gonna find this late in th’season,” said the Toucan tailor with a click of their tremendous beak. “Unless ye have a pretty penny to commission.”
Galinda massages the tension that was building at her temple. “I have more than enough pennies,” she explains for the third time. “It's just not money that I have access to presently. Unless you would permit me to write an I.O.U., and I can assure that the Upland estate will cover the commission cost and then some.”
“That's all wonderful and good, Miss Upland, but yer askin’ me and my establishment to abandon my paid for commissions and focus purely on your dress– with three days notice, mind–and with nothing but your word as a deposit?”
“I know the timing is…less than ideal–
“Then there's nothin’ I can do fer ye. Unless you wish t’wear non-assembly dress then there's some charmin’ numbers at the human-owned boutique down the road.”
“We just came from the ‘boutique down the road’ and they weren't much help either.”
The tailor gives a sympathetic look as well as a Toucan is capable of conveying, which is to say none. “Then if ye will excuse me, I have paid for work ta finish.”
Galinda sighs wistfully watching the Bird turn on their foot and hop through the Bird shaped beaded curtain. She raps her fingernails against the wooden counter, letting the repetitive rhythm ease the bubbling panic in her chest. The tension lingered in her collarbone as she returned to her friends already perusing.
“Oh, Tibsy, what of this? The filigree would compliment your winter ensemble just wonderfully, wouldn't you agree?”
Tibbett looks up from his perusing of pillbox hats, double taking at the rather colorful cropped jacket Crope had posed across his front. “Depends. Do you want the entirety of Shiz to know you're a fruit?”
“Darling, if the small-minded folk of Shiz don't know how bent I am by now, then me dressing like a parfait for the ball isn't going to convince them,” he replies dryly.
“Oh, speaking of fruits! How'd it go, Galinda?”
The fruit stares back wide eyed, their smile far too wide and stretched to be genuine. The boys feel a shiver down their spines. “Well, I just spoke with the seamstress,” Galinda said with a shaky squeak. “Would you like the good news or the bad news?”
Crope is the one who takes the dare, his voice careful, “Oooo, delightful. How about…the, uhh, good news first then, hmm?”
“The boutique has no more winter dresses.”
Tibbett blinks. Twice.
“That…suspiciously sounds like bad news.”
Galinda's eye twitches. “That's because it is; I lied about the good news.”
“Ahh.”
With that, Galinda lets out a lungful of air, and promptly drops her face into a nearby pile of cloth with a thump, and lets out a muffled, frustrated scream. Even with fabric obstructing most of the wails, Crope clenches his teeth in a cringe as though it rattled his inner eardrum.
After a good fifteen seconds of righteous fury, Tibbett approaches carefully and pats what he hopes is a soothing pat against the flustered lump.
“Oh, there, there, Blondie. Perhaps there's another boutique that would be willing to make a dress with only three days to spare? Better yet, why not take up sewing? No better time than now!”
“Oh shut up, don't beat me while I'm vulnerable. It's unbecoming…” she groans, lifting up eventually from her pile of misery, her face beet red. “What am I to do now? I feel like I have amped myself up and I've already fallen over the first hurdle.”
“So you want to dress her up,” Nessarose sighs, her voice muffled by her head currently submerged in a rack of pashmina. “I approve, naturally, because of course I do. But, a small tidbit: Why not, oh I don't know, encourage her to talk to Fabala first?”
“Oh yes, yes, communication is fine and dandy,” Crope replies, oohing and ahhing over the pink and peach silks. “But imagine a conversation in a dress that makes the green bean trip over her own tongue! Nothing wrong with confessing to your future wife while looking like a treat.”
Galinda agrees with an approving nod, fingers idly running across the delicately embroidered fabrics, “First things first, Nessa! I plan to talk to her, I do. But the way I'm viewed is rather important to me,” her voice softens with her thoughts of sap green eyes looking at her. Only her. “Especially the way she views me…”
Nessarose pops her head out of the rack to give Galinda a knowing rise of a brow, and she suddenly feels her face burn at being read so easily.
Nessarose rolls away from the rack closer to Galinda. “You have plenty of dresses in your dorm, don't you? Why not just attend the ball in one of those? I'm sure she'll think you're stunning no matter what you wear.”
“T-thank you, but if I want this to work then I need to get the proper attire. I have a wardrobe well equipped for a night out at the Ozdust, but this is a ballroom event, Nessa. There is a decorum to adhere to; I just want her to know that I am making my message clear.”
Nessarose’s deadpanned look matches the brutality in her reply. “You can make your message clear by actually talking to her. With your mouth–And maybe some brains too, while you're at it; just to spice things up.”
“My mouth, you say…”
“...”
“...”
“...Stop that.”
“S-stop what?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Nessa…”
“Galinda.”
She stammers, eager to shift the focus. “W-what of you two? You haven't pulled a certified ‘Galinda Upland’ and decided to attend the ball last minute, have you?”
Tibbett is more than happy to oblige. “Oh yes, yes, many discussions of who wears the autumn and who wears the winter.”
“Did you not exchange flowers?”
“Oh we did. Was I that gave him the dahlia; the flower that he insisted that I gift him.”
Crope huffs haughtily, folding his arms. “The warm pinks and yellows just suit my complexion better, darling. I was doing you a favor; It's simply science.”
“You're lucky I adore you,” Tibbett sighs, only pretending to be annoyed, evident by the smile pulling at his cheek.
“Perhaps I'll just pick a flower I like in that case, and pretend that Elphaba gifted it to me…” Galinda hums as her fingers trace the delicate tulle, turning her peach skin silver under the glittering thread. “I suppose, in a roundabout way, I have gifted her a flower already.”
“You did?”
“Mhmm. That day in the school grounds where I leveled a flowerbed? Had violets threaded through my hair this way and that…” she finds herself blushing as she recounts the memory, a hand tracing the stem of the phantom flower tucked behind her ear. “She fetched one that I had conveniently missed.”
The boys and Nessa exchange contemplative looks. A pause lingers, a stillness that Galinda finds odd enough to lift her head up, in time for Tibbett to finally break it, his pointer finger tapping his pondering chin.
“I have a thought–a daring one. You're planning to court a woman; why not wear Autumn?”
Crope follows from his boyfriend's suggestion, “You're already pushing back against societal norms. Shaking Shiz up a quarter with your rebellion. Rather sexy, if I do say so myself.”
“I have it on good authority that Elphaba has already considered her dress,” Nessarose offers, nodding approvingly. “With my help, of course. The dress is simply ethereal...”
“And by your own admission, in a roundabout way, you've already begun the courting process,” Tibbett adds with an excited grin. “It'd be quite the bold declaration~!”
Galinda's heart leaps in her chest, an anxious stutter passing her lips. “I–I…”
Crope huffs with a roll of his eyes. “Look, Blondie–do you want the girl or not?”
Galinda almost looks offended by the question. “Yes, but–”
“But nothing! Be bold, speak loud, speak queer and clear!”
“...But do actually speak,” Nessarose insists once again. “Stop talking past one another and be blunt. You know what Fabala is like. Clever as a Fox; dense as a doornail.”
“This is all so scary still...” Galinda confesses, hands curled around the worn spine of her journal. Pages and pages creased and stained with her notes and concepts, but with no winter dresses available–or autumn dresses for that matter–her options were becoming more and more scarce. Curse her indecision! Why couldn't she have come to a realization of her feelings a week earlier?
“I'll do you one further, if I may,” Tibbett grins, his eyes lighting up as if the idea struck him like a lightning bolt. “Crope, be a dear and toss me that jacket, would you?”
Crope blinks, taken aback at the implication, but does as instructed.
Galinda frowns harder as the boy seems to be on a mission, and ventures to the other side of the shop.
The masculine wear side of the shop.
Tibbett calls over his shoulder as he moves like a man on a mission, “Blondie, what was the flower? What colours?”
“Oh–a violet; purple and yellow…”
“Hmn, noted. Hope you're a fan of lavender and saffron!”
It takes her a second longer than she would have liked once Galinda pieces it together.
He wasn't–
Surely–
She balks, looking scandalized.
“Oh. Oh, no, no no no–Tibbett, please tell me you jest, you're not–suggesting that I wear a–” she pauses, her voice trembling into a whisper. ”...a man's suit?”
Tibbett pops his head out of the haberdashery with a mustard yellow ruffled blouse, a pair of beige men's trousers, and a pair of black knee-high riding boots, polished so thoroughly you could see your reflection in them–all balanced carefully in his arms. “Why not? It's not like they have the winter dress of your dreams. Besides, although I'm not keen on ‘em, I have it on good authority that women cannot resist another woman in a suit; it's proven science.”
Galinda stammers as the boy approaches with the ensemble, her dress-accustomed brain unable to comprehend what clothing designed for men would even look like on her person.
And as for suits on other women? Science or not, she fancied the cut and fit on the boys she used to chase–and be chased by–in the past. She could honestly say in all her short existence in Oz that she has never seen a woman in a suit. If she found them handsome on boys, then with her newly found affections for the fairer sex, then, scientifically, surely that would mean…
She blinks, shaking her head with a worry pinching her brow. “I–, I don't–I don't know…”
“Master Tibbett, don't pressure her if she's uncomfortable…” she hears Nessarose say firmly behind her, rolling her wheelchair alongside, her hand coming up to hold hers reassuringly. “We can keep looking, Galinda. There's bound to be a boutique that has an autumn dress. We'll scour the entirety of Gilikin if we have to.”
Pressing her lips into a firm line, she is suddenly reminded of Fiyero. The immaculate suits in navy blue made the diamonds that decorated his skin glitter like a constellation. He'd be the life and delight of the ball, looking sharp and handsome and proper . He'd have the eyes of all the girls at Shiz…
…Including Elphaba.
She exhales a shaky puff of breath that exhilarates her with the familiar buzz of magic that itches across her collarbone. An ache spreads in her gums, rattling her teeth as it desires to escape–
The squeeze at her hand snuffs out the jealous stupor.
She blinks down at Nessa, wide eyed and surprised. The Thropp sister looks back at her, and Galinda wonders if she was aware of the chaos she has thwarted with her gentle, understanding presence.
The ache gradually ebbs off her shoulders and chest as she fills her lungs with assured air. She juts out her chin with a huff.
“They're already going to stare at me like I'm some…scandalocious oddity. Might as well go all the way and prove them right.”
Nessarose leans back in her chair with a tilt of her head, a bit taken aback. “Well, If you're sure…”
Tibbett, with unbridled excitement, takes that as a ‘go ahead’ and hands over the collection, giving Galinda the space to move behind the folding divider to get changed.
A flutter of feathers cuts through the anticipation as the Toucan tailor glides over to a nearby perch, a query at their beak. “I ‘ave to insist that if you students ain't interested in purchasing somethin’ then I'll ‘ave to ask ye to leave. Y’ain’ here to play ‘dress-up’.”
“But our friend! She's just trying something on, she'll just be a clock tick; pinky swear!”
The Bird lets out a bothered sigh, probably accustomed to any excuse levied their way by rambunctious students from the university. “Miss? If ye please, I ‘ave to close up shop shortly, so if’in’ yer done…”
“I'll be right out!” the girl bellows, a slight struggle to her voice. “I just–I have a trouser button that just refuses to–a ha!”
The figure that steps out from behind the divider stills the breaths of everyone, including the Toucan. If it weren't for the iconic honey gold locks it was hard to believe that this was the same Galinda that entered the boutique.
A saffron silk blouse with ruffles adorning the throat, tucked into beige trousers perched high on her waist, almost a perfect fit if not for the generous space in the lower regions. Black riding boots polished to high heaven sat just above the knee, the heel a bit on the shorter end of what the Gilikin was accustomed to. And, the centerpiece to the look; a gold threaded cropped velvet jacket adorned in lavender and soft purple paisley and fleur, with brass buttons in a neat row of three.
Galinda hadn't seen their reactions; she had squeezed her eyes shut, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she waited for their judgment.
“Charmed Circle,” she began, her exhale betraying her nervousness, “…be honest. Ruthlessly so.”
“Galinda, you're…”
Galinda turns to face the mirror and dares to look at what stood before her. And she understood what stilled their breaths, for it stilled hers too.
By Lurline–was that her?
“Not designed fer yer figure, miss, but easy nuff t’adjust if it's somethin’ yer keen on.” the Toucan informs with a click of their beak. “May I?”
“Oh–certainly…”
The Toucan was immediately in their element, their beak unraveling the spool of measuring tape coiled around their foot as they moved closer, muttering measurements and tailor-adjacent jargon as they worked. They made a comment about possibly moving down a trouser size, and adjusting the extra room in the crotch. Tibbett snickers something about needing more space to ‘accommodate her bravery’. Galinda doesn't get it but assumes that it is a compliment.
When the Toucan is finished, they lean back on their perch with a lot more warmth than their first interaction. “There y’go, not quite th’dress you were after, but a lot more doable than a three-day-commission–easy ‘nuff to finish in an afternoon. Still cost you a few shillings, mind, but a lot more affordable–and practical.”
Tibbett sighs wistfully, a hand pressed to his ruffled sternum. “By the fairy queen, I have outdone myself. Even I am questioning my sexuality; that suit is simply divine.”
Crope scoffs, scandalized. “Pftt, what am I? Chopped liver?”
“It's not words of passion, darling. I'm simply trying to spur confidence in the lady,” Tibbett reassures with a pat on his boyfriend’s shoulder.
Galinda cannot help rolling her eyes with a soft sigh, looking over at the Thropp sister expectantly. “Nessarose, what's your verdict?”
“...”
“...Nessa?”
“Wh-huh? Oh!” The Thropp sister stutters, blinking rapidly. Was she drooling? The girl quickly wipes at her chin just to be sure. “Ahem, y-yes. You…strike a lovely figure, Galinda…”
Crope slips out a snicker, the laugh sputtering as the flushed girl slaps a firm hand across his stomach. Tibbett fiercely whispers ‘proven science’ under his breath.
Once their squabble is finished, Tibbett approaches with an encouraging smile for his friend, hands resting on her now sharpened shoulders. “Moment of truth, Blondie; how does it make you feel?”
Galinda's voice is quiet, wavering yet devastatingly honest. “I'm used to having eyes on me. This feels…more exposing.”
Nessarose leans inward in anticipation, her voice careful. “Does it feel good…?”
Galinda turns to look at her strikingly handsome silhouette in the reflection, and is suddenly reminded of her father and the Gilikinese dandies that frequented his court. The proudest popsicle dressed in a fine gold threaded filigree coat and trousers, tall riding boots polished black as they paced the marble ballroom toward the object of his affection; Her mother, dressed just as regal like a layered cream meringue with whipped honey curls of hair, enamored by the boldness and adoration her husband lavished her way.
“...It feels exhilarating.”
The memory morphs into something nought too fantastical–a possibility. The handsome patriarch of the Upland estate is her. Suit jacket and all. The girls she remembers in her youth, dancing in the ballroom on clouds of tulle and waists wrapped in soft silks, hair adorned in finery that shone like jewels under the crystal chandelier light.
And, standing in the center of the room; an emerald. A woman. Braided hair gathered into an elegant bun, threaded with silver caps and amethyst beads. Green skin aglow. Sap green eyes that only sought hers. Exhilarated and expectant.
Their hands would touch.
Their eyes would meet, struck with a sudden silence; a sudden heat.
A ballroom evening like any other, where meetings such as these were a nightly occurrence; just another night with her lover. But no less exciting.
She could be that girl.
Evenings with her Elphie, she always would be.
“You're smiling, Blondie…”
She blinks rapidly, exhaling a shaky breath as she struggles to control the heat that gathered up her alabaster skin.
She nods decidedly, fingers brushing delicately over brass buttons, the touch electric.
That smile returns, assured.
“I think I've found my dress.”
“So, so! Get this! While the faculty are distracted by Assembly activities, I will steal away into the school larder and help myself to the myriad of meats and cheeses. Meanwhile! Tibs convinces the school laundry Vermin staff–with incentive from the meats and cheeses acquired earlier–to invade the ballroom to cause a ruckus, sneak their way up Fiyero’s trousers and have a nip at his winkie! Just enough time for Galinda the gay to jump in, steal the girl and BOOM! We're best men at the wedding!”
Crope still flourishes proudly next to his demonstration–a wooden A-frame with a sheet of paper plans with the word “RATS” written in prominent green and pink marker, embellished with gold stars–his grin that of a self-professed genius. “Foolproof, if I do say so myself; and I do.
“...”
“...”
“...In this instance that might be a bit too far, darling,” Tibbett hums thoughtfully, sitting on the pink frilly bed beside a gobsmacked Galinda, of whom had her hands draped across her pale stricken face.
Her wide eyes seemed locked with the crude drawing of an unhappy Fiyero getting his crotch feasted upon by some equally crude depictions of rats (The drawing across that scene of a swooning green cabbage in a black pointed hat being swept up by a fluffy cloud of pink and yellow–of which she assumed was a caricature of herself and Elphaba–was a bit charming, she had to admit).
It was the day of the assembly and Galinda had invited the boys into her dorm to get glamorous. Galinda had arguably the grandest collection of make up and accessories in all of Shiz, so the choice to get ready for the ball in her dorm made the most sense. Elphaba would be with her sister for the majority of the day to get ready herself, so that left some time to get strategic. Crope had “procured” himself to the menu board from the local café, excitedly insisting that he had a foolproof plan for “operation: pluck the green bean”.
By the reception so far, it wasn't landing well.
“I take your silence as evidence to the fact. I will be taking no criticism at this time–”
Galinda snaps sharply enough for both boys to shake on the spot. “I do NOT want you to hurt Fiyero’s weiner; are you looney?!”
Crope rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in a huff. “I'm just trying to throw out ideas. This is supposed to be a safe space for brainstorming!”
Galinda throws her hands up exasperated. “Oh I have an idea! I should just drown myself in the canal to save myself from this embarrassment!”
“And they call me dramatic, my word.”
She stands up in a growl, stomping toward the center of her dorm, gesturing toward the board as if the very notion offended her. “By Oz–I don't wish for you to do anything! No pranks. No sabotaging. No winkie biting!”
The boy pouts, his eyes rounding in a plea. “No fun?”
“ Nothing !”
Crope drops his shoulders with a tired sigh and gestures with Galinda's training wand–his impromptu pointer for his presentation. “So, what? You're just going to turn up, looking like a freshly bloomed violet and, just, wave your petals about with the hopes that Elphaba will take interest away from the prince and give you a good plucking?”
“...”
“Don't give me that glare, Galinda. Is that really your plan?”
“...”
“...”
“...Maybe,” she mumbles, her chin dipping into her chest.
“You're going to dance with her, at the very least?”
“I…Yes, yes I want to.”
“Are you going to confess to her?”
“I'm not that brave, but–”
“Are you going to kiss her?”
“Oh Lurline, this is too much…”
“Stop that at once, Galinda Upland! Look where you've come from.”
She blinks, a little lost. “Pertha Hills…?”
Crope clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “No, not literally. I mean where you came from. Your relationships, your choices, your upbringing. With everything you know about yourself now, do you want to walk backward?”
“I…I suppose it would be easier–”
“Not what I asked. Do you?”
Galinda frowns, but answers with a reluctant sigh. “...No.”
“I thought as much. Whatever tonight's outcome, you are to keep moving forward. But I think you have nothing to worry about, truly. I have nary a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Elphaba “green bean” Thropp will walk that path with you.”
“And I have a personal stake as a future godfather to your future rugrats to look forward to! ” Tibbett perks up from the bed.
“...Oh goodness, would they be cabbages too?” Crope wonders, tapping his chin with the tip of the training wand.
“Brussel sprouts, more likely,” Tibbett opines confidently.
“Ahem! That is all to say; hop to it and woo that girl!”
As if she was summoned by evoking her name, the rattle of the door handle freezes all bodies in the dorm.
Galinda balked, her eyes alight with panic as she hisses. “Shit–I swore Elphaba would be with Nessa all night– hide yourselves !”
The boys scramble for cover by launching themselves across Galinda's bed, landing with as much grace as one can, just in time for the green girl to unlock the door with her key.
“Elphaba, hiiii~! What brings you here? I thought you were going to be with Nessa all day,” Galinda greets with a higher octave than is usual for her high-octave self.
“I live here, Galinda, last I checked…?” Elphaba smiles cautiously as she steps into the room, caught off guard by the strange behavior from her roommate. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh, no, noooo, not at all!” Galinda insists with a wide, toothy grin. “I’m just getting prepared for tonight's festivities. On my own. With no one else here in this dorm.”
She pretends she doesn’t hear the telltale sound of Tibbett slapping his face in embarrassment.
Elphaba doesn't look entirely convinced if she had to guess. “Indeed…well I am to be with Nessa, but I had forgotten–”
She stills, her sap greens squint, their head tilting as they seem transfixed with an object past the Gilikin’s shoulder. “Rats…?”
Fuck. Shit. Piss–
“Oh! U–uhhh, I was, umm…practicing Expressionism? An art assignment from…Dr. Nikidik?”
“...”
“...It's a private assignment.”
“R-right…” the girl says slowly, her eyes drifting across to the other side of the presentation, past the Fiyero rat feast, toward the swooning green bean–
With a strength and agility Galinda didn't know she possessed, she suddenly swings her arm across, knocking the flimsy A-frame off its legs and sending it crashing out of sight.
There’s a surprised yelp from behind the bed that she prays to Lurline doesn’t reach her roommate’s ears.
Elphaba blinks. Twice. Her eyebrow practically leaping past her hairline.
Galinda's grin twitches, ignoring the slight throb in her forearm where it struck the wood. “Private. Assignment.”
“...”
“A-Anywho! What can I do for you?”
“Okayyyy…I, uhh–I actually wanted to ask a favor, if I may…”
Galinda's forced grin breaks at that. “A–a favor?”
“That amethyst hairclip you lended me. I was wondering if you had any other pieces of amethyst jewelry that I could wear for tonight.”
“Oh, certainly! Anything you like,” Galinda exclaims, and moves hastily to her vanity and rummages around into one of the compartments with purpose. “I have a pair of earrings in the same cut that would be simply splendiferous! I can also re-lend you the hairclip too, if you'd like?”
“No, no–earrings are perfect.”
After a huff, the Gilikin returns, taking Elphaba's hand and cracking it open to place the pair of four-pronged silver amethyst studs in the center of her palm. “I hope these will pair well with whatever dress you will be wearing tonight.”
Elphaba's fingertips trace the cut lavender jewel with reverence, a smile spreading as she looks back at cocoa browns, her eyes bright. “Thank you. You can be the judge and see them for yourself.”
Galinda smiles back, a genuine one this time, her heart stuttering in her chest. “I'm…looking forward to it. Elphaba?”
“Yes?”
The Gilikin ducks her head low, teeth digging into her bottom lip as she gathers her courage. “When you meet the Wizard…I hope you get what your heart desires.”
The small intake of breath brings Galinda's gaze back up, and she is struck by the enamored one looking back. “That…means a lot, thank you.”
Galinda's smile widens, emboldened. “I mean it, out of the goodness of my heart. And you deserve a night to feel and look astoundifying. Promise you'll save a spot for me on your dance card?”
Elphaba exhales a laugh through her nose, and places the jewelry carefully into her dress pocket. “I'll hold you to that, Upland.”
With that, she turns on her heel as if to leave.
But then, as if forgetting something, she calls over her shoulder and hollers:
“Oh, and boys? I'm going to pretend you're not breaking campus rules by being here.”
The Gilikin seizes, failing to look innocent at the accusation as she averts her guilty gaze. Elphaba clocks it immediately.
Crope is the first to pop his head up from behind his hiding place, looking a bit sheepish at being caught. “Oh but it's so much fun to pretend, isn't it, green bean?”
Tibbett follows shortly after, flopping his body across the bedding with a defeated huff. “You wouldn't rat us out, would you? Since you like us so very much?”
“Oh, but that would be lying, wouldn't it?” Elphaba's grin is cunning and sharp. Galinda can't help her giggle, fingers pressed against her lips.
“I'm not wrong in assuming you'd approve of us breaking the rules, eh? So can we stick it to authority; give ‘em the ol’ what-for!”
“I do enjoy ruffling the feathers of the upper ups, it has to be said,” Elphaba agreed with a smirk. She gives Galinda a once over, her smile softening into something secret–just for them.
“I'll see you there, Princess.”
And then, as if it were a period at the end of her remark:
She winked.
Then, she turns to leave and closes the door behind her.
The room is dead silent for a prolonged pause, until it is eventually broken by Galinda's wistful sigh as she melts to the floor. Crope and Tibbett show their support with teasing giggles, all the while imitating the sound of wedding bells.
“You know, I have since realized something. Galinda discovers she has innate magical abilities coincidentally at the same time that she discovers she is a lesbian.”
“Coincidence doesn't often mean correlation.”
“Hardly fair, do you think? I've been out for years and have no magic to speak of.”
“Must be a sapphic specific thing, dear. Perhaps the source of magic is found in the vagina.”
Tibbett shudders, his face squeamish. “The sexism is rampant in the magical community, I tell you.”
“...Galinda, you're making me dizzy with your incessant pacing.”
The Gilikin incessantly paced across the cobblestone outside the assembly hall, barely a stone's throw from the dance well under way, three seconds away from running shaking fingers through her plaited chignon and ruining hours of pinning perfectly pristine curls. Her hands instead wring out yet another silken handkerchief, a thread tear away from an approaching panic attack.
“Boys, I think I might piss myself–this is beyond what I was expecting, they're going to stare at me.”
Tibbett speaks over his shoulder, pursing his lips as he inspects his mug in the reflection of the glass. “Well, yeah. That is the point, Blondie.”
“I'm so stupid–they're going to think I'm a man!”
“What a nightmare.”
Crope sighs heavily and forgoes anymore grooming; his ascot not getting anymore perfect against his throat. “Galinda, I need you to take a breath before you get a nosebleed.”
Despite herself, she takes the boy's advice, breathing in deep through her nose, and gently out her lips. In. Out. In. Out. Her heart is still a rapid drum, but nowhere near as turbulent. “Okay. Okay…”
His smile is caring, assured even after all the ribbing. “You look radiant. That girl adores you. And together, you two will be untouchable; to heck what people think.”
Galinda's breath is a quiet hiss from her slowly unclenching teeth as she looks past her reflection through the window into the illuminated hall, her tongue wetting the soft blush of rouge across her bottom lip.
“I never give Elphie enough credit,” she frowns, guilt pinching her brow. “she's had to live a life of people constantly staring at her, and here I am, about to experience a fraction of what that must feel like…
“Don't misunderstand me. I've always had folks looking at me. It's attention that I have desired and expected since I was yea high. The difference here is that there is only one person I want to look at me. I just hope that she likes what she sees.”
“Elphaba is going to lose her mind and faint right into your toothpick arms like a nun in a brothel.”
“Take it from us, Blondie; no one can resist a fruit in a suit.”
“Alright…alright.”
“Now, let me and Tibs move in first. We'll intercept the Vinkun dreamboat and grab his attention long enough for you to sweep the green bean off her feet toward the dance floor!”
“Oh, please, don't do anything ridiculous…” she warns with a whine.
“Nothing ludicrous, we promise. His penis is safe…for now.” Tibbett says, a veiled threat.
“Trust us, Blondie. We've got your back!” Crope boops an apprehensive Galinda on the nose, and with that, the boy's link arms and proudly make their grand entrance into the ballroom.
The Gilikin watches the pair melt into the crowd for a few clock ticks, breathing in the winter's chill, the nip at her nostrils grounding.
“Alright, Galinda Arduenna-Upland. You're a charming young lady. So charming–you could charm yourself out of a paper bag. It's just like any ol’ dance. With a girl…A girl you…might be falling for…”
Her heart stutters in her throat.
“...Oh Lurline.”
Fiyero Tigelaar was a sight to behold (which was saying something, as he always was a grand sight, if he said so himself). It wasn't terribly arrogant to think of himself this way as the kernels of truth to the fact were abundant enough to fill a cornfield.
Dressed more regal than his Arjiki tribe would be accustomed to, but by Emerald City standards was quite charming indeed; oranges and deep maroons splash across his suit like a shepherd’s sunrise. Cobalt buttons adorn the cashmere bandhgala jacket from all the way to the top of the closed collar, a black peony tucked delicately into his lapel. And, a freshly pomaded chestnut quiff, albeit much shorter than it used to be, but no less dashing.
For a time, Fiyero felt uncomfortable with the attention, but such charisma had its perks, what with how the crowd would part for him as he approached the refreshments, or gasp and gape at his princely smile as he passed them by.
Some lingered, one or two fainted, but most kept their distance. Much more eager to oogle from afar than approach.
Except for one half of a rambunctious pair that intercepted the prince before he could make his return to the dance hall.
“Oh Fiyero, I am so pleased to have found you. By the Fairy Queen and all of her pixie friends–you are a treat this evening. Could make a man blind by how bright that suit is!”
The prince blinks as he stands up straight, two flutes of champagne now acquired in each hand. “Master Crope! Good as always to see you. Where's your partner in crime?”
“Oh, Tibsy is on a mission of his own. Very top secret. I, on the other hand, am in such delight to have found you!” Crope winks with what he hopes is a knockout grin. His eye flicks up to the pomaded hair with a curious tilt. “Head a bit lighter than usual, eh?”
Fiyero squints, pursing his lips. “Don't be all coy as if you don't know.”
“I jest, I jest! All in fun! I happen to think you suit the shorter mop, actually.”
Fiyero clears his throat as he instinctively rolls his shoulders, still adjusting to the air that now bore witness to the bare skin at his nape. “T-thank you, not that I had much of a choice in the matter, mind you.”
“Well, as they say: when life gives you a head of hair on fire…you make lemonade!”
“Can't recall hearing of that saying in the Vinkus; is that more common up here in Shiz?” he replies dryly.
Crope’s sudden laugh is harder than necessary, and it causes the prince and attendees around them to tense. “Oh, funny and handsome!”
Fiyero does chuckle, but it is stilted, fading off into a clearing of his throat. He had places to be, after all.
“Well, not that I'm not amongst pleasant company, but I have a date waiting for her drink, so if you'll excuse me–
Crope however, had other plans, gesturing almost in a panic. “W-wait, no–you can't! Not yet!”
He blinks rapidly at the boy's insistence. “Oh?”
“Y-you see, I have it on good authority that our pink and pretty blonde Gilikin had confided in you a matter most personal. And it just so happens that I have an announcement that I must confess.”
It wasn't unclear what Crope was referring to, and it gives Fiyero pause, his voice gentle yet firm. “Normally I would be fine and dandy to accommodate, but I really do have to be going. Perhaps after the dance–
“Impossible! I have to speak now or I fear I may never get the chance again!”
Fiyero looks past the boy's shoulder toward the dance floor longingly, but swallows his sigh of complaint. “Oh alright then, confess away.”
“Yes, it is a shock, but it is true–I am gay!”
“...”
“...”
“...”
Crope sighs heavily, as if the confession was a heavy weight that finally lifted from his chest (if it were there at all, but he wasn't going to admit that). “Yes. Although quite the prolific ladies man, I fancy boys, believe it or not.”
Fiyero for his part is stunned. Not by the admission, necessarily, but the very notion that Crope of all people needed to. “I…wow, I can't exactly say that I'm surprised, Crope. I could have sworn that you and Tibbett were…you know…”
The boy blinks at that, frowning at the Vinkun curiously. “Me and Tibsy were what…?”
“Well, you two are a couple…”
Crope squints, eyes pinning Fiyero down. “A couple of what, pretty boy?”
“Uhhh–a couple. Boyfriend and boyfriend…?”
“...”
“...”
“...Excuse me–”
“Wait, what–”
“H-how… DARE you?” Crope shrieked with a fury unseen.
Fiyero winces with a thin smile, a panic bristling his shoulders as he scrambles to repair the offense. “I'm sorry, alright, I just assumed–”
“Well you know what they say, Fifi. Assume makes an ass of you and me!”
“B-but–”
“Oh and here I thought you were an ally, and a confidant, but I see that I was mistaken!”
Now that made the Vinkun scoff with a furrow of his brow. “Crope, you are aware that I like boys too, right?”
“...”
“...”
“W-wha–you…you do?”
Again, he had thought that Crope of all people was aware. “Yes…”
The boy’s eyes round as he regards the prince with a new found softness. “Oh. Oh, Fiyero…prince Tigelaar, are you coming out to me?”
“What–No, I'm already out–
“I am so honored that you feel safe around the likes of me to be so…so tender and open and true to your inner self!”
Fiyero starts mumbling to noone in particular, a throb of a vein pulsing at his temple. “Have I passed out suddenly? Is there a gas leak around here?”
“Oh, is this flute for me?” Crope says, helping himself to the champagne before he gets an answer.
The Vinkun's fingers pinched at the air for the glass that was no longer there. “N-no, it was for me and my–...never mind…”
“No, no, this is far more important than dancing with the green bean, Fifi,” Crope chides, throwing his arm across Fiyero’s shoulder as if to spill a secret. “Now, while you dance through life, mayhaps you need a good friend who knows a thing or two. I'll teach you the proper ploys, and how to talk to boys!”
Fiyero was nearing his wits end, and with a bit more insistence, unweaved the arm over his shoulder and stepped away. “T-that is very much unnecessary, master Crope. Now, as lovely as your outing is, if you'll excuse me, I have a lady that is waiting–”
He turns on a heel to make his way out of the foyer.
And bumps straight into the other half; Tibbett.
Of whom huffs an exhale of relief as the boy locks eyes with the last flute of sparkling wine in Fiyero's hand.
“Oh, perfect, I need some liquid courage for what I'm about to confess!”
Without so much as a peep from the prince, Tibbett helps himself to the other flute and quaffs it.
The prince stares at his other empty hand, then back at Tibbett. Then back to his empty hand, just in case he missed something.
“...Tibbett, what the–”
“I think Crope is a homosexual!”
The dance was in full swing, the strings sung sweet and melodious as pairs met hand in hand in a traditional Gilikin quadrille. Silk dresses and fine shoes slid across the floor as students glided past one another, some practiced, others stilted in a way that spoke of their inexperience with ballroom decorum.
Elphaba was the perfect impression of a black poppy, the kind she spoke so fondly of; her slender emerald legs tall and proud like stalks, and the dress itself blooming across her body. She was layered in black and silver, the bodice a deep violet, ruffled into peony petals that fell across her skirt. She stood out, a rare prize for those who dared to look.
And many did look, still regarding her with an oddness that on any other day would be expected and understood. But, much like the Ozdust all those months ago, she had a rare earnestness as she entered the assembly hall with Fiyero on her arm. And earnestness left her vulnerable, too eager. Walls she had built to simply survive were tender this evening.
She watched from the sidelines the beautifully adorned attendees of the ball dancing gently under the cool dim light. The high intrados ceiling above is frescoed in deep purples and blues, celestial beings of ancient Gilikinese myth prance within the frieze bordering the inner circle; satyrs, pixies, trolls and nymphs chase one another in an endless loop. The light from the grandiose crystal chandelier that hung directly from its center point glitters across the intrados, like a scattering of stars across a midnight sky.
Elphaba smiles quietly to herself, reaching up to brush at the amethyst jewel in her ear.
Galinda would probably have a nerdilocious reaction when she sees this.
“Fabala!”
Elphaba's smile widens at the voice, her eyes falling just in time for Nessarose to roll up beside her, a chiding grin pulling at her cheek. “There you are, you're a hard truffle to sniff out.”
The elder Thropp ignores the initial feeling of discomfort from her exposed emerald skin, if only because of the presence of her sister. “I'm not doing a terribly good job at not standing out; shocking I know.”
“At a gala where everyone is trying to achieve the same thing? That's saying something.”
Elphaba laughs at that, some of the tension leaves her shoulders. She gets another look at her sister, very much the embodiment of the snowdrop that inspired her winter dress. A flower that sparkled with the same intensity as the jewel encrusted shoes she inherited from their late mother. Her coiling curls were pinned in an elegant bun that gave prominent spectacle to the sparkle of gems adoring her neck and ears.
“You're beautiful, Nessa,” She says with sincere warmth.
“Speak for yourself for a change,” Nessa replies with a gentle scoff, giving the elder Thropp a once over–as if she hadn't picked the ballgown and got ready with her earlier in the evening. “You're a headturner, for all the right reasons. Speaking of, where's your beau?”
Elphaba rolls her eyes, her brow furrowing. Oh Fiyero. Yero her Hero. The Vinkun prince, handsome and chivalrous and attentive, and a charisma that bordered on arrogance. A young man with ochre skin and diamond blue freckles that regarded her with reverence and adoration.
A boy by the standards of the many romantic fantasy books she had read in her youth should be perfect.
And yet…
The green girl clicks her tongue. “Firstly, Fiyero is not my beau, this is…just a date between friends. And he was acquiring some drinks, last he informed me nearly a few minutes ago.”
Nessa hums, her lips pursing with a coy smirk. “I wasn't talking about Fiyero.”
Elphaba feels her heart leap into her throat.
It didn't take an explanation to figure out what–or whom–the girl was referring to, and she sighs tiredly. “Not this again…”
Nessarose hears the frustration but ignores it to once again insist: “I'm just saying, if you tried talking to her, then, I don't know…”
Elphaba's teeth dig into her cheek, a sure way to stop the tremble. “You…know I've tried.”
Nessarose’s deadpan look could murder. “You really haven't. The both of you are idiots. Could have talked and been honest and finally suck face but oh no , it's miserable pining for both of you. How's that strategy going, by the by?”
“Nessa…”
“Fabala.”
By Oz, her sister was far more stubborn than she gave her credit for. But tonight, Elphaba was too tired. Was it worth it to just ignore that particular ache for one night?
“Where's Woodsman?” she finally asks, trying to drop the argument.
Nessarose wasn't a fool, she hears the warning on Elphaba's tongue (tired and strained, yet still a warning all the same), and she seems to let the matter rest. “Oh, he left to get us some champagne.”
Elphaba blinks, her gasp boarding on playful mockery as she places a delicate hand against her bare sternum. “Nessarose, drinking ? Scandalocious!”
It's Nessa’s turn to roll her eyes. “There's a grand difference between champagne and drinking, Fabala. Besides, this is a night to remember; for both of us.”
“Oh really now, what makes you say that?”
Nessarose doesn't answer right away, her gaze caught by something across the ballroom, her mouth agape.
Her voice is below a whisper, conspiratorial.
“Let's just say that I have a feeling.”
Elphaba quirks a brow, and follows her sister's gaze that made her so certain.
And what she sees is worth remembering.
The lone figure steps forth, illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the open doors gracing their form. Masculine and striking, the gold and lavender of their embroidery glittering like the chandelier above.
Standing tall and looking proud.
No woman draped over their arm, but expectant.
Just who was he?
Many eyes, of all sorts, are taken by the confidence that seems to radiate off them like an aura. Students, both partnered and not, stare at someone both familiar and unrecognizable as they make slow yet purposeful strides across the ballroom floor.
Elphaba found her gaze lingering longer than she initially intended as the figure strides purposely toward her. She was enamored with all sorts of people, of all shapes and genders. And yet the the honey spun hair, the cupid bow lips, the dimple in their cheek and the cocoa browns that looked back at her with such warmth–
Elphaba's heart thumps.
And Galinda smiles back.
The suited socialite finally stood before them, hands tucked behind her back like a true gentleman. Her smile is shy, her eyes shiny with golden brown. She had only walked a short distance across the floor yet the rise of her chest made it feel momentous.
Cocoa browns meet sap greens and the heat is instant. Air knocked out of her lungs as she breathed her in. She had always been beautiful–Galinda always thought so, much to Elphaba's disbelief–hauntingly so, but tonight?
Tonight she was positively emerald.
It's Elphaba that finally speaks but her voice sounds unlike herself, soft and enamored.
“Y-you're here...”
Galinda's smile widened, unguarded. A smile that felt like those that they'd share in the solitude of their dorm room, in the quiet of their shared bedding as they laid shoulder to shoulder sharing secrets, with no expectations of people, of Morrible, of Frex or Momsie and Popsicle.
It was just for her, and it made Elphaba's pulse jump.
“I am here,” Galinda says, already breathless. “Miss Nessarose, do you mind?”
“Not at all, handsome ,” she winks with a giggle. "She's all yours.” She grins so proudly her cheeks ache. She gives the pair a knowing nod–a blessing of approval–and wheels herself away to give them the dance floor.
Elphaba barely heard her sister make her escape, her eyes and ears enamored with the woman in front of her. “Galinda. You look…rather fetching. As always.”
“Well…I was hoping for something a bit more exciting than what you're used to, Elphie.”
Elphaba's laugh is breathless. “This is not what I'm used to.”
The Gilikin ducks her head, cheeks flushing red. “I know. Is it…okay?”
“Galinda–you could wear a potato sack and be the most stunning girl in the world.”
“ Second most,” she insists with a fierce whisper. Then, a sigh trembling from her lips, she reveals what she had hidden behind her back, and it makes the green girl gasp.
A violet.
Not just any violet, but thee violet. The very same violet that Elphaba has carefully plucked from the Gilikin’s golden curls from what felt like a forever ago. By now it was showing signs of wilting, its purple and yellow petals scuffed and unclean when she placed it with reverence in the crystal vase atop her desk.
It was imperfect, it was lovely, and Elphaba had kept it like a hopeful romantic. As if Galinda had meant to gift it to her–like a suitor would.
And Galinda was here, before her, dressed like a prince, holding the stem between her fingers, holding it out to her–like a suitor would. And that lovesick fantasy started to overcome reason. And she couldn’t help but fall for it..
Her sap greens flick up to those wide cocoa browns. Her face splits into a grin, and Galinda exhales a breathless laugh. “I, umm…I know I kinda went about this backwards, but I hope you will forgive me just this once. May I…?” she gestures the flower in her hand, taking a cautious step as she lifts the violet up to gently tuck it into her braids behind her ear.
Elphaba swallows the shudder, hyper aware of the fingers brushing past her ear. She can smell the Gilikin’s perfume bergamot and jasmine, a warmth that makes her eyes flutter.
Galinda steps back to admire her work. And, with a coy yet shy smile, presses the back of her hand against her forehead, and wiggles a wave. Elphaba bursts into a grin, and gleefully mirrors the gesture that became the start of their friendship all those months ago. Galinda cannot stop the dimple in her cheeks from her delighted giggle, and it calms down, nerves causing an earnest smile as she slowly lowers her hand, palm upturned and open, inviting.
Elphaba accepts, taking it into her own, warmth tingling at the contact of her other hand taking its claim against her hip.
The dance begins as a silent exchange, a soft touch here, a sigh there. The delicate ripple of tulle and silk shifts against the breeze from their practiced movements. What music was being played by the band was barely a hum in their ears against the rapid flutter of their hearts.
Galinda’s stomach felt light, the champagne she had quaffed seemed to fizz through her skin and down her fingertips with no real force keeping it contained. And Elphaba, sweet delightful Elphaba– her skin was just as erratic, hot blood thrumming through her like an electric current. And yet, Galinda couldn’t let go, couldn’t sever this intimate connection.
It was entrancing.
Her eyes sparkled under that low light and made her moss green skin more ethereal. Beautiful, truly an emerald retrieved from somewhere otherworldly, uncut and raw. A gem that shone not because of that wildness but in spite of it.
“You're staring…” Galinda whispers, far too delighted by the fact as she guides her expertly through a waltz.
“I–I am,” Elphaba laughs, lashes fluttering in awe as she is spun, those sap greens dancing over a friend she could scarcely recognize. “I just–it's you .”
Someone pinch her–this fantasy cannot be reality.
“It's me,” Galinda finally says, her hand carefully reaching up to tuck a rogue braid behind Elphaba's ear, her fingers of their own accord tracing its shape over the amethyst jewel adorning her earlobe–The skin warming the precious stone. She swears Elphaba leans into the touch, eyes hooded. “It's because of you.”
“Me?” the green girl replies, her voice soft.
“Elphie...” she whispers, breathless.
“Yes, my sweet?”
The warmth spreads across her chest. It had been too long since she heard that affectionate name, and it felt glorious to hear it again.
“These past few weeks, I have…discovered some things about myself. And…I'm forgetting how to speak to them right now because, Elphie, you're so beautiful and I'm struggling to focus–”
“Princess…”
“-right now, even with the knowledge that you are to leave Shiz one day. Leave for the Emerald City. Leave–leave me . And I don't know if I can be me without you .”
Elphaba sighs softly, the hand drops lower and dares to rest against the fluttering pulse at her neck, the Gilikin’s thumb brushes just under her jaw, the lacquered nail a delicious scratch across emerald skin that sends her a shiver.
And yet, what she had said, gives Elphaba pause, eyes blinking rapidly as if to shake the spell Galinda had put her under.
“L–leave you? What in Oz gave you that idea–
“Galinda?”
It's a bucket of ice down her back, and it has her springing away as if Elphaba's was the open flame of a hearth. And by the tension in their shoulders, Elphaba wasn't fairing any better.
But Fiyero had his eyes set on Galinda.
And he was taking in her evening dress with surprise.
“Fiyero, I–”
“I…Wow, you look…different. Good, but–different.”
She doesn't know what to say, feeling like a child that got caught thieving from the cookie jar. Her face was one of guilt, and there was no way to hide it.
“I–I…”
He steps forward and she flinches, his frown growing as he feels the tension thick in the air. She can practically see the pieces he puts together with his eyes, and they are growing exponentially more suspicious.
Then, he spots it.
The violet.
Sitting proudly, with love, without shame, behind his date’s ear.
And, as if by chance, Galinda’s eye falls to the black poppy tucked proudly in the prince’s lapel.
The winter poppy that Elphaba had gifted him in exchange.
And Galinda feels that fantasy shatter right then and there.
Fiyero slides smoothly in between then, his hand immediately finding Elphie’s waist. Intentional. Intimate.
“Can I have a dance with my date, please?”
Galinda feels sick.
Elphaba's sap greens dance back and forth, the conflict within them enough to keep Galinda hopeful.
“I…I suppose I should–”
No.
“Elphie, wait–”
Please Lurline, no.
“He's right, I should–”
Please, please please please–
He was already leaving, turning to lead Elphaba away, away from her, away from the ball, away from Shiz, away from–
“Don't go, please–”
She felt that acidic burn, familiar and toxic, begin to bubble up; it cloyed and choked, like a hand around her throat, like a boot on her chest. It was as if Fiyero was the one forcing her down down down and away from the ball, the dancefloor appearing so far away, as if through a tunnel.
“N-no, no, you can't–”
Everything sounded distorted, as if she were underwater; water that began to boil inside her, as if a pan overflowing. It spreads through her bones, her skin, her very viscera.
She speaks, but her voice is a crackle in her chest, a bolt of lightning through her lungs that was failing to take in air.
“You can't–don't leave me–
Elphaba senses it, she has to. This magic in the air, the ozone on her tongue. This magic that she had assumed since the start of the semester was hers.
She sharply turns back, an urgency in her eyes.
She sees Galinda.
And Galinda gasps.
And her world falls apart.
With a violent whurr, the arcane is expelled and a noxious green smoke begins to whip around her like a frenzy, lavender swirling within as if Galinda herself was a tornado, a destructive force of nature. The roar deafening the screams of shock that surround the terrifying scene.
Her body is locked up, arms extended and jaw agape as it spills from her face, a manifestorium of every failure she tried to keep within.
Her bones crack and pop as her body pushes the magic out like poison from a wound, a volatile power expelling from a vessel that was never supposed to be wielded in such a way.
A storm in a paper cup.
The smell that pollutes from the smoke is acrid. A vegetative rot of dead flowers, yet layered with a sickly sweetness. A smell of misery, of shame, of something so personal and grotesque that was left to fester and inflame for so long that it seeked to impart itself upon anyone who'd get too close.
And the pain.
By Oz, the pain.
It was heartache, loneliness, a rejection too hard to bear and it rushed outward from her mouth, her nose, her eyes; expelling the magic to match the tears that fell like a river down her face.
If the magic didn't kill her then her broken heart would.
A weightlessness possesses her body and the winds pick up in their intensity, and seem to suspend her off the marble floor. Sparks of arcane electricity arc through the winds in violent pink flashes, a warning to any that would dare to draw near.
And no one dared. No one brave enough would.
No one that Galinda believed would–
“Galinda–!”
She hears something. Distant, but it cuts through the roar. A voice that is strong yet warm enough to pierce arcane winds, familiar enough to cradle her face, her heart, through the storm.
“Galinda!”
That voice is stronger now. Closer. The voice has hands, and they grab at her shoulders with a frightening urgency.
The voice has a breath, and she feels it belt against her face in a panic.
“Galinda, please!”
The voice is pleading, caring. It has a warm timbre that she remembers loving to hear. A voice that teased, that flirted, that made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. A voice that loved her.
A voice like…
“Elphie…?”
“Galinda! Open your eyes, focus on me!”
She groans, her jaw clenched too tightly. “I can't, I can't, Elphie–I'm so scared, I–”
The hands at her shoulders squeeze, the breath on her face closer now. “I know it's scary–magic often is, but listen to me! Listen to my voice–Galinda, look at me!”
She shakes her head with a sob, eyes screwed tight. “No, no, no, no, you're going to know everything–you're going to hate me and leave me and I can't bear that, I can't!”
“That is never going to happen, I promise you, Galinda! Please my love, breathe! Deep breaths!”
Her chest had no breath. It no longer knew how. “E-Elphaba, I–I can't–”
The voice has a forehead, and it presses against her own, skin to skin. The contact made her shiver, she was so cold, yet the voice was so warm.
“Yes, you can! Focus on me! On us! Just like the coven sisters, remember?”
“C-Coven?” she whispers with a gasp.
“Yes, my sweet! We'll channel our magics! Together!”
Focus on her.
Focus on that voice.
Focus on Elphaba…
It begins in her chest. A warmth in that freezing tundra, a gentle flame that she feels in their connection. It's Elphaba's hearth, a lantern that lends its flame to her wick, small yet persistent in the chaos.
And it spreads through their touch, from their fingers, down their arms, across their collarbone and down her spine. An intensity shared, that on one's own would be agony, but together was a shelter in a storm.
It was an act of love that said ‘I'm here’, ‘I'm not going anywhere’, ‘let me lend you my warmth’.
The hearth is a soothing balm that cradles her heart, an organ that threatened to crack through her ribs but now was beginning to slow.
She blinks, her vision partially returning.
Sap greens.
Wet with tears.
Elphaba's smile.
Thankful, wide, terrified, relieved.
No winds, no arcane sparks, no noxious fumes expelling from her skin, no manifestation of her feelings tearing through the Autumn Assembly.
Just her. Her and–
“Elphie…”
Elphaba's sigh is heavy with relief, and she makes no hesitation pulling the Gilikin into her arms.
And Galinda can breathe again.
She breathes her in, her miasma. That woody oud, pineneedles and sandalwood fills her lungs and she could weep with how calming it makes her. She presses her nose into her neck, unable to bear to be without this feeling again. This home. This hearth.
And with the sensation of tears against her neck, she knew Elphaba was committing her to memory as well.
She squeezes harder, in case this is just another fantasy.
“My Elphie…”
The girl laughs, breathless, hugging her even closer if it were even possible.
“My sweet…”
Their hearts beat in time with one another, chest to chest, the magic that bleeds from them is far too wonderful to describe. It was euphoric–she didn't want it to end.
A gasp, and she feels the green girl pull back, much to the displeasure of Galinda. She wasn't done coating her lungs with her yet, too fearful that she'd forget what she feels like
But they insist, their head raised up and around them, their eyes bright with reflective light.
“Galinda–look!”
So she does.
A bubble of light.
No, not just one.
Hundreds .
And they floated across the ballroom like stars. A bright calm after a hellish storm.
It was easy to forget that they weren't alone.
Students that looked on in frightened awe now looked up and around them at this constellation of bubbles made by the two sorceresses.
These delicate, bright things, a soft pink illuminating the surface, so precious and beautiful. Their whimsy is just as awe inspiring as the storm that preceded them. They pulse and glitter in time with their breaths that return to tired lungs. In. Out. In. Out.
A stray chromatic bubble floats between them and Elphaba reaches up, eyes sparkling. And Galinda feels a spike of panic in her throat, remembering vividly the chaos her last manifestation of bubbles had wrought. The panic and pain it left her Elphie in.
The green girl sees it–no, feels it– through their connection, that initial fear. She smiles, warm and trusting, and extends a finger out to press her nail against the bubble’s rainbow surface.
It pops.
A puff of mist expels, lavender in colour, illuminating as it drifts across them.
The scent that hits their noses makes them gasp.
It’s floral.
It’s jasmine. It's violets. It’s brown sugar, it’s pineneedles and forest and rosewater and the scent of books and ink and tea, and apple candy from Wizzler’s.
It smells of warm fabric and the skin underneath it.
It smells like them .
They made one of these, a night not long ago. In the privacy of their dorm. Hand in hand. A globule of light.
But this compared to that night? This was something most extraordinary.
This was magic.
Most conversations from stunned students and faculty were short, insisting that rest after something so chaotic–so traumatic–was more important than getting into the nitty gritty of what sorcery occurred tonight. Galinda was grateful for the majority of the student body giving them a wide berth, uncertain of how volatile her magic was even after such an outburst.
Fiyero approaches them, and the pair cannot help how their bodies tense up. But he had no argument on his lips. Instead, he hands them the violet. It must have fallen out of Elphie’s hair during the manifestation.
Galinda cautiously accepts it, having no energy to look ashamed for what she had done, but conveys an apology through her doe eyes.. The Vinkun doesn’t say anything, but gives her a nod in understanding. Elphaba looks at their silent exchange curiously yet says nothing, instead taking the Gilikin by the waist and leading them out of the assembly and toward Crage hall.
The nip of the winter air is a welcoming balm against her neck and hair. (it had tumbled out of its perfectly pampered bun due to the expulsion). The sudden heat due to the close proximity or the remnants of magic buzzing under her skin—or perhaps a combination of both—was hard to determine.
Their walk is slow and silent, yet Elphaba doesn't let go. The breeze running through the tumbling vines of the quoxwood and the click-clack of their heels against cobblestone would on any other day be a comfort, but now only sounded like the prelude to Galinda's doom.
No matter what happened, their relationship was changed.
For good or for something else entirely, she was uncertain.
It's when they open the door to their dorm room that Elphaba finally lets Galinda go, and slowly goes through the motions of her nightly routine, placing the violet back into a vase with fresh water. Galinda finds herself unable to move at first, her eyes turning toward the gentle smolder of the open hearth. Her body was exhausted. Her skin was aflame and her muscles ached with an intensity that could hardly compare to incidents before. And yet, it left her feeling…fresher. Like she finally spewed out the poison that had clung to her bones for so long. She was looking forward to her eventual rest for the evening.
But first things first.
She faintly hears her roommate take off her heels, kicking them off her feet. And then the quiet returns, her jaw tensing as she feels the inevitable approach behind her.
"How long."
Her question is quiet yet it still makes Galinda's shoulders flinch. "What?"
"Galinda. How long ?"
Galinda knew that the question was multifaceted. But she was far too frightened to acknowledge the recent revelation. She swallows a shaky breath, her lips dry. And still, her voice is clear.
"Since the first seminar. I think? Yes. I'm certain."
She can't see her face but she imagines it's contemplative. "You couldn't tell me?"
"I didn't know for certain. But once I did I learnt what was causing it, and I felt ashamed. I'm not like you, Elphaba, as much as I try and as much as I dream to, I'm still ruled by my childish feelings."
Galinda lets the words hang in the air between them, which felt like a widening canyon. Elphaba is disturbingly quiet and the silence makes the blood rushing in her ears that much louder.
"Are you upset with me," she whispers.
That catches the green girl out of their stupor. "What? My sweet, no no, of course not. I just—I didn't…"
Galinda turns then, her eyes fixated on Elphaba's silhouette, so strong and confident now soft and delicate in this orange light. Her nails brush against the front seam of her coat, catching against the row of brass buttons with nervous tapping. The sound is deafening.
"Please say something," she finds herself saying desperately.
The girl bites into her lip to seize its tremble. "I…"
Elphaba's silence is heavy and Galinda feels the weight of it on her chest, suffocating against her thudding heart.
She cannot bear the weight any longer.
"Elphie, I like your flavour."
"…"
"…"
"…Come again?"
"I like your flavour," she repeats, her words more assured a second time, "you're an acquired taste and by all social expectations I shouldn't, yet I found myself wanting to try it again and again until I couldn't bear to taste anything else."
Elphaba's eyes widened at the sudden confession, and Galinda almost kicks herself with not realizing the implications of such a plausibly erotic admission. Yet the flush of phthalo rushing up the green girl's neck doesn't deter her, and she finds that the words are falling out her mouth before she has the wit to stop them.
"If honesty is the theme for tonight, then…I've been jealous of you ever since you stepped foot into Shiz—into my life. I had a plan, every day accounted for. I was to be head alumni, a sorceress student under Morrible, dating my future betrothed. And then you—you horrid, resolute, beautiful thing—I had nothing prepared. You ruined everything . And I couldn't bear it."
Elphaba's gaze seems to soften. "Galinda…"
It's far too late. She doesn't stop.
"And I lied to myself day after day, convincing the faculty—yet evidently not convincing myself—that it was because of your verdigris, that you were a few leaves short of a cabbage. You had magic and I didn't, you had talent and I didn't. You had love—genuine love, and I didn't.
"And then the Ozdust happened, and you showed a kindness that I didn't deserve— You decided to forgive me, you horrendible Ogre. And then I date Fiyero over break, convinced that I'd forget how that moment made me feel, how elated I felt. And when I kissed him I was certain those feelings would fade and all my plans would fall into place…" then she whines at the pain of the memory. "but all I could think of was how Frex was treating you in Nest Hardings and if you were missing me as much as I was missing you, and—,"
"Galinda."
"And then we come back and seminars begin and I'm desperate for things to make sense, like they're supposed to. Like I thought they were supposed to.
"And magic? I finally achieved it but it—it became this manifestorium of my feelings and, oh Oz, Elphie , I was so, so ashamed when I knew."
"Please, my sweet, let me—"
"—and then I couldn't control it and I embarrassed and hurt you, and I can never forgive myself because seeing you happy with someone who was not me just made me sick and ugly—"
"Galinda!"
Her jaw clicks shut, eyes wide. She hardly registered Elphaba's approach until it was too late, the Munchkinlander's hands cradling her face practically sharing breath. Galinda's heart catches in her throat.
Elphaba's eyes are elsewhere, focused lower. Her chest rising and falling rapidly. She flicks her sap green gaze back to cocoa brown, the corner of her mouth lifting in a lazy smirk.
"Verbal diarrhea."
And she kisses her.
And then it makes sense.
Her belly stirs, and for a distant moment she believes that her magic will expel as it has done many times before. Then, a tilt of her head and a prickle of pleasure that spreads through her like a sip of warm herbal tea—fingertips buzzing like circuitry as they thread through braided black hair—and both young women sigh into each other, a magic and affection that becomes one and the same.
Galinda and Elphaba. Elphaba and Galinda. They made sense .
When air becomes a need greater than the taste of champagne and strawberry lip gloss, they separate, eyes wide and in awe. Galinda wets her kiss-swollen lip with her tongue, and Elphie follows the movement with dark eyes.
The heart in her throat makes its brave escape.
"Elphie, you're the cause of my magic," she breathes.
The green girl's gasp seizes in her chest. She slowly grins, leaning in to press her forehead against hers. Warm eyes flicking back and forth over the Gilikin girl's face as if seeing it for the first time, taking it to memory. It makes Galinda skin flush under her adoring gaze.
"I think you give me far too much credit, Galinda Upland," she whispers against her lips, "I think you're pretty enchanting all on your own."
She had nothing to say, so she kissed her again.
"So…Fiyero's ponytail, huh?"
"Yeah. Not particularly proud of that one."
"Gotta be honest, the short hair suits him."
"See, I wasn't going to say anything but it so does!"
"And the bubbles?"
"Honestly, Elphie, I'm surprised that incident didn't tip you off. Who else do you know that is more bubbly than yours truly?"
"Fair point. And the library?"
"Any excuse to get out of study…?"
"Uh huh."
"Look it was you that gave away my candy."
"Now we both know that's not entirely true, my sweet. Try again."
"…Hate that you gave Fiyero my candy."
"That's my princess."