(A/N)- Rewritten, somewhat, and scenes added! Enjoy? This is for strax / typicalraINbow - she said she liked this fic and I was mad at myself for never completing it despite how short it was meant to be.
-Stage Fright-
Imogen caught Fenella and Griselda kissing each other on the cheek.
The gesture made her blush, feeling as if she'd just eavesdropped on a private moment between the two, and she almost wanted to say nothing to them about it, until they started giggling and pushing each other.
"Settle down, girls!" she barked, "We have work to do!"
"Sorry, Miss Drill," Fenella apologized, "Just got caught under the mistletoe, that's all."
Imogen raised a brow, and looked up to see the bit of mistletoe hanging from a string that the girls had managed to loop around one of the high beams of the makeshift stage.
"Miss Hardbroom's not going to like this one bit," she warned, "I think it's best you take it down this instant."
"Oh come on, Miss, it's all in good fun!" Griselda insisted.
"It's Christmas!" Fenella added.
"For the hundredth time it is not Christmas, Fenella Feverfew; it's December twenty-third," she reminded in a huff, eying the mistletoe once more.
Finally, she relented.
"If anyone asks, I had no idea that thing was there."
The pair exchanged grins, "Yes, Miss Drill." They chorused respectfully.
"Now go and get changed into your costumes, go on," she coaxed, hurrying them along.
Imogen crossed the room to check the ropes for the second curtain that would reveal the set, and found that the rope was high up, out of her reach.
"Charlie!" Imogen called out in annoyance.
Some assistant stage manager, she thought with a sigh.
She stared up at the rope above her, just beyond her reach when on her tippy-toes. Finally, being unable to wait for the boy any longer, she took an almighty jump and managed to snatch the rope in her open palm. She hung in the air for a brief second before her body weight pulled the inside curtain down to meet the ground, just as she'd wanted it to.
"You called?" Charlie asked as he jogged up to her, out of breath.
"I handled it," she replied with an accomplished grin.
"Miss Crochet needs your help getting everyone ready with their costumes," Charlie said, "I've been running back and forth trying to find what everyone needs - a lot of the props seem to be spread all over the place!"
"Well, see to that then, I'll talk with Miss Crochet ..." she brushed aside, fixing her overalls as she headed over to the chanting teacher with a spring in her step.
"What's the matter, Lavinia?"
"Oh, Imogen!" she cried exasperatedly, turning to her colleague, her blonde hair a stressed mess, "We've got less than a half hour until curtains call and half the girls aren't even properly dressed yet! I've been running around like a mad person ..."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact ..." her voice lowered as she neared the sportswoman, "Constance has refused to come out and let me examine her costume. I daresay she's still upset about the whole thing ..."
"Well, of COURSE I'm upset!" Constance's voice thundered seemingly from nowhere, making Imogen jump, but she instantly regained herself, hands on her hips as she stared at the ground, expecting the woman to appear before her, but she did not.
"-And I don't appreciate you talking about me behind my back, Lavinia!" she added in a huff.
Imogen caught sight of a pair of very familiar and very bare feet from behind a dressing curtain. But, just to be certain, she pointed towards the makeshift room and mouthed to Lavinia 'Is she in there?'
Lavinia nodded, suppressing a smile before taking off to help the girls.
Imogen didn't even announce herself, she just slipped in behind the curtain without a sound ... or, she would have, had there not been a handful of holiday bells that had been tied to the curtain. They jingled noisily, announcing her arrival, and causing a panic-stricken Constance to hurl a defensive spell at the non-witch. A defensive spell Imogen was used to, but it never ceased to annoy her. The burst of red light took control of her right hand and smacked it over her eyes, blocking the potions mistress from her sight.
"It's only me," she complained quietly.
She felt the floor vibrate ever so slightly as the witch approached her. Imogen felt the older woman's soft slender fingers brush against her own as she pulled them gently from her face, allowing her to gaze into those brown penetrating eyes.
"Hmm," was all she said, cutting her an annoyed look. Her other hand was over her shoulder, pinching the back of her white fairy godmother dress.
"Zip me up," she ordered, letting, turning her back to her.
Imogen found herself staring at the witch's exposed back, her usually pale skin a flushed pink color from the heat of the stage lights and ... was that a white bra? She wasn't aware the woman owned such a thing. Perhaps she'd charmed it to turn white ... or else stolen one of her own …
"Sometime tonight would be nice!"
Imogen snapped out of her thoughts, feeling foolish. Constance always seemed to be able to feel the non-witch's gaze upon her; it had been that way since she'd gotten the teaching position here.
Quickly and shakily, she zipped up the back of the tutu, and promptly the brunette marched over to the mirror across the small makeshift room.
Imogen shyly came up beside her, averting her eyes from the woman's naked legs with a blush. She never saw her lover's body under normal lighting, and she knew how self-conscious Constance was about her body being exposed.
"I look like an idiot," Constance said finally after staring her costume up and down with the utmost scrutiny. Imogen gazed at her in awe.
She looked like an angel. Her dark hair, though still bound in her traditional bun, contrasted beautifully with the white tutu, and her normally pale skin looked pink and flushed under the warm stage lights. Imogen had actually thought she'd laugh at the sight of her dressed up as a fairy, but she had pulled it off quite nicely. Well, more than nicely. She took her damn breath away.
"Your silence says it all," Constance said disgustedly with a heavy sigh as she looked up to the rafters, "I should just disappear to my room and feign sickness," she said as she folded her arms. Imogen grabbed her instinctively, preventing her transport if she'd tried it.
"Nonsense, Constance!" she exclaimed with a smile, wrapping her arm around her waist and resting her head upon her shoulder, looking into her lover's eyes through the mirror, "You look gorgeous!"
"You're mocking me, I know it," she growled quietly, giving her a suspicious glare.
"You are half-dressed, though ..." Imogen murmured, looking around and turning away to search for the rest of the costume.
"Exactly my point!" she snapped, "I can't go out there looking ..." she lowered her voice and said through gritted teeth, "half naked!"
Imogen grinned, shaking her head as she rummaged through the duffle bag on the floor beside the stool, "No, I mean there's more to the costume than just the tutu. Look," she said happily, brandishing a star-tipped wand, "Something you can beat me with."
Constance blushed profusely, snatching the wand from the gym mistress's hand. Imogen smiled mischievously and dove back into the bag.
"This is ridiculous."
"It's a pantomime; what did you expect?"
"And it doesn't help to cover anything up!"
"Quit fussing, and put these on," Imogen said flatly, tossing a pair of pantyhose over her shoulder, nearly hitting the deputy head in the face. Constance would've scolded her for it. She even contemplated for a brief moment to smack her in the head with the wand. But the overwhelming urge to cover her very exposed body took over, and she immediately plopped down onto the stool and hurried to put the leggings on, dropping her wand to the floor beside her.
She was slipping them on so hastily that Imogen paused in her search to watch her concernedly. She reached out and held her ankle firmly, and the witch froze at the touch, looking up at her questioningly.
"Calm down ..." she said under her breath.
Constance cut her an annoyed look, and lightly shook her foot free from her grasp, continuing in her plight.
"You pushed for this," the witch reminded, getting to her feet as she pulled the rest up to her waist.
"You know magic, don't you?" Imogen asked sarcastically, "Couldn't you have slipped a charm in to make your straw the longest?"
"The Witches Code, Imogen!" she exclaimed to herself in the mirror, horrified at the notion, "Magic must not be used for selfish or trivial gain!"
"I was told the fairy godmother costume was pink," she said, raising a brow.
Constance turned a dark shade of red as she faced her, arms folded, "Hardly against the Code! I looked absolutely horrid in pink! If anything I was doing the rest of the school a favor!"
Imogen got to her feet, gloves and ballet shoes in hand, "I think it's impossible for you to ever look horrid."
"You're supposed to say that," she sneered, rolling her eyes.
"No, I mean it," she cleared her throat, pushing aside the thoughts of a romantic moment being shared with them, what with the girls being in such close proximity and all ... She handed her the gloves, and Constance quickly covered her arms with the same greediness as she did the pantyhose.
"You are beautiful, Constance." She said honestly, "You shouldn't hide yourself so ..."
"I have my reasons, you know that," she muttered under her breath, avoiding her gaze. Imogen nodded, focusing on straightening out her long gloves, moving quickly to the collar of the taller woman's dress, which had become crooked in her hurried actions and the slanted look of it had been bugging the sports mistress.
"I don't mean showing more skin, Constance …I mean that you should let the girls see the nicer side of you …"
Imogen sighed, resting her hands on her shoulders as she stared seriously at her, "You've got fairy godmother in you. You know you do. You have heart, and it'd do you some good to show it sometime. And it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of your appearance - I'm sure you'll be able to frighten them off with a deadly glare afterwards ..."
Constance didn't appear to be listening. She just watched her as she spoke, her deep brown eyes getting slightly glassy, "I can't do this, Imogen."
"Yes, you can!" Imogen replied enthusiastically.
"You should be wearing this; it'd be more redundant for you since we both know you won't touch a dress with a ten-foot pole!"
"Oh please," she scoffed, "I'd look too boyish."
"You're only boyish when you dress like one," she argued, motioning to the blonde's clothes, "Overalls, Imogen? Really?"
"I happen to like the overalls, thank you very much." she protested, offended as she thrust the ballet shoes at her, "And don't change the subject."
"Miss Drill!" Charlie's voice rang out.
"Coming, Charlie!" she called back, and Constance quickly grasped the straps of her overalls, dropping her shoes to the floor, "Don't," she pleaded, her walls crumbling down, fear evident in her eyes, "I can't go out like this. You know I can't."
Imogen sighed, giving in, "Okay, look. You need to go speak with Lavinia about it, and if you really can't go through with it, I'll cover for you."
Constance, overcome with emotion and gratitude, yanked Imogen's overall straps close and captured her lips with hers, almost knocking the smaller woman backwards. She grabbed the curtain for balance, which resounded in the loud jingling of bells.
"Thank you," she whispered close once she broke free.
"Watch it!" Imogen hissed back, "The girls ..."
Constance rolled her eyes, bending down to snatch up the ballet shoes Imogen had dropped, and shoving them on hastily.
Imogen felt terrible for reacting that way, but she wasn't comfortable with the rest of the school knowing about them yet. She knew Constance felt the same, but the witch had begun to take more risks lately and it was only a matter of time before they were caught in the act.
"You're one to talk," Constance muttered, "I might have a bit of stage fright now, but it's you who's got stage fright 'round the clock."
"Excuse me for wanting to keep my job," Imogen retorted, snatching up the fairy wand from the floor and handing it to her lover.
Constance took it, purposefully brushing against the non-witch's fingers as she did. She locked eyes with Imogen, those judging eyes of hers, before storming off, holding her fairy wand aloft as if brandishing a weapon.
Imogen sighed as she watched her go, angry with herself for having parted on such terms … but the show must go on.