Uniformality sounds like an Ozian word right? Right?

This one-shot is based on an idea I'm sure many of us have heard tossed around by WICKED's creative team: that students at Shiz buy their uniforms at a 'shop' and mix and match to create their own look.

I am dedicating this to Moreanswers24, Guest and anyone else who nominated Brigitta in Oz for Best Crossover in last year's Greg's, as well as elledottore and anyone else who voted for it. I never expected to wind up in the Greg's, least of all for a crossover, but was honoured to be nominated and humbled to win 2nd place. You are all awesome.

With a grunt, I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside the shop. Nessa wheeled herself in behind me and Father followed her.

It was small, and quaint and thankfully, practically deserted. With the exception of the woman behind the front desk, who was roughly the same age as Father, there was no one to be seen.

I fought the urge to scowl as I noticed that she was staring at me with wide eyes and an open-mouthed expression.

Of course.

A few clock-ticks passed before she finally bristled and addressed my father: "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Father replied as he approached the desk. "We're looking for a uniform for Nessarose here."

He gazed adoringly at Nessa and she smiled back enthusiastically.

The assistant turned her attention to Nessarose, her face now compassionate. Just like I could read her thoughts when she looked at me, I could almost hear the words in her mind as she looked at my sister.

Poor girl. Confined to a chair. With a frog for a sister. Where is her mother?

What a terrible situation.

That was the Thropp sisters. One to be pitied and one to be censured.

As the assistant led Father and Nessa off towards several racks full of clothes, I sat down on a nearby bench and took out my book. It was The Emperor Apostle, a story about a ruler of Fliaan, who claimed to be incredibly devoted to the Unnamed God, while actually being incredibly tyrannical in his actions. I had read it before, and it was one I remembered enjoying. Though entirely fictional, it raised many questions about power and society, and had always made me think. My favourite books were books that could do that.

Besides, I wasn't going to be needed for some time, if at all.

I knew there was only one reason I had been allowed to come. To both the uniform shop, and Shiz in general.

To look after Nessa.

Father needed someone to take care of his precious little girl. The future Governor of Munchkinland.

He hadn't said anything of course; but I knew I wasn't going to be bearing that title anytime soon. Or ever for that matter; despite being not only the eldest child, but also the Thropp Third Descending.

I wasn't upset. Years and years of being deprived by my Father of anything; physical possessions and emotional comfort, had left me immune to the sting.

Besides, even if I had desperately wanted the position, which I did not, realistically, it would not have gone well. People could barely stand to look at me. They didn't see me as a human being, or take me seriously on a day-to-day basis. How in Oz was anyone going to take me seriously in a position of power?

And even if I was only here to look after my sister, I was still at Shiz University. The most prestigious learning institute in all of Oz. It was a dream come true, and enough to satisfy my happiness for the time being.

These are yours," a voice announced shortly. I looked up just in time to see my father dump a pile of clothes onto my lap on top of my book.

By the time I had collected myself he was gone, so I turned my attention back to the clothes.

There was a turtleneck sweater, a tunic style dress with an uneven hemline and a boxy blazer. Everything was dark blue; the only other colour being the black edging on the jacket.

I couldn't help smirking a little. Whether by actual intent or pure luck; most likely the latter, I surmised ruefully, the outfit was rather close to my style, if I possessed such a thing. I suppose my father had noticed me. Then again, missing me would've been difficult, though Father did his level best.

"Father," Nessarose called. "I want to try these on."

"Of course, sweetheart," Father answered in the voice that told me he was smiling at her in some sort of sickeningly saccharine fashion.

"ELPHABA!" he was barking orders now.

I set the book on top of my clothes and went over to my sister. She had parked her chair next to a rack of clothes, but hadn't been able to reach the hangers to pull them down.

"Which ones do you want?"

At her instruction, I pulled off a long skirt the same shade of blue as my uniform, a sheer white blouse with long sleeves and a blue and white striped vest and lay them down carefully on Nessa's lap.

I straightened back up, but before I even placed so much as a finger on the handles of Nessa's chair, I stopped.

A fitted white jacket was hanging on the rack next to the vest I had just taken. It had long sleeves, a high collar and dark blue edging, while the main body was covered in a subtle floral pattern.

I had never been the type of girl who cared about the way she looks. I mean, I did care; my appearance bothered me immensely, and was the cause of my father's hatred for me and the ostracism I'd been subject to my entire life. But I'm not the type of girl who wants to look pretty just for the sake of it. It's almost impossible to be when your skin is as green as the emerald mines in the Glikkus. But I was a girl nonetheless, and this jacket made me pause.

As close to what I would normally wear as the outfit Father had chosen for me was, briefly; for one fleeting clock-tick, I wanted to be someone who could wear that jacket.

"ELPHABA!" Father screamed, jolting me back to reality.

I jerked my head away from the jacket and wheeled Nessa over to the changing room.

We were in and out of the cubicle in less than ten minutes. Having helped her since we were both little girls, I had long ago perfected the routine. Thankfully, we wouldn't have to go back again, as everything Nessa had chosen fit her, and she was happy with how it looked.

Father was sitting on a bench when I wheeled her out.

"I found these boots for you," he announced to Nessa, holding up a pair of plain, but expensive-looking brown leather lace up boots.

"What about…"

In the back of my mind I knew it was foolish to ask, but in this instance I had to. None of the shoes I owned would be suitable for Shiz, which requested their students wear brown shoes.

But to my absolute shock, Father did not scream or scowl. He didn't even ignore me.

"There's some old boots of…,"

He paused and the silence seemed to last forever, though it couldn't have been more than a couple of clock-ticks.

"Of your mother's. They will work," he finished.

He bowed his head, almost as though he was ashamed of what he'd just said.

I inhaled a long breath. Even Nessa was silent. Father hardly ever mentioned Mother, except as part a long, long list of screams or expletives hurled at me when he was feeling particularly cruel.

He didn't even connect her with Nessa on a regular basis. Not once had he ever mentioned her as my mother. Not once in my entire life had my father acknowledged Melena Thropp as part of my ancestry. Even if what he was actually saying was that he wouldn't buy me boots for university, his words made me happy.

In a way I could take my mother to Shiz with me.

While Father paid for our uniforms, I wheeled Nessa over to the entrance. As I held to door open for her to wheel herself through, I glanced wistfully over at the rack near the changing rooms. I could see a sliver of white, and sighed.

'No,' I scolded myself. I couldn't think about what could never be. I'd realised time and time again that wishing only wounds the heart.

I was green, yes. But I was still going to school at Shiz University, wearing my mother's old boots. My father hated me, yes. But he had acknowledged that Melena Thropp was my mother.

I could be happy.