Kind of a fluff fic. Musical-verse. Set any time during Act I. Slight Gelphie suggestion, but no actual slash.
"Elphaba?"
There's a rustle from the small room.
"Elphaba."
Another small noise emits.
"Elphaba!"
A shy, quiet voice finally says, "I don't want to come out."
Galinda sighs and leans back in one of the posh chairs in the expensive boutique. They're pink. Most things here are pink or some other sort of girly color. That's probably why she likes it so much.
She sighs again. "I'm not going to laugh. Just come out already."
There's a click as the lock slides away. She steps out of the changing room nervously, smoothing down the hem of the dress.
Galida's mouth almost falls open.
It's a pitch-black dress, simple but elegant. It fits her perfectly. It has a few embellishments placed here and there, but not overwhelmingly so. The plunging neckline is the centerpiece. Elphaba… doesn't look like she normally does.
Elphaba chances a look at her friend's face and misinterprets the expression immediately.
"Is it too much? I could-"
"No!" Galinda protests, a little too quickly. "You look… pretty."
Of course she doesn't look pretty.
She looks exotic, beautiful even, but never "pretty". Pretty is for the blond girls who toss their hair and chew sticks of gum between their clean, white teeth. Pretty is for the ones with matching jackets and matching shoes and matching minds. Pretty is not for Elphaba.
Her beauty is more wild, and more primal, than the other girls' looks could ever be. She's not meant for the magazines that Galinda reads with the words "Exclusive" splashed everywhere in forcefully-cheerful neon letters. Elphie could never be labeled that way.
Galinda's decided recently she doesn't like being called pretty. She'd rather be gorgeous or special or anything other than perfect. She no longer wants the quintessential Gillakinese mansion with the white picket fence. She's even considered messing up her upturned button nose, just to somehow be different.
She once voiced this aloud, to varied laughs by her friends and a thoughtful silence from her green-skinned companion.
Deep down, she knows that she can never be this way. She is fated for a life of ordinary bliss, domestic luxury, perfect prettiness. And she envies Elphaba in a way she never has before: simply because she'll never have to know what being pretty feels like.
Elphaba fiddles with the dress again. "I don't know."
Galinda throws her hands in the air. "What's not to like? It's perfect!" Somehow she knows the fact that something is perfect will not exactly appeal to her friend.
"I like it, I do, I just…" She glimpses the price tag and her eyes widen. "No… no way."
"What?" Galinda says, one eyebrow raised in confusion.
She doesn't reply; she simply points at the tag with revulsion. Galinda waves it away with a snort. "Honestly, you're the governor's daughter. You'd think you'd be used to it by now."
"I don't shop in places like this usually," she mutters.
"Nessa does," she challenges.
Elphaba mumbles something she can't quite hear. Galinda asks her to repeat it.
"Nessa's pretty," she says, almost wistfully. They are brought to a slightly uncomfortable silence. Elphaba actually sniffs.
Galinda finally thinks of something to say.
"Who gives a damn about pretty?" she asks, half to herself, and Elphaba smiles.