Disclaimer: I own NOTHING from Wicked. If I ever put something in that I DO own or have made up, I'll be sure to let you know. But until then, everything you recognize I have no ownership over.
A figure moved quickly through the streets of the Emerald City, its head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. Whoever it was clearly had somewhere urgent to be, and didn't want to be followed, for it kept glancing over its shoulder like a fleeing animal.
The figure wore long dark skirts, as though it was a maunt. Obviously a female, then. She also wore elegant tight-fitting gloves, big steel-toed boots, and had chosen to cover her face with a dark purple and gold scarf. As though she didn't want to be recognized.
Even though this should have been a dead giveaway to everyone that the figure was up to no good… at least to the so-called 'law', the few people in this disreputable area who spotted the woman, they found it unimportant, looked away, and almost immediately forgot that they had in fact seen her.
Soon, people were no longer on the streets that the woman hurried through, for she was now in a district mostly inhabited by warehouses, and it was too late for any workers to be still around. After hours, as it were. The woman, sensing this, lowered her mouth slightly, uncovering her nose so as to breathe better. If seen from the side, it would have looked as though her nose was half of a pair of scissors, ready to cut down anybody who got in the woman's path.
But many warehouses, almost all in fact, closed after dark. So their workers could find their ways back to their residential district, lights had been installed along the streets and, whenever the woman neared one, she pulled the scarf back over her face and turned away from it. Obviously, even with nobody being on the streets, she didn't care to risk being recognized. Or stopped from reaching her destination. As the two obviously went hand-in-hand, she was taking every precaution against it.
When she neared her destination, the woman broke into a sprint, forgetting to duck away from the lights. Almost as though she didn't care any more. Luckily, her scarf was still covering her face. If that piece of cloth hadn't been there, and anybody had been around, she would have been most likely shot right away. That was the problem with being so obviously in the resistance. You were constantly a target in this beautiful, false city.
Running up to a large warehouse, the woman unbolted a hidden entrance, slipped in, closed it behind herself. She began to dash up the stairs, only to stop halfway up. There were voices… and boot steps… coming from the hidden apartment upstairs. …Her hidden apartment, to be exact.
Flattening herself against the wall, she had a split-second debate with herself over leaving, like she would normally do, or investigating. The latter won; she at least had to know who was up there. Who had cracked her anonymity.
She managed to reach the top of the stairs before whoever it was finished whatever they were doing. The woman ducked into a lightless corner, covering every exposed inch of skin, once again, except her eyes, which had narrowed until they were merely thin slits.
As soon as the woman did this, about half a dozen men stormed out of the room, carrying a lifeless and bloody body between them. The woman took a half-step forward, towards them, but then stopped, her eyes narrowing even further. She had seen the man's face. But she wouldn't, couldn't, do anything about it. At least, not yet.
She, with a great difficulty, let them pass without revealing herself. But as soon as they had audibly exited the warehouse, slamming the visible entrance behind the last person, she began sprinting forward once again. To the hidden apartment that the men had just exited. Entering, her hands immediately clenched themselves into fists as a scowl appeared on the woman's face. Blood. Everywhere. They had done this to that man. And for that they would pay. Casualties were alright by her, merely a necessity. But murder, or at least attempted murder, was something that needed to be fought with fire.
And maybe she had gone insane. Bloodthirsty. Blood-hungry. But right now, only one thought was in her head. She had to get the man away from the Gale Force… For if she didn't, he would surely die.
Dashing out of the warehouse, she dropped the scarf, letting it only cover her face. Her dark eyes watched the men's retreating backs with hatred. She then shifted so the light caught her full in the face.
It was green.