Disclaimer: As we all know I do not own Wicked or anything by Disney.
Ok, I'm gonna try something crazy here. I really get a kick out of the classic Disney songs (don't we all?), so I was thinking about it, and all these little songfic ideas kept popping into my head. I've got about twenty of them now, I think (not written yet, just ideas), and I'm gonna try to piece them together to make it somewhat chronological, at least, if not with much of an actual plot. Don't know how it'll go, but I think it'll be fun- and most likely very, very cheesy. XD
The ones I'm using here are "Someday My Prince Will Come" and "With a Smile and a Song" from Snow White, "Les Poissons" from Little Mermaid, and "Soon" from Thumbelina.
We begin our tale in Gillikin with the twelve-year-old Galinda Upland- of the Upper Uplands, as she was only too glad to remind anyone who dared to forget. Miss Upland was a very indignant twelve-year-old, due to one bodily malfunction that perpetually stretched her rather small mental capacity to its limits.
That is to say, she didn't have her period yet.
"Momsie, I don't understand it," she wailed one afternoon. "Dorianne has hers, and so does Tanith and Mari and…and everybody! I'll bet even Hadrian has one by now!" She shot a scathing look at her father's young bookkeeper as he finished dusting and scurried from the room, his protuberant ears on fire.
Lady Upland smoothed the non-existent wrinkles in her daughter's skirt. "Galinda, precious, Aunt Flo doesn't visit the boys," she replied with forced sweetness.
"Why not?"
Lynora's patience for the girl's antics was running thin. "Because, dear, quite frankly, men are babies. Now." She slapped the leg she'd been de-wrinkling, ignoring Galinda's yelp. "I don't want to hear another word about this. No," she intervened sternly when Galinda opened her mouth to protest. "It'll come when in comes, and there's nothing anyone can do, so I suggest you stop whining about it." With that, she stood and swept dramatically from the room- or rather, started to sweep dramatically from the room. She halted after a few steps to throw her shoulders back regally- for dramatic effect, of course- before completing her exit.
Galinda rolled onto her back with an exaggerated sigh, sprawling lazily across the expensive sofa she'd been occupying for the last hour. She carefully arranged her bottom lip into a pout, for the benefit of anyone who entered the parlor. Surely some kind soul would take pity on her.
But servants came and went, bustling in and out of the room without a second glance at their pathetic mistress. When the last of them had gone, Galinda's puppy dog pout twisted itself into an angry glare. "Well, fine," she huffed. "If no one will comfort me in my hour of need-" She sniffled at the thought. "-then I'll have to do it myself."
Springing from the couch with a sudden energy, Galinda hurried to the window and arranged herself on the sill. She put on her most hopeful expression and began to sing a wistful little song. "Someday Aunt Flo will come. Someday she'll visit me, and forever and ever she'll stay! She will never go away…."
Galinda froze. 'Wait a minute…' She tried again. "She will never go away…Oh no…" She sank weakly onto a nearby chair. It was a well-known fact that Galinda had zero tolerance for any one thing over an extended period of time, as demonstrated by her inability to stick with one task for more than five minutes. The same went for most people- she could only handle being in the same company for so long. And the thought of Aunt Flo staying- gulp- forever, no matter how exciting she may be, was truly terrifying.
Galinda slumped in her seat and draped a hand over her eyes dramatically. "Oh, eternal strife- I'll live with her for life!" She moaned. "Now I understand why it's called the 'curse of women'."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At age fourteen, Galinda, still melodramatic as ever, began to develop an interest in- Oz forbid- boys. And the boys had long-since developed a very strong interest that bordered on obsession with her.
This created a bit of a dilemma, as Galinda was very selective when choosing the objects of her fascination. Simply put, she refused to give a second thought to any boy whose level of perfection did not match her own- which ruled out about ninety-eight percent of the population. As a result, she liked about two of them, and as far as she was concerned, the rest could go drown themselves like the pathetic puppies that they were.
While pondering the problem that this created, Galinda remembered something the family cook had once told her as she'd lamented her situation over a gallon of ice cream. "If you're not interested, just slap 'em," the woman had said said in her usual gruff, down-to-business manner. "That'll get the message across faster than just about anything else you can do."
'Just slap 'em…' Galinda brightened. That was it!
Humming merrily to herself, she grabbed the dainty beaded purse that matched today's outfit and skipped out of her bedroom, ready to take on the world. As was her habit whenever something particularly exciting happened- or when one of her frequent strokes of brilliance hit, like now- Galinda began to sing.
"With a smile and a slap, I'll send unworthy boys on their way; they'll fear me today! With a smile and a slap…"
Galinda spotted one of them on her way out. 'Aha!' It was the one who liked to lurk about the manor in the hopes of encountering her. Galinda nodded decisively to herself; it was about time somebody set him straight. Without a second thought, she marched right up to him and slapped him smartly across the face. She giggled as he blushed pink, then scarlet, then turned tail and fled without a word.
'One down…fifty to go.' Galinda skipped confidently down the hall, congratulating herself mentally. When she reached the double doors at the front entrance of the manor, she grasped one handle in each hand and flung them open, beaming triumphantly into the bright sunlight.
The flock of presumptuous boys that always occupied her front lawn waited in their usual spot, watching her nervously. The boy she'd slapped stood at the front of the pack, having obviously informed his partners-in-crime of what had happened. Galinda continued to grin gleefully, making it very clear that she felt no remorse, and a few of them shrank away- in fear, she imagined. She shook a finger at them.
"There's no use in running," she sang as she descended the front steps. "My fun's just begun…ing! And soon you'll all be gone- and Oz help you if you come back." She leveled a petulant glare on her gaggle of unwanted admirers. 'Time to get to work.' Stepping down from the last step, her smile firmly in place once again, she rolled up her sleeves and finished with a flourish. "With a smile and a slap!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In a neighboring kingdom known as the Vinkus, Fiyero Tiggular- the kingdom's official, sixteen-year-old royal hunk- was being sneaky. He looked anxiously about the royal kitchen, checking for any lingering servants or fangirls, or worse, his mother. Satisfied that he was alone, he spun to face his cutting board, a smile of anticipation tugging at the corners of his princely lips.
"Alright, my friend," he said to the cutting board's scaly occupant. "Are we ready for this?"
He moved the fish's lips in response, putting on a high falsetto. "No, your hunkliness! Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!"
Returning to his normal voice, he replied sympathetically, "My delicious little morsel, it is because of my love for you that I must eat you, and I cannot do that until I've attempted to cook you one way or another."
"But Fiyero, can't we at least talk about- Nooooo!" Fiyero brought his butchering knife down upon what he assumed must be the fish's neck. The head toppled neatly off of the cutting board, staring up at him blankly, and he raised the fish in the air triumphantly, pleased with himself thus far.
After savoring his moment of triumph for a moment, he decided to move on. 'Hmm, now what do I do?' "Ah! I must skin you now." Fiyero cradled the fish against his apron as he attempted to slice the scales off of his former friend, preferably without removing all of the meat as well. As he worked, he sang a little song of his own invention.
"Les poissons, les poissons! How I love les poissons- love to chop and to serve little fish!" Fiyero frowned; a particular patch of scales was giving him difficulty. 'Maybe I'm going about this the wrong way…' He went through his checklist. "First I cut off zeir heads, zen I pull out ze bones. Ah- Oh! Ze bones!"
Fiyero reached into the fish and gave a solid yank. "Ah, mais oui, ca c'est toujours delish!" What was next? "Back to the list- think, think…Ah, oui. Zen I stuff you wiz-"
"Your Highness?"
Fiyero whirled to find a kitchen boy about his age watching him, wide-eyed, from the doorway. The boy took a cautious step forward. "What are you doing? I thought you weren't allowed in the kitchen."
"You dare to interrupt my work?" Fiyero demanded, unconsciously continuing to use the French accent he'd adopted for his song.
"N-no, I-"
Not really outraged, but having fun pretending to be, Fiyero seized the butchering knife from the counter and assumed fencing position. He advanced on the poor, terrified servant slowly, brandishing both the fish and the knife threateningly. "Cur! Blackguard! Out! Out! OUT!" Fiyero punctuated each word with a slash of one or the other of his imaginary swords, and the boy ducked out of the kitchen, yelling,"Help! The prince has gone mad!"
Satisfied, Fiyero tossed the knife carelessly aside and clapped his hand and the fish together authoritatively. "Now! Where were we?" he asked the fish, which now hung limp after being flipped around so vigorously.
"Ah, yes- Zen I stuff you wiz bread!" He grabbed a fistful of bread crumbs and jammed them into the hole left by the fish's removed spine. "It won't hurt; you'll be dead! And you'll surely be lucky you are, cuz it's gonna be hot in my big copper pot." He slammed a pot full of water onto the stove and turned the burner on high, then looked down at his fish one last time for inspection. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it…
"Ah! Ze scales are still here! But…" He scratched his head, trying to remember if his list actually said anything about de-scaling the fish. 'I don't think so…' With a shrug, he rubbed a slab of butter against its side for the final touch. "Toodle-oo, mon poisson." He kissed the fish once for good measure and ran to the other end of the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, Fiyero switched into his most operatic voice for the grand finale. "Au revoir!" He took aim and flung the fish across the kitchen in the general direction of the pot, closing his eyes and holding out his final note till he was blue in the face.
When he finally ran out of air, he opened his eyes and dashed eagerly to the pot, and peered inside. Where was his fish?
Glancing up, Fiyero found his little friend smashed flat as a pancake against the far wall. As he watched, the fish slid slowly down the wall, leaving a trail of slime in its wake. 'Maybe that's why I'm not allowed in the kitchen…'
Fiyero simply stared for a moment, then broke into a radiant smile. "Well, that was a fine performance, I must say." Straightening the ruffled apron he'd stolen from the cook's closet, he whistled as he strode out of the kitchen, his original purpose in attempting to cook the fish completely forgotten.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * **
On the other side of Oz, in a small attic bedroom in the mansion of the Governor of Munchkinland, an emerald-skinned teenager sat on a ragged cot, gazing dejectedly out of the room's one small window and singing softly to herself.
"I know there's someone, somewhere, someone who'll come and find me soon." She stood and padded to the window, her bare feet leaving prints in the floor's thick layer of dust. She closed her eyes and pressed a small green bottle to her chest, trying to believe the words she sang. "After the rain goes, there are rainbows. I'll find my rainbow soon. Soon, it won't be just pretend. Soon, a happy ending…."
Pearly tears trailed down her cheeks, and she clutched the little bottle tighter. "Love, can you hear me? If you're near me…Sing your song, sure and strong and soon."
Elphaba returned to her cot and crawled under the thin blanket. She curled up in a tight ball and lay there, hoping. 'Soon…'
What do you guys think? Should I give it a shot?