And the Skies Weep or
Impeccable Timing
The simple and unadorned, perhaps ugly due to its exaggerated simplicity, bookmarker was whisked away by a violent gush of wind to find its silent demise far away, somewhere along the Suicide Canal; Elphaba would have rushed after it and saved it from such an ending, but a huge drop of water managed to slip between the leaves of the (not so exuberant) top of the tree under which she sat, only to fall smack dab in the center of the book she held open upon her lap.
It was then that she became fully aware of her environs – the vicinity of Shiz University, which had been glowing golden and enthusiastic under a clear cerulean sky and a lovely warm sun, brimming with talkative and flirtatious students (who were more than happy to revel in a day free of academical obligations) and their chaperones, was now a glum and uninhabited space, as threatening black clouds had taken over the troposphere.
Shocked by the impending cloudburst and her complete inability to sense it (floating masses of condensed vapor don't just materialize out of nowhere – or aren't supposed to), Elphaba hastily shut the book and jumped to her feet, ready to run to the nearest shelter – she knew the scanty foliage of the tree, regardless of how long the storm could last, would not protect her as she needed to be protected – but she was greeted by a resounding and dangerously near thunderbolt and its loving companion, an immediate and unrelenting shower.
Thus trapped, she clutched the book tightly to her chest (ignoring the itch in her nose caused by the centennial dust that coated the tome) and slammed her back against the trunk, trying to remain calm in face of the growing panic treading along her veins.
Her breathing was uncadenced and conflicting thoughts crisscrossed through her mind, but she could still hear, despite her own desperate growling and fidgeting, despite the terrifying sound of the heavy rain (would that she had brought an umbrella – it would have made her feel silly at first, such a bright day, yet it would have been invaluable – but, alas, powers of divination are not skills that come included with having emerald-colored epidermis), Elphaba could still hear snickering. Mocking laughter, indubitably roused by her uncanny reaction to the downpour.
Quite a eulogy, really.
Her frock being relatively thin, she felt the droplets that had trickled down the trunk start to seep into the fabric; Elphaba hissed at the pain, timely thinking about how this seemed to be her private "cloud of evil", as the early unionists would have envisioned it – how surprisingly literally it presented (or splashed, rather) itself to her!
Given her introspection and agitation, Elphaba was not very perceptive at that moment, so she was quite bewildered when a clearly annoyed young blonde, holding a large and mannish umbrella on one hand, and what seemed to the green girl one of her own shoddy bedclothes on the other, popped up before her.
"To be sure, Miss Elphaba," Galinda said, handing her roommate the umbrella and trying to cloak her with the bedcover. "Your behavior is positively preposterous! Are you by chance made of sugar?"
"Would you care to taste me and find out for yourself?" was the reply, as Elphaba raised one of her hands up to Galinda's face.
So all of a sudden she felt safe again; they were both still out in the storm, which continued to rage with increasing intensity, and she was still at great peril, but she felt safe again.
"Must you always be so appalling?" Galinda retorted, swatting the green hand away and wrestling with the thick mantle – it would be of no use, and she knew, it would never have suited her purpose from the beginning, of hiding Elphaba from public view. Pfannee, Shenshen, Milla, Avaric and even Boq, not to mention all the respective Amas and who knows who else, had seen her rushing out to her roomie; there was no denying it.
In truth, though Galinda couldn't quite yet accept it, enshrouding Elphaba from the others wasn't as imperative as shielding her from her bizarre allergen; but since Galinda didn't, they needn't know either.
Once Elphaba was satisfyingly ensconced, the two girls were set to make their way back to somewhere dry – it was tacitly agreed between them that their destination would be their room in Crage Hall, ignoring the nearby bandstand, under which Galinda's friends (and Boq and an angry-looking Avaric) had found refuge, and the inhabitants of a diminutive space under a close-by canopy, the Amas.
Upon passing by them, Galinda shot Ama Clutch a nasty You Were Supposed to Be the One Doing This, Not Me, For I Have a Reputation And You do Not, Or at Least Yours Doesn't Matter as Much as Mine kind of stare.
The older woman only smiled back at her. Of course her first reaction was to leap after Galinda, when she had seen her run in and then out of their current residence into the tempest, but when Ama Clutch identified her charge's intention, she had thought it better to let her go alone, remembering her own words: something about how green could do Galinda some good, if she let it; knowing the young Gillikinese, Ama Clutch had had to "let it" for her.
The two girls hurried along, huddled together. Galinda had her arm around Elphaba's back and pulled the other girl close. So close, in fact, that Galinda's opposite shoulder was getting completely soaked, much to her dismay (it was one of her finest dresses after all!), on behalf of protecting her roommate.
"This umbrella doesn't belong to you," Elphaba cut in their silence.
"I might have borrowed it from Avaric," Galinda replied, and wry smiles formed upon both their lips, albeit each unacknowledged by the other.
Having shut the doors and begun occupying themselves with changing clothes, ensuring the book had also been preserved, bickering and so on, after entering the building and traipsing up to their room, neither Galinda nor Elphaba had seen the natural spectacle they had left behind: soon after their successful arrival, a sudden lightning bolt landed on the tree from under whence they came. The ancient wood and tale-telling leaves burst into flames and a small, pretty yellow bird that had been perched on one of its branches was also caught in the inferno.
The scene, however, did not last, for heaven's incessant tears washed the fire away, leaving only a decrepit plant with its now charred and naked branches, resembling decaying arms, thrust upward as if begging for un-granted mercy, or perhaps raising condemning fingers to the Unnamed God (or whomever) and the rest of the world, cursing them all to hell.
The bird survived, if barely; one side was unscathed, perfect and beautiful as always, while the other was badly scorched, a vile wound that would never heal. The tiny animal remained on the tree – can pretty little birds cry? Can they mourn? Are they allowed to wish?
For if they are, that small, agonizing, scarred creature wished Death had taken it instead, not the great tree. The world has no need of ornamental beings, but of wise and practical things – the bird could only sing and prance about, but the tree sheltered (saved), fed and taught, if only plants could speak! Oh, the things it must have seen, the things it could have said… They can't talk or think, but maybe animals can feel. If so, this petite bird felt, more than anyone, animal, Animal or whatever else ever could or should feel.
This minute and quiet tragedy played in front of a set of greedy eyes; eyes that had likewise studied with unbridled interest and delight the interaction between two girls some moments before. Eyes that saw, unflinching, as the storm disappeared just as unexpectedly as it had befallen the school grounds, eyes that saw a lonely Ama chase her charges back into Crage Hall, eyes that saw the students come out from where they had been avoiding the rain, eyes that accompanied the descending twilight.
What these eyes observed gave cause to the creasing of lips, a malicious grin, as the carp-like figure who owned them sighted the old Goat making his way to his laboratory.
"Such impeccable timing, if I may say so myself," said Madame Morrible, finally turning back from the window, where she had been standing for countless hours, and facing the inside of her chamber. "Do you not agree, my dear thingy?"
A tiktok contraption gave her something that resembled a nod.
Some hours later, it left the Headmistress' room brandishing a sharp blade.
A/N: Hooray for abrupt and pessimistic endings! I should write Quells.
Really, now, this one was a pain. It's such a simple little idea, but it gave me a run for my money; I kept rewriting and changing plot details and characters and settings and UGH, I'm happy it's done (the working title was "infamous rain fic gosh darnit", as a bit of trivia). It isn't perfect, duh, but it's fairly decent, I guess.
And I apparently have a thing for writing about flowers and plants in general, I gotta stop that. It's the last time, I promise, at least for a while! Albeit Glinda-birds are still game…Haha.
Love it, hate it, tl;dr? I'm listening (well, reading, but whatever).