Disclaimer: Wicked isn't mine (no duh) but I'm seeing it for the second time August 5 with the LA cast.
A/N- My updates will hopefully not be once a week apart anymore, but I'm in summer school, so it isn't a guarantee
A/N2- Caramel custard for my revieweers
"Do I take it we'll have pudding by the fire?" said Nanny, looking up brightly. "It's caramel custard."- Wicked pg. 399
greengirl16
Crazy Homeschooler
Drop Your Oboe
JadeTakashi
TillITryIllNeverKnow
TheWitch'sCat
Huddled together with Arii's shawl wrapped around them, the twins had slept fitfully through the night and woken often at the slightest rustling of leaves. With the first of the gray pre-dawn light, some of their hope was restored. Such a thing as hope seemed connected to the sun. For as it spread light and heat it also filled a sense of joy in those young enough to appreciate it.
Liir yawned, "Morning sister."
"Morning brother," she mumbled in reply, rubbing her eyes in a way that would remind one of a rabbit.
"We should get going," he stood and helped her up as well.
"I'm hungry…" Arii was terribly shy at times, but loved to dance.
"Me too. Let's eat." Liir was more outspoken though, and was dangerously care-free far too often.
In general silence they ate their fill of berries from the basket. Strange shadows caught their gazes for fleeting instances as they raced through the forest. Each time they appeared closer, and the snapping of a pile of bone-dry twigs confirmed the twins' unspoken fears. A rough hand encircled each of their arms. They struggled and writhed in the grips of the strange men. Arii screamed until one of them pressed a cloth to her nose and she lost consciousness.
"Get away from my sister!" Liir shouted as the man holding him attempted to bind his hands.
"Oh, she's your sister, I see. Well then, that will just make my job a little more interesting." The other one threw Arii's limp body to the ground and tied her hands behind her until her wrists bled.
A longer piece of rope was then used to tie them together and drag them along. Still groggy from the fumes, Arii stumbled at times when they moved too quickly. Her knees stung awfully from the little rocks and other bits that were now ground into it, as well as her forehead because she couldn't use her hands to break her fall. At the very least she still had her shawl wrapped about her small shoulders.
"Fae, time to wake up," Fiyero gently shook his distraught green love out of her half-sleep, fresh burns ringed her eyes where the tears she had attempted to suppress had leaked through.
"I'm up," her voice was ragged as she swiftly dressed, grabbing her broom from its place in the corner.
They each polished off an apple shortly and sped away on the broom. The forest thinned until the desert was exposed: an expanse of sand and extreme temperatures. Several figures were seen moving through the forest, but from their altitude neither could tell if they were human or Animal—it was clear they wore clothes. Swiftly dipping the broom down for a better view of a particularly fast moving group, the green's breath caught in her throat.
Beneath them were Arii and Liir, dragged along like ragdolls through the undergrowth. In helpless shock Elphaba steered the broom to follow the group. Guns were apparent on both of the men and she feared any attempt at rescue currently would hurt more than help. Reassuringly, Fiyero rubbed the small of her back. It had always proven to be an effective way to calm her.
"Yero," she whispered forcibly, "somebody has to do something!"
He returned, "We."
"What?" the almost-silence was nearly broken. She clapped an emerald hand over her mouth with a muffled curse.
"We have to do something—"
"I know that!" she snapped quietly, furrowing her brow.
"Shhh, shhh, please don't fly off the handle now, Fae," he didn't want to draw any attention to them. The sight of the late Arjiki prince Fiyero Tiggular with The Wicked Witch of the West would confirm the theory of ghosts, or worse:That they had not actually died.
Quiet, shaking, breaths filled her instead of suppressed rage now. There was a strange whirring sound, a sensation of falling, and numbness after the sharp pain that was all too familiar.
The hours wore on but fatigue was long past the twins. With deep breaths and solid steps like windup toys, they found a way to maintain the pace. Neither of them knew how close they were to their parents. A trickling spring was the last place to get water before the desert. Liir and Arii watched as the men drank and filled their canteens. None was offered to them; they were too afraid to ask. One of them jerked the rope and the twins tumbled onto the burning sands. It blew into their eyes and stung their throats and noses.
"Get up you!" the other one shouted, kicking more sand at them, "we have to be across this desert before noon tomorrow! Get moving!"
"Where are you taking us?" Liir demanded as he pulled Arii up with him.
The first laughed loudly, unkindly, "To be sold in the Emerald City!"
"He'll work well in the cornfields, and she in a house," the second elbowed his friend in the ribs, "who knows, in a few years she might make a good whore."
At this they rolled around in mirth as the five year old twins clung to each other. No sooner had they stopped that the men yanked them through the sand once more. Their throats were dry, their eyes burned, and they longed for a drop of the water the men were drinking. Any sense of time either of them might have possessed was lost. They knew when the moon was overhead, and then when it was replaced by the sun, but no more than that.
Just as the man had said, they were out of the desert when the sun was at its peak: noon. When the twins had nearly collapsed from hunger and dehydration, they were thrown into what could best be described as a crate. The heel from a loaf of bread and a pipkin of water were shoved in through a strange hatch on the side near the bottom. Try as they might, there was no way to open it from the inside. Packaged for shipping, they were goods to be sold.
A/N- Alright, I know, it's not the happy story you all expected. But what do you think?
Also, I got the idea somewhat from this:
Wicked, pg 232:
"Winkie roundup," the rafiqi complained. It wasn't clear if he was talking about a local argument over a drunken slight to a Vinkus maided or about a slave trade and resettlement camps.
