AN - I take far too much enjoyment from this fic. Far far too much enjoyment...
The sun was still high in the sky as they left the fields behind and reached a small forest. In a way it was a relief, the trees shading them and blocking the heat, but Molly still found it troubling. With the sun immobile in the sky she couldn't tell how long this journey was taking her and that was worrisome. Had she been walking towards the Emerald City for a few hours or had it been closer to a day? Considering everything that had happened, she hoped that she and Greg would be reaching this Wizard soon. Strangely, she didn't feel tired and the ruby slippers on her feet were so comfortable they could have been her favorite trainers so that didn't help her gauge the time in the slightest.
Glancing over at the scarecrow at her side, Molly bit her lip. He hadn't been any use when she asked him the distance to the Emerald City or who the Wizard was, and he hadn't known anything about Mary or Moriarty, but maybe the sun was something he knew about. He did see it every day after all. "Is it just me or has the sun stopped moving?" she asked.
Greg stopped his looping walk to stare straight up at the sun, painted eyes not blinking. "Oh, the sun doesn't move unless it's rising or setting," he said. He took a step and pitched forward, nearly falling on his face before he caught his balance. While his gait was improving he still walked like a drunk sailor stuck on deck during a typhoon. "The Wizard controls it with a dial in the Emerald City."
She blinked. "The Wizard… controls the sun?"
"Yes! Everyone knows that," Greg said, beaming at her. She frowned, not certain if he was lying to her or if he just believed that nonsense. "There's a great dial in the Wizard's palace and he turns it to give all of Oz daytime and night."
"So if he forgets to turn the dial…"
"We have eternal day!" Greg said cheerfully. "It's much better then eternal night, I can tell you. The Wizard is very good at remembering though. Night should be here very soon."
Sending up a suspicious gaze towards the sun, all thoughts of the strange orbital behavior of distant stars fled her mind as they turned a corner to see an orchard of trees before them. Huge red apples, some the size of her fists or even larger, hung heavy in the trees and her mouth watered. It had been ages since she'd eaten or drunk a thing and she was both dehydrated and thirsty.
"Apples!" she gasped, hurrying forward.
A fence separated the orchard from the yellow brick road, a large sign on the closest post. 'Warning: Asshole Trees' it read, which caused her to hesitate but not much. Her stomach growled loudly and she hurried over to a bit of fallen fence to climb over. Going up to the first tree she hesitated, wondering if she should find someone to ask permission first then reached for an apple.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a female voice said.
Molly turned to see a woman walking through the orchard, struggling under the weight of a huge bucket of water. The woman's face was brown and made of canvas, her hair tightly curled black yarn, and- For god's sake she was a patchwork woman. Wasn't there any normal people around here? Limping her way between the trees, the patchwork woman made for the yellow brick road, glancing at Molly with dark eyes before continuing on.
"Sorry," Molly said, eyeing the bucket of water the woman was carrying and wondering if she could ask for a drink. "Are these your trees?"
"They're not anybody's trees," the woman said, continuing on. She was doing quite well considering she was made of rags and stuffing, her clean patchwork dress neatly mended and neat. Did patchwork people have bones to help support them?
Glancing back at the tempting fruit, Molly's stomach rumbled again. "Are the apples safe to eat? They're not poison or anything, are they?"
The patchwork woman shook her head, glancing at Greg who was hurrying over to help her with the bucket. "They're safe," she said, letting the scarecrow take the handle.
"Then why can't I eat them?" Molly asked.
Looking over her shoulder as the scarecrow helped her carry the bucket down the yellow brick road, the patchwork woman shrugged. "The trees are assholes," she said.
"But what does that mean?" Molly asked, trailing off as the patchwork woman and Greg continued on. The scarecrow had struck up a conversation with the woman, Toby dogging their heels as they continued on the yellow brick road with the bucket between them. Turning back to the trees, Molly frowned. Asshole trees. The sign had said the same thing but what did that even mean? Her stomach growled loudly again and she mentally shrugged. A single apple couldn't hurt.
Reaching up she plucked a big, red, juicy looking apple from the tree only to gasp as the tree suddenly moved, slapping the apple out of her hand. "Thief!" the tree shouted in a shrill voice. "Thief! There's a thief here trying to steal my fruit!"
The other trees began to stir, eyes in bark snapping open to peer at Molly as she held her hand and backed away. "I-I'm sorry!" she said, more than a little taken aback by the fact that they were talking trees. Though why she was surprised escaped her. So far she'd traveled on a tornado and met witches, warlocks, and people made of straw and patches. Talking trees were not that far out of the realm of possibility. "I'm sorry for trying to take one of your apples without permission. I was just so hungry and they looked so good-"
The tree gasped loudly, its knot eyes opening wide. "Hungry? You were going to eat that apple?" it demanded, sounding horrified.
Molly hesitated. "Yes?"
"Murderer!" the apple tree shrieked, waving it's branches frantically. "Tree murderer! It wants to eat my babies!"
Eyes going wide, Molly tried to protest but the trees wouldn't hear of it. Shrieking and shivering down to their roots they pelted branches and rocks at her until she turned to flee. One of them even pulled a bird's nest out of its leaves and threw it at her, the mother bird streaking after it, twittering with rage. Hiking her skirt up high, Molly ran down the yellow brick road after Greg and the patchwork woman, panting hard as she caught up and got out of range of the still screaming trees.
"Y-You didn't tell me that they were alive!" she gasped, glaring at the patchwork woman who looked back at her, a vague expression of concern on her face.
"Well what did you expect? I told you they were assholes," the patchwork woman said.
"Trees don't talk where I come from," Molly wheezed, rubbing at the stitch on her side. Really, she needed to start going jogging again.
"Really? That sounds nice," the patchwork woman said.
"Trees don't talk where I come from either," Greg said as the two of them began to carry the bucket back down the yellow brick road. "There's no trees at all actually! Just maize, as far as the eye can see."
"No trees at all, huh?" the patchwork woman said, tilting her head to one side. "That could actually solve all my problems."
"You have problems?" Greg asked, painted face going into a frown. "That's awful. Now I don't have any brains, but maybe Molly and I could help. We're off to see the Wizard so that I can get a brain and Molly can go back to London. Maybe the Wizard can help you with your problem too."
The patchwork woman smiled and shook her head. "No, you helping me with this bucket is all the help I need. Thank you."
It almost looked like Greg blushed, the paint on his cheeks going a little bit pink as he stumbled a bit. "Oh. No trouble! I'm Greg the scarecrow, what's your name?"
"I'm Sally, the patchwork doll," she replied, her own face going a little pink. "I've never met a scarecrow before."
Greg beamed at her. "That's funny. I've never met a patchwork doll."
Trailing behind them with Toby, Molly smiled and tried not to laugh. It was actually kind of sweet the way the two of them were gazing at each other. Her stomach rumbled in protest though and she sighed, touching it. "Hey Sally? I don't suppose you have anything to eat, do you? Or would it be alright if I had a bit of that water? I'm dreadfully hungry and thirsty."
Sally glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her. "I don't eat myself, but I think I have a bit of cheese and a cup at my cottage. You can rest there if you like. It should be night soon."
Glancing up at the sky to see that the sun still hadn't moved, Molly nodded. "That would be great."
Leading them down the yellow brick road a short distance more Sally stopped in front of a pair of small cottages on the side of the road. One was made of split logs while the other was more of a tent made out of colorful patches that flapped in the breeze. Sally stepped into the patchwork cottage, rolling back the door and emerging with a tin cup that she handed to Molly. "I'm going to need half the water, but you're welcome to the rest," she said, handing her a flannel rag as well.
Thanking her profusely, Molly sat by the bucket and drained three cups full of water before dipping the rag in to wet it. Wiping down her face and neck, she moaned in contentment as Sally rummaged around in both cottages before finding the hunk of cheese. "Thank you," she said again, filling the cup again and breaking off bits of cheese for Toby to eat. "You're very kind."
"You're welcome," Sally said, smiling at her.
Hunger sated for now and feeling much better, Molly sighed and stretched. "What did you need the water for anyway? Is it laundry day?" she asked, eyeing the patchwork cottage. It probably took quite a bit of effort to keep that thing clean.
Sally shook her head. "No, I need it for that," she said, gesturing across the yellow brick road.
Following the gesture, Molly frowned as she saw a statue standing there on the other side of the road. It was of a man made of tin, his arms crossed and a very annoyed look upon his face. He was metal from head to toe, the sculptor even having taken the time to create waves of hair to top his head and style them in messy curls. While she couldn't get the best look from across the road, it looked as if the statue was jointed in several places though each joint was red with rust. It hadn't been particularly well cared for.
"Why do you need the water for a statue?" Molly asked, brow furrowing.
Without answering, Sally picked up the bucket and carefully carried it across the yellow brick road. Struggling a little under the weight she carried it over to the statue and, very carefully, poured the entire contents of the bucket over the man's head. Dropping the now empty bucket on the ground she turned. "I needed it for that."
Molly frowned, mouth opening to ask why she'd done that when she paused. The shadows were changing rapidly, the light starting to dim. Standing, she peered up at the sky to see that the sun was in motion, racing towards the horizon. There was a moment of sunset and then the sun was gone, the moon rapidly rising up to take its place as the stars sprang to life and frogs began to sing.
Beaming at her, Greg gestured wildly towards the sky. "See! I told you the Wizard would remember!"
Speechless, Molly blinked at the suddenly dark sky as Sally came back up behind him. "I'm afraid that only the log cabin has a bed in it, but you're welcome to take it," she said. She glanced back at the dripping statue and smirked. "The owner doesn't need it anymore."
With the sun down the temperature cooled rapidly. Neither Greg nor Sally seemed all that interested in a fire, with good reason, and instead went into the patchwork cottage to unstuff themselves. From all the giggling and laughing that they did, Molly thought at first it had to be some sort of sexual code word but morbid curiosity on how that would work made her peak in only to find that they were actually doing just that. Unstuffing themselves. Greg and Sally carefully unpacked their respective stuffings and laid them out over Sally's neat patchwork carpet to presumably air themselves out as they chatted cheerfully. It was a bit creepy actually. More than a bit creepy.
Deciding that she was officially taking the bed in the log cabin, Molly glanced across the road. The tin statue was still standing there, still looking disapproving with his arms crossed and his face in a scowl. She wondered what had made him so angry. Yawning, she headed into the little log cabin and shut the door behind herself.
The cabin was very sparsely furnished with a narrow bed and what looked to be the periodic table of elements on the wall. That was actually the most surprising thing Molly had seen. After straw people and trees that talked, she would have thought this place operated on alchemist based elemental theory, but there was good old Carbon, Zinc, and the rest in their proper places on the table. In a way it was rather soothing. A small table took up most of the room a tin can with a spout sitting in the center of it. Molly picked it up only for her hands to come away slippery and dark. Setting it back down she lifted her fingers to her nose and made a face at the smell. Oil.
Wiping her fingers on her skirt she yawned again and sat on the mattress. A cloud of dust flew up and she sneezed, nose wrinkling. Whoever had lived her hadn't been back in a very long time. Pulling a patchwork quilt Sally had lent her up over her body, Molly laid down and tried to sleep as Toby leapt up onto the bed to join her. Sleep escaped her though. In a strange place, a strange world, her thoughts wouldn't calm down enough for her to rest. Instead she stared out the window and listened to the strange moaning of the frogs coming from outside.
The moonlight glittered against something that looked like glass and she sighed, sliding out of bed to pick it up. It wasn't like she was going to be able to fall asleep anyway, maybe whatever the object was would be interesting. It was some sort of sketch lying face down on an end table and Molly picked it up, tilting it towards the moonlight as she tried to get a good look at it. The drawing was of a man and woman. Of a gorgeous man and woman. The woman's hair and lips were dark, her expression smug as she looked at the artist. Dressed in a silken elegant gown with a pointy hat, she had an arm wrapped possessively around the man at her side. The man was beautiful as well in his own way. He was scowling at the artist as if he didn't want to be there, but there was something about his long face and mass of curls that made him simply irresistible.
In fact, the more Molly gazed at the drawing the more she was struck by how familiar the man looked. She tilted the picture towards the moon, the light dancing across the glass and giving the pair a metallic sheen and Molly froze. Her eyes went wide and she quickly set down the picture and raced outside. A moment later she burst back inside and seized the oil can before running back across the yellow brick road.
"No! What are you doing!?" she heard Sally shout as she reached the statue.
Looking back she saw Sally staggering from her patchwork cottage, hurriedly trying to stuff herself back up enough to walk as she stumbled towards her. "This isn't a statue!" Molly shouted back, pointing at the figure. "It's a real man. You've been letting him stand here and rust!"
"You don't understand," Sally said, eyes wide. The patchwork woman sighed deeply, shoulders shaking as she looked at the tin man. Cloth hands tightening into fists she stomped her half-stuffed foot against the ground. "You can't let the Freak free! He's nothing but an enormous bag of dickbears."