Summary: Gelphie! Takes place after Elphaba's most disquieting tea with Boq.
G. Maguire's., with a nod to Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway". And to anyone who's ever cracked a joke about mothers. And Stephen Fry, from whom a line quoted from his old headmaster may have been nicked.
""I should say you'll look back on this summer and cringe. [Galinda] may be lovely. Boq - no, she is lovely, I agree - but you're worth a dozen of her." At his shocked expression she threw up her hands. "not to me! I don't mean to me! Please, that stricken look! Spare me!"" ~Wicked, page 127
A Ridiculous State of Affairs
She stalked away from the small cafe in a state, boots clomping heavily on the cobblestones. The racket of the slammed door and its jingling welcome bells seemed to taunt her, jeering at her lankiness as she stumbled awkwardly over her own limbs, dust and grit dancing in her wake. Mockery from inanimate objects; Elphaba felt the urge to spit. She couldn't help but feel as though a healthy gnashing of teeth might not have been entirely unwarranted.
However, not being of the sort who craves spectacle, she settled for hissing distractedly at an errant tricycle as it narrowly avoided grinding her into the ground.
That blasted Boq. Well, Boq and his artsy sentimental Lurline could go fuck themselves, she decided with a sharp jab of her umbrella which cleaved the air in front of her with dangerous abandon. Let Boq and his vague inferences and naive extrapolations and insinuations and hopelessly shocked and appalled countenance at the thought of her affections be damned! What a terrifically sour comedy this was making out to be.
However, not being of the sort who regretted turns of events, Elphaba settled for increasing her already frantic pace and silently seething with resentment.
She might have liked to have been of the sort who could make her entrances and exits out to be memorable events. On occasion, she would even fancy it an enviable thing, to possess the capacity for disagreements of the poignant and silently furious kind: for leaving behind her a wake of regret, her combatants stewing uncomfortably in a shamed hush as she strode victorious from the room. She resented the fact that instead, this particular wake consisted of an upset spittoon, a foolishly besotted and somewhat polarized Munchkinlander who now probably thought he knew something, and a cafe patron left with two halves of a newspaper and a freshly awoken fear of impalement.
The tip of her umbrella caught between curb and cobble and she tripped, startling a string of muttered profanity from her lips. To trip over oneself; how very embarrassing. She swiftly resumed her stride, cursing her knobby elbows and that haphazard gait of one too skinny for her height. She tore through the gates of Crage Hall with her head high and her eyes low, both, she felt, in defiance and in deference to the gazes that followed her. Were they not yet immune to such novelty? Or were they, taking in her flustered composure and heavy glower, anticipating further excitement from Shiz's resident commotion? Unable to help herself, Elphaba did spit, not being of the sort to sigh.
At times, she might have liked to have possessed the unerring dynamism of some of the characters in the stack of silly books that Galinda had recently relegated to the rubbish bin, and that Elphaba had shamelessly pored through in the interest of scientific research. Upon returning to her chambers, she might have liked to have thrown the door open with all her might, relishing with a growl the sound of splintering wood. Stalking the length of the room, she might have angrily stripped, articles of clothing flying every which way, silk shredding and pearls bouncing across the floor, had finery been within her idiom; bosom quivering, were she to be in possession of a bosom. She would rage, prowling her room, reveling in her own furious indignation.
Instead, pointed face flushed with an embarrassment she couldn't quite categorize, Elphaba threw open the door with all her might only to have it rebound off the wall, the all-too-solid doorknob knocking the wind from her sails and the air from her lungs. Instead, she admitted dizzily from her vantage point on the floor, her idiom consisted of overzealous intention and absolutely terrible timing.
Stomach throbbing, gray licking the edges of her vision, Elphaba dimly registered movement by her side. The last thing she saw before her eyes rolled back in her head was Galinda standing over her, arms crossed in a parody of matronly disapproval.
Galinda cleared her throat importantly. "I think I'm ready to talk to you now, Elphaba," she said.
"What?" Elphaba reeled. "Oh, well. Let joy be unconfined, I suppose," she said, and passed out cold on the floor.
Blinking owlishly, Elphaba came to, and immediately regretted it. The return of consciousness bore with it all recollections of the day's disastrous encounter. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she erupted into a fit of coughing, choking on the cloying haze of potpourri and wildly assorted perfumes that she found herself drowning in. Not particularly caring whether or not Galinda was in the room or whether her actions might offend her if she was, Elphaba staggered over to her own bed, pain lancing through her abdomen.
Boq was an insensitive little prick, Galinda was out, and Elphaba was going to get drunk.
Reaching blindly under her bed for her bottle, she quickly snatched her hand away as Galinda joyously waltzed into the room humming, her arms full of flowers, dirty apron tied snugly around her waist. Galinda and her entrances, thought Elphaba pointlessly, and she feigned sleep.
"That Boq. Honestly, there are times when I don't know what comes over him. Wandering the streets as wide-eyed and lost as a muddy old Quadling in a Gillikin ballroom. If I didn't know better, I'd think him to be sick with love!" Galinda giggled to herself, setting the flowers down on her vanity.
"Oh wait, he is!" she threw her arms up and giggled again. Elphaba attempted to recall the exact level of gin left in her bottle.
Resuming her quiet singing, Galinda retrieved a vase from the windowsill and set about arranging the flowers on the vanity. There was a moment of silence, and Elphaba slitted her eyelids, watching through the haze of her eyelashes.
"He is," Galinda sighed heavily, hands dropping to her side. "Idiot."
At this, Elphaba's eyes flew open, but Galinda had taken up her quiet singing once more. Setting the flowers at last in their vase, Galinda leaned back to admire her handiwork. She frowned. Bending over, she plumped the bouquet between the palms of her hands, teasing the petals. She rotated the vase infinitesimally to the right.
"Lovely," she chirped, clapping her hands together.
Sweet Oz, thought Elphaba, she's gone beyond girlishness, beyond wifeliness. She's become Ama Clutch. She's become her mother.
Galinda bent over again to fuss with the flowers, her back and bottom to Elphaba, and Elphaba felt rather uncomfortable. She saw Galinda, perfectly proportioned, soft in all the right places, sweet smelling hair and warm breath; she saw Galinda and her perfect entrances, that perfectly measured walk. Then Galinda bent over, or put her hands on her hips, or fretted pointlessly over the positioning of flowers in a vase, and she aged. Galinda bent over, and her graceful entrances seemed to be tainted by an ungainly waddle, as though she were in practice for a future round and unbalanced, where all the curves turn unforgivingly to lumps.
Elphaba was confounded as to why this discomfited her so. Perhaps the sense of waste simply didn't agree with her sensibilities. A burst of laughter startled her from her musings.
"Oh, oh look at me!" gasped Galinda, "A silly girl fussing with her flowers." She laughed again, shaking her head and shifting the vase to the left, almost as if to spite herself.
She seems to always be surprising you this way, thought Elphaba, by knowing more than you think she does. Elphaba wondered if they were premeditated, these demonstrations of self-knowledge that would emerge with a little pop and a sparkle just when Elphaba found herself marveling at how ridiculous Galinda could be. And it would catch Elphaba off guard, the spirit of Galinda's actions looking Elphaba in the eye and saying, yes, I know that I am ridiculous, while her body would prepare for her future waddle regardless. 'I know what you are thinking and I agree, I'm silly, so much less than I could have been, but I just can't seem to help myself.'
And that discomfiture that rolled Elphaba's gut a moment prior suddenly took on a new life. She found herself wanting to move to console her, her irritation having dissolved almost against her will. Elphaba wanted to tuck that loose curl back with a pin, pinch those cheeks back to apple redness, throw the freesia out the window as it was clearly that which was upsetting the balance of the bouquet; clearly the freesia, and couldn't Galinda see that the stems needed trimming? Elphaba found herself wanting to console her, shove a basketful of mismatched flowers into her arms and direct her to make them work; she found herself wanting to return Galinda to comfort so that she could continue her performance and Elphaba could resume feeling irritated.
Elphaba forcibly recalled Galinda's ineptitude in the garden, but all former irritation remained dormant, affectionate observation taking its place. The image of Galinda thumbing her pink flower in the hot still summer shade sprung unbidden to her mind, and Elphaba wondered what had happened to that flower. No doubt it was still under the tree. Rotted.
Taking the vase up in her arms, Galinda moved to turn, and Elphaba felt a guilty flutter in her chest. Why had she changed beds at all? Galinda's must have been more comfortable, and after all, perfume, like any foul scent, will numb the nose if the senses are allowed adequate time to adjust. No, but she didn't regret, she resented.
"For my dearest Elphie, some flowers for her night table."
Face lost amidst the petals, Galinda failed to notice Elphaba awake and upright and no longer in Galinda's own bed.
"Hmm hmm oh," she singsonged, "oh, any day with Elphaba in my bed is a good day indeed."
"Well, a round of wretchedness on the house it is, then."
Galinda jumped, shaking loose a flurry of petals.
"Elphaba! You..." Galinda flushed a delicate crimson. Regaining some semblance of composure, she efficiently set the vase down and brushed her hands off on the front of her gardening frock.
"Those," she said, pointing at the bouquet, "are for you." She spun abruptly on her heels and, snatching up a lacy nightgown, disappeared into the washroom. Elphaba's eyes followed her there, taking in Galinda's huff, and she felt slightly better about the causing of spectacles.
Abandoning Galinda to her mood, Elphaba turned to the vase resting benignly on her nighttable. The brightly colored flowers themselves seemed astonished to be there, standing shocked and erect amongst a neutral sea of washed out grays and browns, gazing longingly at Galinda's half of the room.
Elphaba couldn't stand to be snubbed by flowers.
"Men," she sneered to the empty room, and then felt strange.
She waited. What was Galinda up to? Oh, let it not be another bout of sulking. Elphaba rolled her eyes.
"Galinda, I'm getting drunk!" Her face stretched with a sharklike grin as Galinda's head emerged from the washroom with a wrinkle-nosed frown.
"You are not," observed Galinda. Elphaba reached once more under the bed, retrieving her brown bottle, miraculously full.
Galinda eyeballed the bottle with some skepticism.
"That is not alcohol," she said testily as she came to perch at the edge of Elphaba's ragged dust cover. Her toes, peeking out from under her nightgown's double ruffle, dangled an inch from the floor. Elphaba couldn't recall having seen that particular shift before, though she realized she was hardly the most qualified to distinguish between one garment and the next.
"No," replied Elphaba patiently, unscrewing the top between thumb and one long green forefinger, "it's booze."
"Oh," said Galinda, torn between staring morosely at the floor and watching as Elphaba passed the drink under her nose, her green nostrils flaring white as they were assaulted by its brutally pungent bouquet. Elphaba shrugged and lifted the bottle to her lips.
Head tilted back languorously, her long neck pulsed as she swallowed. The fire of the drink brought a faint shimmer of perspiration to Elphaba's heated skin, mingling with the single drop of drink that had slipped from the hot cavern of her mouth to slide down her...
Elphaba wondered vaguely whether Galinda was truly as appalled at her roommate's messy drinking as she appeared to be. Or perhaps her slack-jawed state was merely the unfortunate result of a missing chromosome. Catching herself staring, Galinda's mouth clapped shut with an audible snap as she visibly collected herself.
"Do you do this often, then?" The brightly conversational tone of Galinda's inquiry startled Elphaba into a hacking cough, Quadling moonshine ruthlessly searing her esophagus.
"Oh dear, no! Oh Elphie, please tell me you don't need mouth to mouth."
Hand at her throat, Elphaba shot her a tightlipped glower. Galinda fitfully wrung her hands.
In the midst of crudely wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Elphaba paused. Taking full measure of what seemed to be Galinda's genuine distress, her expression underwent a somewhat involuntary softening as she reluctantly added 'disgruntled affection' to her list of idiomatic character traits, and felt rather unnerved by who she found herself becoming in Galinda's presence.
She could always blame the booze.
Sending a pointed warning glance in the direction of her roommate, Elphaba indulged in another mouthful, swallowing noisily.
"You look alright now," said Galinda unnecessarily. Swallowing again, Elphaba grimaced, gritting her teeth against the burn.
"By sheer dint of your unfailing chivalry, I'm sure," she deadpanned, tamping down on the playful urge to banter. She silently cursed the artificial cheer of alcohol for making its presence known just when she was starting to relax into the swing of a healthy snark.
"And there I was," she said somewhat grandly, a tipsy flourish coloring her words, "spending my afternoon telling Boq how lovely you are, when you fail to even lift a finger to save your choking roommate's life."
"Lovely? Oh Elphie, you really think that?" Galinda gasped, hands clasped excitedly under her chin.
Elphaba shrugged and took another swig.
Galinda smiled beatifically and, swinging her feet up onto the bed, she scooted up to Elphaba's cross-legged figure to pluck the bottle from her hand.
"Galinda, I'm not entirely sure y-"
"Shut it, Elphie, I've drank before," she wrinkled her nose in a cheery smirk and tossed back a healthy nip of Elphaba's gin.
"Hmm. The finest in Quadling paint-thinner. You like it, then?"
When the fit began to subside and she could breathe again without succumbing to paroxysms of riotous coughing, Galinda wiped her eyes with one lacy sleeve and answered, "How do you drink that?"
"What, alcohol?" Elphaba raised an amused eyebrow. "Rather more easily than you, I'm thinking." The corners of her mouth twitched.
"You sour old thing," snapped Galinda, eyes sparkling, before gasping through another mouthful of gin.
Elphaba felt her chest swell with a bubble of laughter, a wide grin splitting her hatchet-like face. And there it was, that glint in Galinda's eye saying that she knew, again, and that she knew that Elphaba knew as well. Ridiculous. Elphaba thought that if Galinda were to die without knowledge of her own shortcomings, she would not die an unhappy woman. Elphaba couldn't help but feel a spark of envy for this ability to be so shamelessly accepting of one's own choice, though she herself couldn't help but prefer stark reality to a fictional narrative, to a life lived in ignorance of one's failings. At least, Elphaba reasoned, she would then know who to blame when life started to disintegrate, and picking up the pieces would be a much more manageable task. Galinda glowed, and, another pang of affection slicing through her, Elphaba hurriedly drank: 'To the value of knowledge, and the control it affords us.'
"Oh," Galinda hiccoughed mid-toast, swaying, "I feel..."
"Well, I reckon it's a sight stronger than the usual tickle your pretty little buds are used to."
"Why, Elphaba Thropp! No need to be vulgar, though I'm not entirely unmoved by your flattery." Galinda's eyes twinkled. Elphaba's brow knit with momentary befuddlement before she dismissed Galinda's words with an affable smile and, with a show of great deliberation, set the bottle firmly beside the vase.
Feeling a warm pressure at her side, Elphaba swiveled her head to see Galinda leaning on her shoulder, golden curls meshing oddly with Elphaba's curtain of black. Feeling startlingly maternal, Elphaba looped her arm around her diminutive roommate, twining a single blond lock around her spindly fingers. She fancied it to be the same crabapple-scented lock that had tasted of hair back at Caprice, though now it smelled of raspberry roses.
Inhaling deeply, she absently damned alcohol for inspiring within her a heretofore dormant tendency for -she criticized halfheartedly- pointless reminiscing.
Galinda craned her head to look up at Elphaba, who looked down at Galinda.
"You will tell me, though, won't you, Elphie?"
Having already learned some time ago not to be alarmed by Galinda's non-sequiturs, Elphaba calmly took a moment to puzzle as to what Galinda was referring. Ah, the Boq debacle, no doubt. Rolling her eyes, Elphaba nevertheless found herself rather charmed by the affectionate familiarity of their banter.
"You'll think me silly." The bubble of warmth in her chest ached so pleasantly. And perhaps she and Galinda could connect further over Boq, common ground between them being as scarce as it was. "But I have a friend-" Elphaba started, immediately feeling foolish, "-who thinks another friend-" through her haze of inebriation, she wished for a swift and painless death, "-might have feelings for this first friend, which resulted in the second friend running off offended when really, the two friends feel rather the same regarding each other's affections which... " Elphaba struggled, vaguely thankful she had so very few friends to keep track of, as one plus herself seemed to be supplying her with a more than adequate amount of grief.
Galinda's eyes glistened with rapt attention.
"Goodness, I do hope you know what I'm talking about, my dear, for it pains me to elaborate. Such asinine speculation, I fear I've rather lost the will to live," Elphaba said with a measure of chagrin, blushing despite the dryness of her words.
Galinda tilted her head and took hold of Elphie's bony hand, folding it within the dainty pudge of one of her own.
"Well," she said carefully into her lap, speaking to their clasped hands, "it's difficult, when we have our little loves."
Elphaba's mind went to memories of Boq mooning starry-eyed over one of Galinda's monogrammed pencils, of him pleading with Elphaba to tell him her roommate's hat size, of the eyes of an entire cafe staring after Elphaba as she ran away, and she had to concede the point; difficult indeed.
"I mean to say, you can't truly think less of anyone for having them, can you?"
Again Elphaba had to agree, having never though much of Boq to begin with.
Galinda continued, ears pink, "Even if the two are radically different, Elphie."
Recalling Boq craning his neck wildly and Galinda hunching her back like a crone, and the string of spittle that stretched and stretched as they pulled apart until Boq had to break it with his fingers, Elphaba buried her face in the curls atop Galinda's head in an attempt to muffle the laughter that bubbled up from her chest.
"Don't laugh so, Elphie, or I shall have to cry."
A single snort escaped the confines of Galinda's hair, her entire body shaking with Elphaba's effort to remain silent.
"You do like my new nightgown, and the flowers, though, don't you Elphie? I picked the freesia especially. I do remember, you know." Elphaba did enjoy freesia very much, and when making her rounds in the garden, would tend to it more than the rest. But out of the sunlight, in that bouquet... Elphaba made a face, Galinda being too busy playing with their joined hands to notice Elphaba's distaste.
"Elphie, even though you never bathe, and can be more bitter than that... that vile drink, I'm quite pleased that we are roommates," Galinda said with a wobbly smile.
Still chuckling quietly to herself, Elphaba kissed the crown of Galinda's head, nearly tumbling off the bed as Galinda turned and threw her arms around her neck. "Oh Elphie," she laughed breathily, "oh, what a pickle!"
Hadn't Elphaba made it so very plain that she herself had no interest in Boq whatsoever. To be sure, she hadn't quite expected Galinda to fully return his infatuations, however misguided they were. In fact, she had been quite pleased that Galinda hadn't let the prospect of an admirer go to her pretty little head. Or so it had seemed until that moment. Was Galinda jealous? Was she stupid?
"Galinda," she patted her awkwardly on the head, unaccustomed to the physical act of consoling. She took Galinda's face in her hands. "Galinda, my sweet, you must know. Even you aren't so beetle-headed as to think your sorry affections aren't returned, but think-"
She was cut off abruptly by a hot mouth swooping down to capture her lips in what Elphaba had always imagined would be considered a passionate kiss. Elphaba's hands dropped limply to her sides. She distractedly wondered if this was what passion felt like. Eyes wide open, she found herself staring, shocked, at Galinda's gently shuttered eyelids. Never having been in such close proximity to the girl, Elphaba noted the artful shading of the crease where eyelid smoothed out into forehead and eyebrow, the fine separation of each and every lash, darkened just so, fluttering softly against her cheek.
The lips on hers began to move wetly, and Elphaba started out of her daze to scramble off the bed, breathing heavily.
"Oh," she said, "oh, goodness. I'm quite sure that's not what Boq had in mind, Galinda"
"Boq? Elphie, I -- I can't help it, you must understand!" Galinda's hand hovered nervously by Elphaba's face before retreating back to her lap, cowed by a sharp look.
"You're drunk, Galinda, tanked. Completely intoxicated." Elphaba's words were somewhat muffled as she rubbed furiously at her mouth with a corner of her sleeve. "You must go to bed."
Jumping to her feet, Galinda moved to grasp Elphaba's shoulders, face contorting with the effort of holding back tears. Taking a step back, Elphaba inclined her head to look down her nose at Galinda, who swallowed thickly and looked away, eyes bright.
"Elphie, you joyless thing," she said, voice tight, "we could have a garden and everything-"
"And I would sing you to sleep every night after hours of passionate lovemaking, and wish you sweet dreams; a vicarious experience for me, as you might imagine." Elphaba shook her head incredulously as Galinda's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. "Now, enough."
Elphaba maneuvered a silently pale-cheeked Galinda back to her proper bed before moving to the vase of flowers. She smoothly plucked the freesia stems from the arrangement and threw them into the rubbish bin.
Freesia doesn't live long indoors anyway, she thought to herself, eyes trained on the door. She would go to the library, return when she was sure Galinda would be sleeping.
She counted her steps as she made to leave, focussing on walking in a straight line, on not looking at Galinda, on straightening her spine. Her ears strained for any trace of a sob, or a snicker, or a whimpered 'Elphie', but were met only by a ringing silence.
Defiance and deference.
She turned to close the door behind her, her heart clenching as she caught a glimpse of Galinda through its narrowing crack. Her hands fisted tightly in her nightgown, she had pulled herself up to rest her chin on her knees. Her head was tilted downward, lower lip caught between her teeth, and her eyes were screwed tightly shut.
The door closed with a gentle snik. Bracing herself, back against the corridor wall, Elphaba let out a great breath of air, the strength leaving her body all at once.
Licking her lips, she could taste nothing but the sourness of old alcohol. Clenching her jaw against the buzzing in her head, Elphaba closed her eyes. Was she disappointed or reassured that Galinda had been drunk? Either, both, neither. She felt distinctly ill.
She hadn't meant to look back at Galinda.
She slumped, folding in on herself. A whoosh of displaced air tickled her face with the passing of one of Crage Hall's hoopskirted denizens, snatches of hushed conversation snagging in her ear. She caught floating whispers of 'Boq' and 'tea', and then a giggle and the soft patter of receding footsteps.
She hadn't truly thought the freesia to be offensive, merely unnecessary, misplaced, awkward.
Indeed, Galinda should have dreaded more. It was not of Elphaba's doing, this situation. After all, she did always prefer stark reality to a fictional narrative, to a life lived in ignorance of one's failings. And this particular failing was out of her hands. At least, Elphaba reasoned, she knew who to blame. Picking up the pieces would be a much more manageable task, now. To be sure, nothing that Galinda couldn't handle.
Elphaba slid down the wall to sit heavily on the floor, legs splayed crookedly in front of her. She hadn't meant to look back at Galinda. Once again, her exit had fallen short of decisive.
Her chest ached with resentment. She felt ridiculous.
Fin.