It was mid-June when Elphaba had her first mid-evening assignment in quite some time. Besides that, she was sent to Munchkinland for the first time since the Wizard. Bright Lennins, to be exact. It was a fine little town, with dirt roads and a small library that doubled as a town hall. The market was small but the produce was fresh. They sold mostly corn, which was wonderful if cooked properly, she remembered.
Elphaba had been there once or twice when she was very young, when travelling from the Rush Margins to Colwen Grounds. It had been her mother's favorite place in Munchkinland, if she recalled correctly. At some point in her life, she recalled mirroring her mother's opinion: it was small, quiet, and mostly dry. There was much green, so she could blend in; and the librarian that had lived there was a blind and generous old woman. Irony, she supposed. Elphaba would never long for her childhood again, but the memories of the sole genuine place she'd known pressed a heavy sting inside of her chest.
She ignored it as she charmed a public official's mouth completely and permanently numb. It hadn't been part of her assignment, but damn did it feel good to shut him up. She simpered in amusement as he tried to continue his speech on the idiotic idea of Animal's being anything more than animals who got lucky.
She smiled and pulled a cloak tighter around herself, before going to find a small tavern she remembered vaguely from her youth. One of the unpleasant memories of this town, but useful now, as she found herself getting hungry. She made her way into the disgusting little bar where she'd been a spectacle to strike fear into the hearts of sinners when she was younger. She purchased a pint of thick Munchkinland cider, which tasted of her childhood, yet still decent enough to drink.
She glanced out the window of the bar to see a few officers approaching, and decided it was time to make her exit. She took her pint and went out the back exits inconspicuously, for safety's sake. As she walked towards the edge of town, she noticed a pair of adults deliriously laughing as they sat on their front lawn. Elphaba observed them for a moment or two before noticing the needles that surrounded them in the grass. "Now that's the Munchkinland I know and remember," Elphaba sneered, and made her leave.
She'd only gotten a few steps when she knocked into a little person. "For Oz's sake," Elphaba muttered at the spilled cider all over her chest. It wasn't thin enough to hurt her, thank the Unnamed God, but it was annoying none-the-less. Then the green woman peered up at who had bumped into her, and realized it was a little girl. "For Oz's sake, I'm so sorry," Elphaba amended. "Are you okay?"
The little girl nodded, and Elphaba took in her appearance. She was extremely pale and decorated with a plethora of freckles. Her strawberry blonde hair was frizzed and unruly. "Are you okay?"
"I am," the child answered, "I apologize for spilling your drink."
"No, sweetie, I should've been watching where I was going."
"Is, um, is it all spilt?" the little girl asked, and Elphaba glanced down to the mug, which had neared empty. Elphaba's eyes turned to the girl who was drowning in her clothes: far too thin to be healthy. Elphaba recognized the way those eyes glanced about, sitting scared atop concave cheeks. She didn't have to listen hard for a stomach growl.
"There's a little left. But I was just thinking I should get another pint for the road, and maybe grab some dinner. Would you like to come with me?"
The little girl peered at her with wide, nervous eyes. "Are you sure?" Elphaba nodded and held out her hand, which the little girl graciously accepted.
Elphaba made sure that the officers had left before entering the pub again. She ordered quickly, not wanting the little girl to sit in a place that had been so cruel to a small green child in a past life. She glanced to the little girl, "Miss, I hope you don't mind too much, but it's far too dark in here to carry on a conversation. I was thinking we could eat outside or in the library."
"The outside is good," the girl replied, her eyes still grateful. The bartender delivered them two pints of cider and three large boxes of food. Elphaba couldn't help but notice how excited it seemed to make the little girl. They made their way out and sat under a nice tree that Elphaba recognized from her childhood visits.
"Here you go," Elphaba smiled, opening two of the boxes in front of the little girl. The girl was ravenous and Elphaba's heart ached for her as food quickly disappeared. "You need to be careful, sweetie, you'll make yourself sick. This food's not going anywhere."
The child stopped herself and glanced lightly at Elphaba's concerned smile before slowing her pace.
"May I ask your name?" Elphaba asked when the girl was between boxes.
"Wylite Lestre, Miss," Wylite responded, "I'm nine years old."
"Nine is a pretty good age, I think," Elphaba hummed, "do you agree?"
"Not particularly," Wylite answered and shrugged lightly, "it seems to me no different than eight."
There was a gentle silence as Wylite ate again, and Elphaba swirled her drink around in its cup. When the second box was finished, Elphaba smiled at the little girl, "Are you feeling alright?" Wylite nodded and stretched lightly. "Good. May I walk you home?" At this, Wylite froze.
She had nothing to lose, Wylite supposed, as she glanced to Elphaba. If this woman intended her harm, well, death seemed more cordial than the streets of Bright Lennins. "I don't have a home," she finally responded.
Elphaba hummed, her heart constricting. "Well, Miss Wyli-"
Wylite looked the woman up and down before interrupting, "You're the Wicked Witch of the West, aren't you?"
"I," Elphaba sighed, "I am." She paused before chuckling lightly. "My wife would argue, of course. Her opinion, here, does not matter so much. Now, yours does. Do you think I am?"
Wylite appeared shocked for a moment at the mention of a wife, before thinking again. She looked Elphaba up and down, remembering fondly the kind meal she'd been afforded. Elphaba seemed to treat Wylite with a respect only adults had ever been afforded before, and the idea was foreign and welcome. "Only as wicked as I am, I suppose," Wylite answered, suddenly grinning lightly. "If your wife thinks you're good, there must be some good in you. I think people are only truly, deeply wicked if even those who love them think they are."
Elphaba smiled, "Your perspective is amazing for one so young, my fine lady. I hope in the end, you prove to be right." Elphaba examined the child's hands and feet, noticing - not for the first time - a series of tiny scars. They could have been caused by anything, Elphaba supposed, but they did not look like scars from scrapes and rocks flying up when a carriage rushed one way or another. "Wylite, were your parents wicked?"
"Yes," Wylite replied with little thought, her hazel eyes glancing away. "They were never grounded enough to know how to be different." Elphaba put a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, and instantly the little pale and freckled face was buried in Elphaba's black dress. Elphaba pulled the girl into a tight embrace and sat out the tears with her.
"Wylite, my dear," Elphaba murmured, pressing as kiss to her forehead. "Would you be too opposed to having a mother only as wicked as you are?" The girl hugged her tighter, and peered into deep, brown eyes. "Because I would be honored to have you as a daughter, little one." Wylite smiled up at Elphaba and nodded, ducking back into the woman's chest.
"We had two when I counted at dinner," Glinda began as she and Elphaba cleaned up the breakfast table. "And three at breakfast."
"She's adorable, Glin," Elphaba tried to reason, "and she needed us." Glinda chuckled lightly, putting the dishes in the sink and coming to hug her green wife. Her sticky, cider-y dress had been forgone when Elphaba had brought home the newest addition to the Thropp family, so after a moment of concern that blonde hair would stick to black fabric, Elphaba melted into the warm embrace.
"You're adorable, and I think she needed you."
"So you're not mad?"
"Honey," Glinda laughed, looking the green woman in the eyes, "I couldn't be mad. I would worry if you didn't adopt literally every homeless child you see."
"Not li-" Elphaba began, but then paused, "Okay, yeah, literally every homeless child I see. But we have this nice big home now. Perfect for a big family, don't you think?"
"Mm-hm," Glinda hummed into Elphaba's dress, hugging her tightly. After a moment, she lifted her head again. "How many children, exactly, is a big family?" There was a pause as Elphaba began to think, "Wait, no. How many children is too big of a family?"
"Thirty," Elphaba answered quickly, and Glinda stumbled a bit, coughing.
"You expect us to adopt thirty kids?"
"No, thirty's too many. I'd start finding them different families after we reached twenty-nine."
"Are you trying to kill me?" Glinda asked incredulously.
Elphaba began to laugh, and ran her fingers affectionately through Glinda's blonde locks. "No," she chuckled, "I just think you'd look adorable with grey hair."
"Don't even joke about such a thing, Thropp. I'm too young for grey hairs."
"You'd make them work," Elphaba murmured with certainty. "By the Unnamed God, the idea of you with grey hair, sitting on a rocking chair, holding my hand. A few little grandkids rolling around and playing with a big old basset hound. An animal, of course, not an Animal." She sighed, "That's perfection."
"We're not getting a dog, Elphie."
"It was totally worth the shot, though, wasn't it?"
"No. You're not getting a dog."
"Let's put a pin in it."
"Elphaba Thropp, you are not getting a dog."
"Please."
"No."
"But, please?"
"Do you want to sleep on the couch? Kids are one thing. Pets are another. You have to choose one of those two, and you already have three freaking kids. You're not getting a dog."
"What if you want a dog?"
"I don't. Oz-dammit, Elphie, you're sleeping on the couch tonight."
There was a brief pause, before Elphaba replied: "That's a dollar in the swear jar, my sweet."
