Sorry for the long wait! Here's the next chapter! Things are getting much more interesting in my little Oz. Warning, the fic is getting darker than I'd anticipated (but don't worry, I'm sure things will work out in the end!) and the rating may go up. In any case, hope you enjoy!
Please R & R!
Shell was spent by his last "patient."
Looming over her cowering form, he buckled his belt. "Right then," he smirked. "I'm off."
She might have been pretty once, before her condemnation to Southstairs, but none of that particularly mattered. Southstairs was a city of its own right, though it be underground and entirely populated by convicts and felons. Shell saw no reason she and her kind shouldn't earn their living as they had up top.
Paying no mind to her sniveling, Shell grabbed the torch he had set aside and went about his way. He stopped just outside the maximum security ward. Some energy was drawing him in. With a nod to the guard he entered the ward, ignoring the pleas for help as he passed each cell. Finally, he reached the cell that had been calling out to him.
"So glad you could make it," the voice in the shadow greeted.
Shell rolled his eyes. "You. What do you want?"
"I want the same things you want, boy."
"I don't want anything," he countered with a cold smile.
"Of course you do. You want power. You want the control you've never been able to attain, thanks to your sisters' shaming your family name."
"You don't know the first thing about my family, woman." Shell hated when people tried to play the sentimentality card with him. It never worked, only annoyed him. "Now show your face. I don't do business with anyone I can't look in the eye."
The prisoner audibly bristled at the tone of his voice. Regardless, she stepped out of the shadows, revealing the full glory of her fish-like presence. A lesser person would shudder at the sight, but Shell was merely amused. She was fooling no one with that caked white make up flaking away on her face.
"Satisfied?"
Shell shrugged. "You're not much to look at, but this'll do. What is it you want from me?"
"You will reinstate me as Press Secretary."
"That so."
"It's easier than you seem to realize. You see, Master Shell, you have a connection with our beloved Lady Glinda." The disdain in the old biddy's tone was not even concealed.
"I've seen her in passing, if that's what you mean."
"You mean, you really don't know? I mean, of the friendship your sister shared with Lady Glinda?"
"I had two sisters, you know. You'll have to be more specific." This was getting much more interesting.
"Why, Miss Elphaba, of course. Her passing has had Lady Glinda in the throes of grief. The two were very close. After their falling out over that silly prince, I thought we'd gotten full control of the situation, but as you can see," she indicated her dingy surroundings "it only got worse.
Shell was intrigued. Lady Glinda seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Eliminate the competition, and she'd landed as acting ruler of Oz. He could definitely use this to his advantage. "What are you proposing, Morrible?"
Madame Morrible gave him a toothy, yellow grin. "It's simple, dear boy. You woo Miss Glinda, rise to power at her side, at which point you re-appoint me as Press Secretary."
"That's painfully simple. What's the catch?"
"No catch at all. You'll finally have everything you want."
Shell approached Colwen Grounds by horseback around dusk. Voices from the past drifted past his ears, images skating across his mind's eye. He was not plagued by the sensation of nostalgia, however, but rather a sense of beginning. He returned home not to relive the past, but to grasp the present fiercely and plough into the future.
The guard at the gate snored loudly as Shell sauntered past him. Nice to see they haven't let the place go to hell since Nessie died, Shell rolled his eyes.
Strolling through the front door, he took in the stench of dust and decay. No one had seen to the place very well in the almost year since Nessa's passing.
"Father! Nanny!" he yelled. He bolted up the stairs, frightening an elderly maid as he did so. The munchkin woman screamed, startling Shell, who caught her as she collapsed forward into him.
"Esther?" A door down the hall opened, revealing the aging patriarch of the Thropp family. His hair, greased back as always, was streaked with gray, his hairline receding even farther than the last time Shell had seen him.
"Father!" Shell grinned, leaving the unconscious maid at the top of the stairs. He strode toward his father, arms open wide.
Frex's eyes widened. "Shell!" His boy had grown. He embraced his son. "Shell, where in Oz have you been?"
"Oh, you know, here and there. Say, where is everyone? This place is all a shambles!" Shell jovially dusted a railing with the cuff of his sleeve.
"Ah yes," Frex's brow furrowed. "Since our sainted Nessa's passing, Munchkinland is a bit…at odds with itself. The other eminences battling for power and the like."
"That bad, huh?"
Frex nodded. "I never wanted to have to deal with any of this. Minister to the people. Spread the message of the Unnamed God. I never gambled in politics."
"Huh," Shell feigned ignorance. "Well, I may be able to help you out with that."
