Title: Entertaining Destiny
Author: Aerohead
Email: capricornangel103 at yahoo
Website: geocities dot com slash wickedoibltibs
Pairing: Fiyero/Elphaba, Fiyero/Glinda, OC/OC
Rating: PG
Disclaimer/Dedication: L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire, Winnie Holtzman, Stephen Schwartz, and Tori, who still owns Destin by no fault of her own.
Warning: Spoiler for the musical, mixture of musical/play
Genre: Romance, adventure (book/play amalgamation)
Summary: The Vinkus is being used as a way for Quadlings to be taken to the Gillikin emerald mines. When a Quadling boy helps her daughter, Elphaba decides to stop the Gale Force from using Kumbricia's Pass as a way to smuggle people.
Author's Notes: Thank you to nancystagerat, who reviewed. I'm also glad you like it, I'm always nervous about stuff I write. Also, this chapter is still not beta'd, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry.
Part Two
Screaming; mostly all that could be heard was screaming. The words they were saying weren't comprehensible, but they were bitter and angry. It felt like he was being clawed apart by some wild beast, though the only one he could see was the foreigner that was dragging him through dirt and marshland. For a moment, he had Lord Bromley's pancake-shaped face, and then he had the face of Destin, drawn and pinched and starved-looking. Suddenly, though, the face became decidedly female, though he didn't know the blonde it had turned into. It was almost as if he was being taken by all of Gillikin at once and not one person cared. Except for those screaming, but then he heard shots, and that stopped. There was a musket held in front of his face, and incoherent jeering came from the faceless face...
...Aran woke up, sweaty and frightened, only to come face-to-face with a pair of large blue eyes. With a yelp, he tried to back away, but that only succeeded in him falling rather ungracefully off his bed, tangling him in the summer sheets as he did so.
"Aran, are you all right?" Fabala asked. He could hear it in her voice; she was worried, but she couldn't help but laugh at him.
"Go on, laugh, I won't mind." He grumbled, untangling his legs and pulling himself back onto the bed.
"But are you all right?" She asked, helping him up.
He shrugged, fixing his pillows into the formation he liked. "I guess I am." He looked up at her, and they were silent for a moment. The sound of water hitting the stone of Kiamo Ko was the only distinguishable sound for the long moments. It was a May shower – thank Lurline – and it was the first in nearly a year; the first shower since Aran had been taken in by the Wicked Witch of the West as a surrogate son. His twelfth birthday had just passed, too. It felt so odd that this was the only life he could remember.
"It's raining." Fabala said, breaking his thoughts.
"Yeah, I can hear it." Aran agreed, confused by the bland statement.
Fabala shook her head. "I mean, the East Window blew open, fully, and the rain's blowing into my room."
"Oh...oh!" Aran groaned, cursing his idiocy. He shifted in the bed, moving one of the pillows and indicating it to Fabala. "Here, you can stay in here, if you'd like. Or you could go to Destin."
Fabala grimaced at the thought. "Mother thinks Glinda is just going to leave him here to rot because he's not as good as her last fiancé." Fabala confided, flopping onto the pillow very ungracefully, her braided hair nearly smacking Aran in the face.
"Your mother doesn't think too highly of Her Goodness, does she?" Aran asked. Fabala shrugged.
"There are stories fa...the Scarecrow tells me, about Mother when she was younger, and about Glinda. There are stories about hate and friendship, and I'm not sure which are true." Aran merely nodded, not sure what to say. He had become good acquaintances with Fabala, but there was nothing close to true friendship there yet, and this midnight visit surprised him.
Though she only came here because she'd have an allergic reaction in her room, he reasoned with himself. He shook his head; thinking so late at night was hazardous to his health.
He peered over at Fabala, smirking lightly. "Can we play twenty questions?" he asked. She turned to him, intrigued.
"I've never heard of it."
"Well, I ask you ten questions, and then you ask me ten. It's something Tempress does with the smaller children; I've seen her with them near the River." He said, ignoring Fabala's shutter at the mention of the Vinkus River.
"Okay, you go first." She said, lying down on the pillow.
"One...who's your father, I've never seen him." He asked, watching Fabala's face carefully.
"You've met my father, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Aran sighed; he had asked her the question once before, and received the same answer. "Fine, be that way. Two, was your brother...um..."
"Green?" asked Fabala, watching Aran as he nodded, blushing. She smiled sadly, closing her eyes. "Yes."
Aran looked over at her, surprised. He had thought his eyes had been playing tricks on him. "Oh...eh...three, I guess..." he stopped to think for a moment.
"If you're struggling on your third question, how are you going to get through seven more?" Fabala teased, making Aran scowl.
"What do you think of Lord Bromley?"
"Haven't you already asked me that?" She turned so that she was on her stomach, and propped herself up on her arms. "I find him annoying, self- centered, and piggish and not just in the way he looks. I'm glad I'm not a Pig, or I'd want my Life ended the moment I spotted him." She smirked. "Is that a good enough answer?"
He laughed, nodding. "Okay, okay, question four; in a fight, who do you think would win, me or Destin?"
She blinked once, then twice. "Are you serious? Destin couldn't win a fight against an elf."
"Question five," Aran said rather quickly, "and this is getting old fast, really,"
"Then why don't we only ask each other five questions each?"
"Because that's not the game!" sighed Aran, throwing his pillow at Fabala. She caught it, and put it behind her head.
"Thank you, I needed another pillow." He shook his head, before pouting.
"Fine, I only have two questions to go." He pouted, rolling onto his own stomach to be more comfortable. "Five, why do you always have your hair braided?"
Fabala shifted uncomfortably, touching her braid. She reached a piece out of place, and took it down, redoing it with nimble fingers. "It's a sign that I'm not a child anymore, like the tattoos, that's all." She said, defensive wall up.
"Okay, I didn't mean to make you mad." He relented, touching her arm gently. She nodded once; a sign that she was alright to continue.
"My last question's this; what do you believe?"
Fabala squinted at him as if he had gone thoroughly insane, before dawning broke through on her face. "I'm atheist, actually. My feeling is, if the unionists have a wonderful God, why is he called the Unnamed God? If he loved us, wouldn't we know his name? And, as for Lurlinists, why should we put our trust in a fairy? How could something pink and perky save us? It's as incredulous as...as...well, as a house falling on a person!"
"But that has happened, Fabala." He teased, making her turn red. "What about pfaithists?"
"The pleasure faith?" she asked, making a face. "I think they're all insane; those kumbric witches and those skimpy costumes, it's all sparkled- up sex." Aran coughed, looking up at Fabala in shock. She merely grinned, happy that she could make him blush as bad as he had made her. "It's true, and you know it."
"You really didn't have to say it quite in that manner." Aran mumbled, ashamed that he had to admit he was thinking along the same lines. He gulped, trying to move the game along. "So...it's your turn...to ask questions, that is." He said.
Fabala looked at the small window in Aran's room, watching the rain fall angrily outside. "Are you sure you can answer my questions?" She asked.
Aran shrugged. "Well, I can answer a few, at least, can't I? It's only fair, you know."
Fabala shrugged. "What do you think of Bromley and Destin?"
"I've seen more exciting people, and I'd probably like Destin if he wasn't Gillikinese."
Fabala moved closer to him, voice a low conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I heard them talking one night; Destin's mother is from Nest Fallows, making him only part Gillikin. It was apparently a huge scandal in Dixxi House when Lord Bromley announced a Munchkinlander was going to be his wife."
Aran nodded, impressed at his companion's adept at sneaking around the castle so easily. Fabala smiled, before yawning. She threw him his pillow, before nestling down on top of the covers, closing her eyes. "No more questions tonight, Aran, but I'll see you tomorrow morning. G'night."
"Lurline bless, Fae." Fabala made a face.
"My father calls my mother Fae." She said.
Aran sighed, defeated. He closed his eyes, listening to the rain and Fabala's breathing, before he, too, fell asleep.
When Lord Bromley and his sickly-looking son had first arrived in Red Windmill, they would not take breakfast with the others in the house. They held firmly to the belief that they would be rescued by Glinda the Good in no time flat. Of course, a few months after their arrival, all of Oz was snowed-in, a surprising occurrence, since snow usually did not fall in Quadling Country. The Vinkus, however, stayed dry, but still no caravans came to take the Lord away and no good witch in a bubble appeared on the doorstep, either.
The good witch in a bubble seemed to be what bothered Elphaba the most about Lord Bromley and Destin staying at Kiamo Ko. Whenever the name 'Glinda' was spoken, she seemed upset, and would usually leave the room – the correct term would be to flee the room, but as she was the Mistress of Kiamo Ko, no one dared to correct themselves.
By about March of that year, Lord Bromley had resigned himself to his fate; no one at Dixxi House cared that he was gone, his lady-love was probably looking for him but far too busy with the rest of Oz to search for him herself, and there would be no caravans for a very long time since travel through the Vinkus was more harsh now that it had declared independence. So the man and his fourteen-year-old son had started to show up at the normal breakfast table of Kiamo Ko, even if it was an odd sort that gathered there.
Lord Bromley and little Lord Destin always sat on the side of the table facing the kitchen window. Next to him was the Scarecrow at the head of their side of the table, and Destin on his other side. Across was Mellesse who sat there because her station as head cook demanded respect and the allowance of getting to eat her own hard work. Next to Mellesse was always Pfen, and next to him was his daughter Tempress. Across from her was an empty seat that separated Destin and Fabala, who sat next to Aran and who, in turn, sat next to Elphaba. Elphaba, the head of their side of the table, had two seats next to her open for Yunamata and Scrow delegates who needed to discuss crucial inter-tribal issues, and there were many times that the need arouse for them to have a meal between delegations.
"The problem with a woman running a country," Lord Bromley said that morning over runny scrambled eggs and dried bacon, "is that they have to multitask. There always has to be something else of more import than the country in their hands; for instance, my Glinda has all of Oz on her shoulders, but her main task is raising her hellion of a daughter...have I said something to offend?" Lord Bromley looked up, realizing the table had gone suddenly quiet.
"Glinda has a daughter?" asked the Scarecrow, meekly looking away when he caught the glare from Elphaba.
Lord Bromley nodded, peering at the Winkies as if they were all rather off. "Of course she does; a twelve-year-old girl." Destin nodded, as if he had to back up the statement.
"I'm just...surprised, that's all." Elphaba said flippantly, looking down at her eggs and taking a bite out of them.
Destin reached across the table to grab himself a flat cake, when his arm hit his glass of water. It spilled almost instantly, and Fabala pushed away from the table, to keep away from the splash.
"Idiot." Muttered Aran as he quickly grabbed a cloth and sopped up the water.
Destin smirked to himself. "Are you a servant boy, now, Quadling?"
Aran stopped mid-soaking, and his hands were batted away by Mellesse. "Now, there's no need for you to do that, Master Aran, you just go make sure Miss Fabala's all right, okay?" She smiled fondly at him, before glaring daggers at the Gillikinese boy.
Aran nodded, quickly moving to Fabala's side once more. He knelt down next to her, checking the light purple skirt and the white top for any water marks. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
Fabala's face was contorted with anger. "Why that crass, self- centered little...when I get my hands on him, I'll...I'll..."
Aran smiled to himself. An angry Fabala was one that wasn't having an allergic reaction. "You'll do what?" he whispered. She looked down at him, realizing for the first time he was kneeling next to her. "Fae, I don't think you've noticed, but you lack some of the anatomical parts for you to be threatening Destin's life."
Fabala glared at him, before getting up and heading out of the room with quick, easy strides. Aran stood, watching in her wake, and winced when he heard the door between the antechamber and the servant's entrance slam.
Elphaba watched her daughter leave, before turning to Aran. The boy blushed, realizing the rest of the table was watching him, too. With a muttered apology to the table and a quick look towards Destin and Lord Bromley, he skidded out of the kitchen and through the servant's entrance.
Outside, in the small valley between Kiamo Ko and Red Windmill, it didn't look like it had rained the previous night at all. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun was high overhead, and the temperature had to be close to the hundreds. Aran had to shield his eyes to see around him, though it did not help much.
He spotted a dark figure moving towards the Thousand-Year Grasslands, and sighed. Fabala would be the only person to go to the Grasslands when they were upset. That, and he could tell it was her by the slight limp on the left side. He ran down the slope after her, tripping on small rocks and small pieces of dried up grass on the way.
It was relatively easy for Aran to catch up to her. Although Pfen had fixed her leg as best he could, Fabala still limped, and on days as hot and muggy as it was, she was impeded in her gate by a knee that kept stubbornly locking up. It was Aran's good fortune to catch up with her on one such occasion, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. She tried to pull away, but in her hurry, she nearly toppled over, and grabbed him for support. Aran wasn't ready for her to latch onto him, and lost his balance, making him fall over into hard, brittle grass-stalks. They made large snapping noises all along his descent to the ground, and were rather painful when he finally made contact, Fabala on top of him.
They looked at each other for a moment, before Fabala pulled herself off of him, fixing her skirt. She pulled herself up slowly, and they both winced when her knee popped back into place. Aran dusted himself off, before pulling himself up.
"I'm sorry, you know." He said. Fabala turned away; walking through the tall stalks of grass without showing any sign that she had heard him. "About, you know the girl comment."
"I'll have you know that I'm as strong as any boy." Fabala said, putting her chin in the air defiantly.
"Uh-huh," Aran said, raising an eyebrow. "And as stubborn as a mule." He looked up at the sky, towards the overcast sun, and groaned. "So, is it either no rain at all, then downpour after downpour here?" he asked. Fabala suppressed a giggle.
"That's how it goes; you're catching on fast for a Quadling." She teased. They started back to Kiamo Ko.
Aran kept sneaking glances at Fabala. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was just something about the girl that made him wish he could remember his past just so he could tell her, and only her. He sighed; if this was friendship, he was seriously reconsidering the idea of allowing Fabala to stay with him the night before. "Come on," he said, tugging on her sleeve. "We should get to your room and fix that window, before the storm comes." As he said it, a roll of thunder echoed across the Grasslands, making both jump. Fabala looked up at the sky, before starting to run.
"Let's go then!" She called over her shoulder. Aran smiled. At least he really did have a friend his own age at Kiamo Ko know; even if the only male his age was still annoying.
Author: Aerohead
Email: capricornangel103 at yahoo
Website: geocities dot com slash wickedoibltibs
Pairing: Fiyero/Elphaba, Fiyero/Glinda, OC/OC
Rating: PG
Disclaimer/Dedication: L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire, Winnie Holtzman, Stephen Schwartz, and Tori, who still owns Destin by no fault of her own.
Warning: Spoiler for the musical, mixture of musical/play
Genre: Romance, adventure (book/play amalgamation)
Summary: The Vinkus is being used as a way for Quadlings to be taken to the Gillikin emerald mines. When a Quadling boy helps her daughter, Elphaba decides to stop the Gale Force from using Kumbricia's Pass as a way to smuggle people.
Author's Notes: Thank you to nancystagerat, who reviewed. I'm also glad you like it, I'm always nervous about stuff I write. Also, this chapter is still not beta'd, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry.
Part Two
Screaming; mostly all that could be heard was screaming. The words they were saying weren't comprehensible, but they were bitter and angry. It felt like he was being clawed apart by some wild beast, though the only one he could see was the foreigner that was dragging him through dirt and marshland. For a moment, he had Lord Bromley's pancake-shaped face, and then he had the face of Destin, drawn and pinched and starved-looking. Suddenly, though, the face became decidedly female, though he didn't know the blonde it had turned into. It was almost as if he was being taken by all of Gillikin at once and not one person cared. Except for those screaming, but then he heard shots, and that stopped. There was a musket held in front of his face, and incoherent jeering came from the faceless face...
...Aran woke up, sweaty and frightened, only to come face-to-face with a pair of large blue eyes. With a yelp, he tried to back away, but that only succeeded in him falling rather ungracefully off his bed, tangling him in the summer sheets as he did so.
"Aran, are you all right?" Fabala asked. He could hear it in her voice; she was worried, but she couldn't help but laugh at him.
"Go on, laugh, I won't mind." He grumbled, untangling his legs and pulling himself back onto the bed.
"But are you all right?" She asked, helping him up.
He shrugged, fixing his pillows into the formation he liked. "I guess I am." He looked up at her, and they were silent for a moment. The sound of water hitting the stone of Kiamo Ko was the only distinguishable sound for the long moments. It was a May shower – thank Lurline – and it was the first in nearly a year; the first shower since Aran had been taken in by the Wicked Witch of the West as a surrogate son. His twelfth birthday had just passed, too. It felt so odd that this was the only life he could remember.
"It's raining." Fabala said, breaking his thoughts.
"Yeah, I can hear it." Aran agreed, confused by the bland statement.
Fabala shook her head. "I mean, the East Window blew open, fully, and the rain's blowing into my room."
"Oh...oh!" Aran groaned, cursing his idiocy. He shifted in the bed, moving one of the pillows and indicating it to Fabala. "Here, you can stay in here, if you'd like. Or you could go to Destin."
Fabala grimaced at the thought. "Mother thinks Glinda is just going to leave him here to rot because he's not as good as her last fiancé." Fabala confided, flopping onto the pillow very ungracefully, her braided hair nearly smacking Aran in the face.
"Your mother doesn't think too highly of Her Goodness, does she?" Aran asked. Fabala shrugged.
"There are stories fa...the Scarecrow tells me, about Mother when she was younger, and about Glinda. There are stories about hate and friendship, and I'm not sure which are true." Aran merely nodded, not sure what to say. He had become good acquaintances with Fabala, but there was nothing close to true friendship there yet, and this midnight visit surprised him.
Though she only came here because she'd have an allergic reaction in her room, he reasoned with himself. He shook his head; thinking so late at night was hazardous to his health.
He peered over at Fabala, smirking lightly. "Can we play twenty questions?" he asked. She turned to him, intrigued.
"I've never heard of it."
"Well, I ask you ten questions, and then you ask me ten. It's something Tempress does with the smaller children; I've seen her with them near the River." He said, ignoring Fabala's shutter at the mention of the Vinkus River.
"Okay, you go first." She said, lying down on the pillow.
"One...who's your father, I've never seen him." He asked, watching Fabala's face carefully.
"You've met my father, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Aran sighed; he had asked her the question once before, and received the same answer. "Fine, be that way. Two, was your brother...um..."
"Green?" asked Fabala, watching Aran as he nodded, blushing. She smiled sadly, closing her eyes. "Yes."
Aran looked over at her, surprised. He had thought his eyes had been playing tricks on him. "Oh...eh...three, I guess..." he stopped to think for a moment.
"If you're struggling on your third question, how are you going to get through seven more?" Fabala teased, making Aran scowl.
"What do you think of Lord Bromley?"
"Haven't you already asked me that?" She turned so that she was on her stomach, and propped herself up on her arms. "I find him annoying, self- centered, and piggish and not just in the way he looks. I'm glad I'm not a Pig, or I'd want my Life ended the moment I spotted him." She smirked. "Is that a good enough answer?"
He laughed, nodding. "Okay, okay, question four; in a fight, who do you think would win, me or Destin?"
She blinked once, then twice. "Are you serious? Destin couldn't win a fight against an elf."
"Question five," Aran said rather quickly, "and this is getting old fast, really,"
"Then why don't we only ask each other five questions each?"
"Because that's not the game!" sighed Aran, throwing his pillow at Fabala. She caught it, and put it behind her head.
"Thank you, I needed another pillow." He shook his head, before pouting.
"Fine, I only have two questions to go." He pouted, rolling onto his own stomach to be more comfortable. "Five, why do you always have your hair braided?"
Fabala shifted uncomfortably, touching her braid. She reached a piece out of place, and took it down, redoing it with nimble fingers. "It's a sign that I'm not a child anymore, like the tattoos, that's all." She said, defensive wall up.
"Okay, I didn't mean to make you mad." He relented, touching her arm gently. She nodded once; a sign that she was alright to continue.
"My last question's this; what do you believe?"
Fabala squinted at him as if he had gone thoroughly insane, before dawning broke through on her face. "I'm atheist, actually. My feeling is, if the unionists have a wonderful God, why is he called the Unnamed God? If he loved us, wouldn't we know his name? And, as for Lurlinists, why should we put our trust in a fairy? How could something pink and perky save us? It's as incredulous as...as...well, as a house falling on a person!"
"But that has happened, Fabala." He teased, making her turn red. "What about pfaithists?"
"The pleasure faith?" she asked, making a face. "I think they're all insane; those kumbric witches and those skimpy costumes, it's all sparkled- up sex." Aran coughed, looking up at Fabala in shock. She merely grinned, happy that she could make him blush as bad as he had made her. "It's true, and you know it."
"You really didn't have to say it quite in that manner." Aran mumbled, ashamed that he had to admit he was thinking along the same lines. He gulped, trying to move the game along. "So...it's your turn...to ask questions, that is." He said.
Fabala looked at the small window in Aran's room, watching the rain fall angrily outside. "Are you sure you can answer my questions?" She asked.
Aran shrugged. "Well, I can answer a few, at least, can't I? It's only fair, you know."
Fabala shrugged. "What do you think of Bromley and Destin?"
"I've seen more exciting people, and I'd probably like Destin if he wasn't Gillikinese."
Fabala moved closer to him, voice a low conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I heard them talking one night; Destin's mother is from Nest Fallows, making him only part Gillikin. It was apparently a huge scandal in Dixxi House when Lord Bromley announced a Munchkinlander was going to be his wife."
Aran nodded, impressed at his companion's adept at sneaking around the castle so easily. Fabala smiled, before yawning. She threw him his pillow, before nestling down on top of the covers, closing her eyes. "No more questions tonight, Aran, but I'll see you tomorrow morning. G'night."
"Lurline bless, Fae." Fabala made a face.
"My father calls my mother Fae." She said.
Aran sighed, defeated. He closed his eyes, listening to the rain and Fabala's breathing, before he, too, fell asleep.
When Lord Bromley and his sickly-looking son had first arrived in Red Windmill, they would not take breakfast with the others in the house. They held firmly to the belief that they would be rescued by Glinda the Good in no time flat. Of course, a few months after their arrival, all of Oz was snowed-in, a surprising occurrence, since snow usually did not fall in Quadling Country. The Vinkus, however, stayed dry, but still no caravans came to take the Lord away and no good witch in a bubble appeared on the doorstep, either.
The good witch in a bubble seemed to be what bothered Elphaba the most about Lord Bromley and Destin staying at Kiamo Ko. Whenever the name 'Glinda' was spoken, she seemed upset, and would usually leave the room – the correct term would be to flee the room, but as she was the Mistress of Kiamo Ko, no one dared to correct themselves.
By about March of that year, Lord Bromley had resigned himself to his fate; no one at Dixxi House cared that he was gone, his lady-love was probably looking for him but far too busy with the rest of Oz to search for him herself, and there would be no caravans for a very long time since travel through the Vinkus was more harsh now that it had declared independence. So the man and his fourteen-year-old son had started to show up at the normal breakfast table of Kiamo Ko, even if it was an odd sort that gathered there.
Lord Bromley and little Lord Destin always sat on the side of the table facing the kitchen window. Next to him was the Scarecrow at the head of their side of the table, and Destin on his other side. Across was Mellesse who sat there because her station as head cook demanded respect and the allowance of getting to eat her own hard work. Next to Mellesse was always Pfen, and next to him was his daughter Tempress. Across from her was an empty seat that separated Destin and Fabala, who sat next to Aran and who, in turn, sat next to Elphaba. Elphaba, the head of their side of the table, had two seats next to her open for Yunamata and Scrow delegates who needed to discuss crucial inter-tribal issues, and there were many times that the need arouse for them to have a meal between delegations.
"The problem with a woman running a country," Lord Bromley said that morning over runny scrambled eggs and dried bacon, "is that they have to multitask. There always has to be something else of more import than the country in their hands; for instance, my Glinda has all of Oz on her shoulders, but her main task is raising her hellion of a daughter...have I said something to offend?" Lord Bromley looked up, realizing the table had gone suddenly quiet.
"Glinda has a daughter?" asked the Scarecrow, meekly looking away when he caught the glare from Elphaba.
Lord Bromley nodded, peering at the Winkies as if they were all rather off. "Of course she does; a twelve-year-old girl." Destin nodded, as if he had to back up the statement.
"I'm just...surprised, that's all." Elphaba said flippantly, looking down at her eggs and taking a bite out of them.
Destin reached across the table to grab himself a flat cake, when his arm hit his glass of water. It spilled almost instantly, and Fabala pushed away from the table, to keep away from the splash.
"Idiot." Muttered Aran as he quickly grabbed a cloth and sopped up the water.
Destin smirked to himself. "Are you a servant boy, now, Quadling?"
Aran stopped mid-soaking, and his hands were batted away by Mellesse. "Now, there's no need for you to do that, Master Aran, you just go make sure Miss Fabala's all right, okay?" She smiled fondly at him, before glaring daggers at the Gillikinese boy.
Aran nodded, quickly moving to Fabala's side once more. He knelt down next to her, checking the light purple skirt and the white top for any water marks. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
Fabala's face was contorted with anger. "Why that crass, self- centered little...when I get my hands on him, I'll...I'll..."
Aran smiled to himself. An angry Fabala was one that wasn't having an allergic reaction. "You'll do what?" he whispered. She looked down at him, realizing for the first time he was kneeling next to her. "Fae, I don't think you've noticed, but you lack some of the anatomical parts for you to be threatening Destin's life."
Fabala glared at him, before getting up and heading out of the room with quick, easy strides. Aran stood, watching in her wake, and winced when he heard the door between the antechamber and the servant's entrance slam.
Elphaba watched her daughter leave, before turning to Aran. The boy blushed, realizing the rest of the table was watching him, too. With a muttered apology to the table and a quick look towards Destin and Lord Bromley, he skidded out of the kitchen and through the servant's entrance.
Outside, in the small valley between Kiamo Ko and Red Windmill, it didn't look like it had rained the previous night at all. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun was high overhead, and the temperature had to be close to the hundreds. Aran had to shield his eyes to see around him, though it did not help much.
He spotted a dark figure moving towards the Thousand-Year Grasslands, and sighed. Fabala would be the only person to go to the Grasslands when they were upset. That, and he could tell it was her by the slight limp on the left side. He ran down the slope after her, tripping on small rocks and small pieces of dried up grass on the way.
It was relatively easy for Aran to catch up to her. Although Pfen had fixed her leg as best he could, Fabala still limped, and on days as hot and muggy as it was, she was impeded in her gate by a knee that kept stubbornly locking up. It was Aran's good fortune to catch up with her on one such occasion, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. She tried to pull away, but in her hurry, she nearly toppled over, and grabbed him for support. Aran wasn't ready for her to latch onto him, and lost his balance, making him fall over into hard, brittle grass-stalks. They made large snapping noises all along his descent to the ground, and were rather painful when he finally made contact, Fabala on top of him.
They looked at each other for a moment, before Fabala pulled herself off of him, fixing her skirt. She pulled herself up slowly, and they both winced when her knee popped back into place. Aran dusted himself off, before pulling himself up.
"I'm sorry, you know." He said. Fabala turned away; walking through the tall stalks of grass without showing any sign that she had heard him. "About, you know the girl comment."
"I'll have you know that I'm as strong as any boy." Fabala said, putting her chin in the air defiantly.
"Uh-huh," Aran said, raising an eyebrow. "And as stubborn as a mule." He looked up at the sky, towards the overcast sun, and groaned. "So, is it either no rain at all, then downpour after downpour here?" he asked. Fabala suppressed a giggle.
"That's how it goes; you're catching on fast for a Quadling." She teased. They started back to Kiamo Ko.
Aran kept sneaking glances at Fabala. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was just something about the girl that made him wish he could remember his past just so he could tell her, and only her. He sighed; if this was friendship, he was seriously reconsidering the idea of allowing Fabala to stay with him the night before. "Come on," he said, tugging on her sleeve. "We should get to your room and fix that window, before the storm comes." As he said it, a roll of thunder echoed across the Grasslands, making both jump. Fabala looked up at the sky, before starting to run.
"Let's go then!" She called over her shoulder. Aran smiled. At least he really did have a friend his own age at Kiamo Ko know; even if the only male his age was still annoying.