Title: Twist of Fate
Pairing: Crope/Tibbett
Rating: PG
Disclaimer/Dedication: For L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire, Stephen Schwartz, and Winnie Holtzman who own this idea that I'm extending.
Warning: …nothing really, unless you didn't know there was a book…then I'd be worried…also, this is slash – 'tis not terrible, but it's there – you've been warned.
Genre: Romance, humor
Summary: The creation of the infamous duo.
Author's Notes: Very short drabble, with no real plot; just the meeting of Crope and Tibbett. I'll write something better with them later, but this is just a drabble to get characterization.
When Crope's father had sent word that he would be staying at Shiz for the summer, the boy had dreamt of early mornings in the costume rooms of the Theatre Department, lazy afternoons by Suicide Canal, and dark nights at the Philosophy Club. He had the myth all planned out in his mind; he would have nearly every girl left at Crage Hall for the summer pining for him, and he would be pleased to tell them all, thank you, but he wasn't ready for a real relationship; sordid affairs, however, he would take gladly.
Sitting in front of a dirty porridge pot was not in his plan.
He had been – not by his own volition – solicited into whoring his hands out to scrubs the pots, pans, and other paraphernalia that had to be cleaned within the confines of the Briscoe Hall teachers' kitchen. Not only were the pots indescribably gruesome, but he was also sick to his stomach from the stench that wafted up from the large pot of three-day-old food in front of him.
All-in-all, he was not amused.
He had
been at it for nearly a week and a half, and had seen no
compensation, except for the occasional teacher telling him that he
was bettering himself. He snorted at the thought, and nearly gagged
as the smell overpowered him once more. He looked around the large
kitchens, remembering that there was another boy, another Gillikin,
who was degraded into doing this atrocity that was manual labor. He
caught sight of the other boy – one whom he had only shared a Life
Sciences class with the previous semester – and was struck dumb.
What in Oz was the boy's name? Crope bit the inside of his
cheek, before remembering that biting the inside of one's cheek was
considered to be a bad thing. He racked his mind for the right name.
Tyson…Tybault…"Tibbett?" He called. He was startled when the
other boy turned dark eyes on him.
"Master Crope?" The other boy said, smirking rather indolently at the young Emerald Citizen. It caught Crope off guard, and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.
"If you don't have too much to do over there, would you help me with this large pot? It's too big for one person to take care of…alone." He said, leaning against the countertop. He crossed his arms, still holding the pot scrubber, as he watched Tibbett's reaction.
The other boy merely grinned, and took off his gloves. Gloves. Why hadn't Crope thought of gloves to keep his hands from pruning? "Why, I thought you'd never ask."