Disclaimer: I still don't own any part of Wicked, be it book or musical; nor do I own any part of the Wizard of Oz, be it book or musical. I only have fun with the characters.
Spoilers: Umm... we all know the Witch of the West dies, right? Right. And if you don't, go read the book.
I had intentions when I started this one. The first was that this would also be, like the last one, not angsty. The second was that I take a break from my regular style. The third was that this be musicalverse, rather than bookverse, as I've noticed all but one of my Wicked stories are based on the book. I seem to have met all of these goals halfway. Yes, you heard me - it's musicalookverse. :-)
I'm going to try again, in celebration of my acquisition of Wicked tickets. Wish me luck.
I have been to the Emerald City exactly twice. The first trip was a business trip I couldn't get out of several years ago; the second, also a business trip, was made only last week. The last time I couldn't help but compare the differences: I could now afford to travel first class, which made the trip about seven days shorter; I stayed overnight in the large rooms of classy hotels rather than above the kitchens in cramped third rate inns; the people traveling along the same road were also much less interesting than the third class travelers were.
The first time I traveled to the Emerald City, I was a young aspiring businessman, part of the group the wealthy called "third class" with a look of scorn or sheer indifference on their faces. We never went out of our way to talk to each other, and I've recently discovered that first class follows the same mandate. Perhaps it's a rule of the road? Though each person was an individual, they receded into the background because of their reticence. They were in varying stages of life, all of them tired of the road, the carriage, the land rolling by, maybe even their life. I certainly can't presume to know.
These lords and ladies I found myself traveling with all have the same story of nobility and wealth. Compared to the diverse company of third class travelers, they are positively boring. With members of the third class, of which I was a part several years ago, each had a different story of struggle and work, sometimes laziness, but always hardship. Though their lives are not the most pleasant, they are the more interesting. Too easily the individuals are lumped together in an undefined group: third class. To the wealthy, this class is of varying shades of grey, and as a shapeless lump, they recede into the shadows and background. Since making my own way out of that group, I've lumped them all together a few times myself. Perhaps I shouldn't.
On this trip, there were two young girls that stood out against the monotony. Most of the weary journeymen were not younger than their late twenties, but these young women were obviously young enough to still be at home. Or maybe they were part of the growing women's movement and in attendance at one of the few co-educational colleges. I can't say truthfully that they only stood out because of their youthful vibrancy and intensity; one of the girls was positively green, as green as the city she was traveling to.
As different as these two girls were from their surroundings, they were from each other. The green girl was tall, dark-haired, skinny as a rail, angular, and sharp-featured. The other was petite, reaching in height only to the green girl's shoulder, soft faced and full figured, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and positively lovely in every way. It wasn't hard to imagine that their personalities differed every bit as much; it did, in any case, leave exactly how they were drawn together to the imagination. And on a virtually silent, day-long carriage ride, one that would be repeated for the next several days, one had quite a lot of time to imagine.
Of course, I didn't know at first that these two young women had the same destination in mind as I did. I would see them from time to time along the journey, part of a crowd or sometimes at an inn, only to have them disappear for days at a time. I would think that they had finally gotten off the road to the Emerald City, but no - they would show up at the same inn I stayed at that night, a little after I arrived. The blonde had such a presence as to make everyone in the room look up as she entered, so their arrival was never missed. Her strange green companion, however, might have easily melted into the shadows, if she had not been pushed there already. In the light of the blonde's presence, she could not have hidden.
And what a strange combination these two made. They could leave the room in the heat of a vicious argument. Early the next morning they would come down with the shorter young woman half asleep, the taller greenie half-carrying her. When she emerged from her half-sleep, all vestiges of tenderness were erased from the greenie's face, and her face would become harsh again, even when directed at her comrade. At one glance you would think that neither could care less about each other, but in the next you would see their fierce protectiveness of each other. You could see it in the way the green girl scared off the drunken men leering at the blonde; in the way the blonde made use of her large presence to intimidate those who dared stare, not entirely without a reason, at her odd looking companion.
An odd mix, the two were. On particularly dull days I've wondered what became of them.
One day, just before arriving in the City of Emeralds, I actually shared a carriage with them. Up close, the green girl possessed an eerie, almost pseudo-beautiful luminescence, all the stranger for her long black hair. The blonde, though every bit as beautiful, was marred closer up because of the dark circles under her eyes. Surprisingly, it wasn't she that dropped off. Instead, the jostles of the carriage slowly lulled the sharp-featured greenie to sleep; her head dropped and nestled into the blonde shoulder it found next to her. I couldn't help but wince at the odd angle her neck was at due to the difference of the two girl's heights – green though she was, her anatomy wasn't any different than any normal person's. She wasn't made of rubber, and any length of time at that angle would only come to a terrible neck ache.
"She hasn't been sleeping well," the blonde explained; she must have misjudged my expression, though I don't know for what. I was too tired myself to correct her, and she busied herself with brushing back the black locks from her companion's forehead.
The rest of the carriage ride passed without much talking. We exchanged pleasantries enough for me to learn that she hailed from Frottica, neighbor to my own Wittica. Later, I remembered having heard that a girl from that very town had gracefully earned herself a fellowship at Shiz University – there was some big whoop-de-doo about it in Frottica, but it had been mentioned only as passing news, and almost a year past. But even so, that girl was fairly well-born. There was no place for her to be associating with green, hatchet faced girls.
Her name, I learned and forgot. I believe it was similar to one of the saints: Saint Galdilea, Saint Godelieve… She woke her friend as we approached the outskirts of the City. We parted, and I stayed three days in the City before returning home. Not having seen them for three days, I figured I wouldn't see them again.
I have never been a devout fanatic of public figures. Even so, you may think it odd that it was only last week that I, a native of Gillikin, saw Lady Glinda in person for the first time. This was my second trip to the City of Emeralds, and I was unknowingly scheduled to arrive the day news broke that the Wicked Witch of the West was dead. The City was utter chaos, and I left as soon as possible. I believe I was one of the first to hear the news, however, and straight from Glinda the Good's mouth. Dorothy had triumphed, the Witch was dead, and the Good Witch wanted to take on more than a title, if the populace was willing. In my opinion, as the Witch's tyranny never reached the City, this was merely an excuse for the inhabitants of the city to 'drink and be merry' in the most disgraceful of ways. But there was something about Lady Glinda's earnest face that reminded me of the blonde girl. She was, after all, of Gillikin. There was a slight chance.
I have long since had my theories as to the other girl's lot in life, ever since hearing of the strange color of the Witch of the West's skin. Really, how many people, intelligent and non-elvish, are green? But these are merely the thoughts and idle contemplations of a middle-aged businessman. The implications of the two theories together are unthinkable, unmentionable, even bordering on treason. It might go further to explain why Lady Glinda's almost unnoticed exit was so hasty as the din of the crowd grew louder – but unthinkable all the same.
What are these thoughts but fantasies, a story of a ruined friendship, pieced together with fact and fiction? More likely that the two girls separated after their journey, the blonde married and had a family, and happily settled in Frottica. As for the green girl – who can say?
They always were an odd pair.