Hello once again, darlings. I am here to present the next chapter and to warn you: updates may not be fast lately. This is my "busy season" due to: projects, plays, and entrance exams. I will try not to have a two month delay again ::shudders:: because that was inexcusable. So on to the story, and bonus brownie points if you guessed who the visitor was.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Wicked.
Glinda stood in front of the mirror, trying to weave a pearl-covered tiara through the mounds of piled curls on her head. Instead of achieving an elegant, queenly look, she succeeded in making the ringlets stick out at odd angles. Frustrated, she ripped the crown out of her hair and yelped as some strands caught onto the gilded frame.
"Miss Glinda?"
"What?" Glinda snapped irritably, glaring at the noise near the door. Marla cowered there, looking quite dejected. Glinda felt her eyes soften and said, "Yes? What is it, dear?" She loosened the hair and pulled out the tiara carefully; she set it on the table, and ran a brush through her curls, wearing it down instead.
"The coachman told me to fetch you, madam. The time is ten thirty."
"What?" Glinda cried. The Ozma Ballroom was in town, but at the farthest end. It took almost a half hour to get there. Nearly tripping over her pale green dress as she rushed out the door, Glinda almost knocked the wind out of the child. Marla ran behind her, down the stairs, panting. "Must go, dear!" Glinda puffed, reaching the door. "Tell Hilda I will be home to eat tonight!"
She sped out the door and used the hand of the groom to nearly catapult herself into the seat. Breathing heavily, she leaned back against the cushion and ordered the driver: "Go."
"As you wish," he growled, muttering obscenities under his breath about the inability of women to be ready on time.
Glinda reached for her matching green clutch, where she had carefully placed the next letter for reading on the ride. She unfolded it.
4 May 3039, Ozian date.
Minik ot Bellun.
Glinda dearest,
After a month of painstaking work, Yackle and I have prepared an impressive amount of blankets. Yackle is starting to work on baby clothes. I am not yet allowed to progress to these because according to Yackle-of-the-Interminable-Advice I don't have enough talent. So at the rate she is going, which is about three stitches per hour (due to the fact that she has to look over my shoulder each minute and criticize me), my son/daughter will have half of one article of clothing at their birth.
I've been thinking about those words recently lately: my son or daughter. I don't know if I have a preference. I just want to do this (parenting) and do it right. I am five months into this, which means (as I am constantly being reminded) that I am more than halfway through, and that I will have a wonderful reward at the end of all of this. Like I am some drooling brat that can be bribed with a new toy.
I do confess that I have been thinking often about the baby- my baby. He or she has been kicking madly lately and it is a feeling I can't describe. I feel like… like somebody truly needs me still in this world.
Fiyero has developed an extremely annoying habit of talking to my stomach, which is much bigger now. If he doesn't knock it off- and soon- my child will be fatherless. I have my ways.
As always,
Elphaba
Glinda sighed. She didn't know Elphie had such a sentimental side. She gingerly placed the letter back in her clutch and counted trees, wishing she had brought another letter to read. It took all of her self control to keep from diving in the box and spending one night reading them all. If only-
Thunk.
The carriage jerked forward and Glinda hit her head on the ceiling. She shrieked and heard the driver calling, "Whoa, boy! Steady."
Finally it seemed that they were stopped and Glinda rubbed her head, dizzy. She ascended from the carriage, walking tipsily like a drunkard. "What is it?" she asked.
The driver was examining the horse. "Cast a shoe," he replied grimly. "We're about a mile away from the Ballroom. I've sent the footman for a blacksmith, but we could be here for two hours."
"Two hours!" Glinda squeaked. "Sir, I cannot wait for two hours!"
The driver frowned. "Miss Glinda, the only way you will get to your luncheon is by walking. I have to stay and wait for the blacksmith, though," he added unhelpfully.
Perhaps she had a curiosity to meet Crope's visitor. Or maybe it was because she hadn't had the food at the Ballroom in six months. She suspected it was mostly because she had shirked an important duty for this. But for whatever reason, Glinda began to walk the mile.
Thirty dirty, sweaty minutes later, she arrived in Frottica town, cursing her three-inch heels and her heavy skirt. She trudged into the door of the classy Ozma Ballroom. The maitre'd raised an eyebrow at her, and Glinda knew that if they hadn't known who she was, she would have never been admitted into the building with her outfit's current state.
The hostess greeted her, "Good afternoon, Miss Glinda, may I help you?"
"Yes," Glinda said, "did you seat a party under the name of Crope about a half hour ago?"
"Yes, madam," the woman said, "at table six. Shall I ring up the table for an escort for you?"
Glinda hesitated, but only for a moment. She couldn't look too improper. "Please do," Glinda replied smoothly.
She heard the hostess' voice ring out into the room, "Will an escort from table six accompany a guest into the ballroom? Table six, please." After what seemed forever, Crope appeared.
"Sweet Oz, what happened to you?" he asked, taking her arm and leading her into the Ballroom. The room wasn't exactly to her taste (the colors were in shades of reds and golds, not pastels that Glinda loved) but she admitted to herself that they were very pretty anyway.
"It's a long story," Glinda replied.
"Explain it over lunch," Crope led her to the table, "but first…"He didn't finish his sentence, because Glinda recognized the extra person at the table. Her mouth formed an O and she heard her voice, much higher than her usual squeak, cry out.
"Boq!"
And it goes on... new characters, more light shed on Glinda's life, and a new perspective of Elphaba's thoughts. I do apologize for the lack of identifiable (is that a word?) plot. Review please!