Sorry, I know, I know, I promised no more long waits. ::avoids the jeers and sneers of the crowd:: I feel absolutely rotten, honestly. And I bring tidings of more sad news: I have recently gotten involved in an extremely demanding show. What does that mean to you? The next update may not be until April. ::ducks as tomatoes are thrown:: I apologize for the delays and hope you all enjoy this chapter. I introduced a fun character to try to make it up to yall.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, places, or things.
"Boq!" Glinda squeaked again, as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in a way that Galinda of the Arduennas certainly wouldn't do. But this was Glinda, mayor of Frottica, bored widow and older matron, who was eager to see an old friend.
"Glinda," he choked out as she cut off his circulation. "How are you?"
"Marvelous!" she cried. "Absolutely splendid! Oh, step back, Boq, let me have a look at you!"
He complied and she let go of him, circling him critically like a vulture. His hair was entirely gray, but he looked dignified and stately, not old at all. "Oh, Boq, you look wonderful," she breathed.
"I can't say the same for you," he grinned. She stared down at her wrinkled, dusty green gown.
"You were always an impertinent Munchkinlander, never knowing your proper place," Glinda reminded him.
"You were always an uptight Gillikinese, arrogant and spoiled," Boq teased.
"Careful, Boq," Crope said, as they sat down at the table. "You're associating with high society now."
"Ha!" Boq wheezed. "High society! That's a laugh. I've had about enough of high society. Milla was high society and look what happened there!" Instantly, his pleasant and cherrful demeanor turned first dark and angry, and then sad.
Crope laid a hand on Boq's arm gently. "Don't upset yourself, mate."
Glinda raised an eyebrow. "Erm, pardon?"
Boq heaved a sigh. "Milla left me. She left a note on the table, saying she'd had enough of the countryside, and she was taking the children to the City, where she has relatives. After twenty-four years, she just up and went. I swear," he was shaking now, "I was so angry. The children." His voice broke down feebly. "The children…"
Crope exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding. His eyes met Glinda's and they flashed a sympathetic look. "Boq's been staying with me until he can get his life together again."
"Yes," Glinda murmured. "How many children was it, Boq? Four, five? It was quite a number when I last talked to you."
"Five," Boq said. "We started with five. The baby died, however, a fever-" his voice quavered but he steadied himself. "My daughter Clarinda is married to a nice farmer in Munchkinland. My son Yellowgage is an apprentice blacksmith; he's bunking with Clarinda and her husband until he can get on his own two feet. They both didn't go with Milla, as their lives are here. Milla took the two youngest. My home is torn up- she took much of the goods we've accumulated over the years. Clarinda offered to let me stay with her in her home, but I couldn't do it. I can't see that child yet. She is so much like Milla: flighty, impatient."
"Isn't there anything you can do to get your children back?" Glinda asked, moved by the story and filled with desperation.
"No," Boq responded sadly, "Milla has threatened to sue for custody of the two youngest if I try to fight for them. And let's face it," he frowned, "who would choose a hick Munchkinland farmer over a society dame with good connections? So I showed up at Crope's the other day, and he's helping me get back on my feet."
Crope's eyes met Glinda's again and they seemed to frantically flash: New subject- now! Glinda nodded and said to Boq, "Now tell me about Clarinda and what's his name? Yellowgage? How different, go on, now tell me."
Crope nodded approvingly and Glinda knew she had hit a good topic. Boq seemed to be very proud of his eldest children. "Oh, Clarinda is wonderful," he raved, "a good girl. She is twenty-two years old and made a lovely, respectable marriage. Her husband is a good man, such a good man. They've been married for a little over four years, and they've had some trouble having a baby-" Glinda winced; she and Chuffney could never have children- "but she's got a lovely little girl who comes over on weekends and bakes cakes with her and sips tea; they just have a grand old time.
"Yellowgage is twenty. He's a blacksmith's apprentice. I was so pleased when he decided to become a blacksmith. Really, farming is a highly overrated business." Boq took a deep breath, a little happier. "Glinda, what has gotten into you? Normally you monopolize the conversation."
Glinda blushed. "I like hearing about your family."
"What has been going on with you lately?" Boq inquired.
"Oh," Glinda waved her hand impatiently, "nothing more than usual. Crope came over last night and made me knock over a vase, and now my brand-new dress is ruined…"
"Let it go, Glinda…" Crope sighed.
"...but other than that, nothing since the last time we met, which was quite a while ago," Glinda finished.
Crope stretched his head to look over at the waitstaff, who were talking placidly among themselves, obviously not in a hurry to serve. "This is ridiculous!" he fumed. "You two have talked for an hour and the waiter hasn't even taken our drink orders yet!" He picked up his napkin and cleared his throat.
"Crope," Boq warned, "don't make a scene. Remember what happened at Muvvels." He lowered his voice to Glinda confidentially. "The other day we were at Muvvels and he saw a display of silken shirts in every color but purple, which of course was the color he had to have, and-"
"Wait a minute," Glinda interrupted. "You shop at Muvvels?" Her voice was incredulous. She could hardly imagine conservative, dignified Boq at a department store that sold expensive, frivilous clothing and accessories.
Boq's face grew red. "Certainly not," he huffed. "I was only accompanying Crope. I do not shop at Muvvels."
"Boq, you lie, lie, lie," Crope chuckled. "He bought an incredibly divine alligator skin wallet yesterday." Glinda laughed loud, obnoxious laughter that she hadn't laughed in years.
"Well… well," Boq sputtered, "well, they have a tasteful men's department!"
For a moment Glinda could have sworn she was channeling Elphie's spirit. "Are you sure it was alligator, or was it Alligator?" she demanded suddenly, suspiciously.
"Mmm, dunno," Crope said, "but the price was outrageous." He fanned himself with a napkin. "I'm parched."
Almost on cue, the waiter showed up. "May I take you drink orders, sirs and madam?" he asked, his voice dripping with oil.
"It's about bloody-" Crope started, but Boq interrupted. "I'll take a glass of your white wine of the day, please."
Crope calmed down enough to say, "I'll have a glass of merlot."
Glinda smiled benevolently. She started to say, "I'd like water with lemon," but then changed her mind. She was with her friends and would treat herself this once. "I'd like a glass of your white wine of the day, also," she said. "Red wine before six in the evening," she informed Crope, "is vulgar."
Oh, I love Boq. Before you all bombard me with questions about starting something between Boq and Glinda, the answer is: I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. That being said, happy Christmahanukwanzakah to all, and please review on your way out! I'll see what I can do about updating.