Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Most of the next few chapters focus on Elphaba and her week with the Thropps. Unfortunately, Fiyero and the tribe won't be in the next few chapters for at least... four of them or so. Bear with me. It's just how she rewrote it. Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia
Something drew her from the bread she was kneading, and she looked up, quickly wiping her hands on her apron and going to the window. Through the glass, she could see her oldest daughter out in the fields behind the house. As soon as they'd returned home, Elphaba had quickly removed the bonnet and boots, discarding them by the door before yanking her hair from the bun it'd been put in earlier. Her thick black braids hung down her back, and she turned her face to the sun. Melena had watched her oldest daughter hurry up the stairs, only to hear a screech come from her room; after managing to wrestle her into the paisley print, Nessa had taken the buckskin dress and moccasins her sister had been found in, and hidden them away in the bottom of the chest in her own room. When asked why, Nessa had replied that maybe, if she didn't have the things that were from the savages, she would have an easier time of readjusting to being back at home.
While her actions made sense in theory, in practice, it was an entirely different matter.
Elphaba, enraged that her sister- this... this white- had stolen her things, lashed out at the younger girl, chasing her down the stairs and into the kitchen, where, when she finally got a hold of her, proceeded to grab a hold of one of Nessa's thick braids and yank. Nessa, in attempt to stop her, had reached up, doing the first thing she could think of. She scratched her nails quickly across her sister's cheek. As soon as the older girl let go, Nessa had gone fleeing up to her room, and Elphaba, turned, stalking out of the house. It'd been three hours since the latest fight between the girls, and Elphaba still hadn't come inside. Melena prayed she'd come in once it either got dark or she got hungry, whichever came first.
Now, Melena watched her oldest from the kitchen, worrying her bottom lip. She knew this would be difficult, but she wasn't aware of how. She knew the language was a barrier, as were the customs and the way of life, but... But you expected her to return and just instantly forget that she hasn't spent the last seven years of her life living among the savages. You expected the girl who returned to be the girl who was stolen from you, and she's not. When she looks at you, she doesn't even know you. She knows nothing of your family, or her role in it, that's how immersed she's been in the savages' way of life.
The hem of the skirt of Elphaba's dress picked up in the gentle breeze, and the girl spread her arms wide, face still turned to the sun, as though she were worshiping some god. And then, with a choked sob, her knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground. Melena resisted the urge to rush out and comfort her, for she knew that the girl would only push her away. Her sobs broke the older woman's heart, but she stayed put, no matter how it hurt to not interfere.
"You must let her mourn. She sees this return as a captivity. A death. All whites who have lived among the Arjiki and are forced to return to your society do. You call them savages, but the Arjiki are the furthest thing from it. They kill only if they must; they prefer a peaceful existence with the Great Mother, for she provides everything. The Arjiki are not like the Scrow. They do not attempt to wage war on outsiders for crossing through their lands. And they are not like the Yunamata. They do not attempt compromise with the outsiders. They wish to be left in peace; they will join together with other tribes through marriage, trade with them, fight beside them, but ultimately, their way of life is peaceful, secluded to themselves. The Arjiki are a peaceful people, a good people. They cared for me when I was a small boy, stolen by the Scrow and sold to the Yunamata before being traded for. Just as they cared for your daughter; they gave her a home, as they gave me one. And she, like I, came to love them and view herself as one of them, despite the color of her skin. You call them savage, but savage is the furthest thing from the truth."
She looked up, Tibbett's words fading away as the translator entered the kitchen. The green diamonds that ran in a parallel line down the middle of his face- five from his forehead to his chin, and then four in a diamond shape on each cheek, starting below his eyes- looked exactly like her daughter's. Though unlike Elphaba's-who were not in such a visible place- they still signified that he too had been a captive, he too had been a member of the Arjiki tribe; raised as one, lived as one, and forced to leave the only family he had known. Glancing back at her daughter, Melena forced herself away from the window, fixing two cups of coffee. She set one before the translator, before taking a seat at the table across from him.
"Tell me about them."
Tibbett merely raised an eyebrow.
"Those." She sighed, wrapping her hands around the cup and nodding towards his face. "The diamonds. Tell me about them."
"What do you wish to know, Mrs. Thropp?"
"Anything. Everything. When did you get them? What do they mean? Can they ever be removed? Why do you have them? Why does she have them? Why the color green?"