me without you is less than none (Glinda, Elphaba, PG)
Title: me without you is less than none
Fandom: Wicked
Characters: Glinda, Elphaba
Rating: PG
Word Count: 410
Summary: Glinda's so tired of being on separate sides. (for the Lady Fest ficathon, requested here)
Glinda struggles to speak when Elphaba shows up to tell her everything she does is wrong. How dare you show up here, with your lies and your ugly hat and your - her chin wobbles as she searches for the word - deviousity.
Elphaba mocks her with a rude green cackle. You gave me this hat, remember?
She doesn't remember, or she pretends not to. It's easier to believe they were always like this, the way they are now, the way they'll always be.
(Sometimes though, in the middle of the night she wakes up, Elphaba's voice ringing through her head, sweet as parties and flowers and fruit punch. It makes Glinda's stomach twirl about, and not in a way she likes. It makes everything feel too complicated.)
Glinda demands that she leave. Elphaba refuses. It quickly descends into a, um... what Fiyero used to call a kitten battle. Or something like that. There's screaming and clawing and teeth marks on the hand that struck her face and a rip in the ruffles of Glinda's minty green skirt. Names are thrown about, cruel words she doesn't really want to say but does anyways.
When they've run out of ways to hurt each other, they sit on the floor in two piles of tangled clothes and just look at each other. There's a red mark on Elphaba's face, right under her angry but pretty eyes, and Glinda thinks, it's just too complicated. Her lip sticks out and she can't keep the whimper from escaping. Elphie-
What? Elphaba snaps. She jams her hat back on her head, bent and twisted this way and that, and Glinda's so tired of being on separate sides.
Couldn't we just- but she's not so good with words, not when they really matter. Ask me again, Elphie. Ask me to come with you.
This time Glinda would say yes, would fly away after her (she could now, you see, and although a glittering bubble might not make her appear as intellectualized as Elphaba, they would still arrive at the same place, side by side. And that, at least, is a concept that she desperately wants to grasp.)
Elphaba leans over, twists her finger around a blond curl, tugs at it with a sad smile. You couldn't handle the strain, Princess. You're too good for that life.
And Glinda nods, wanting to tell her that maybe good is too simple, good is not enough, but the words are too hard.
Fandom: Wicked
Characters: Glinda, Elphaba
Rating: PG
Word Count: 410
Summary: Glinda's so tired of being on separate sides. (for the Lady Fest ficathon, requested here)
Glinda struggles to speak when Elphaba shows up to tell her everything she does is wrong. How dare you show up here, with your lies and your ugly hat and your - her chin wobbles as she searches for the word - deviousity.
Elphaba mocks her with a rude green cackle. You gave me this hat, remember?
She doesn't remember, or she pretends not to. It's easier to believe they were always like this, the way they are now, the way they'll always be.
(Sometimes though, in the middle of the night she wakes up, Elphaba's voice ringing through her head, sweet as parties and flowers and fruit punch. It makes Glinda's stomach twirl about, and not in a way she likes. It makes everything feel too complicated.)
Glinda demands that she leave. Elphaba refuses. It quickly descends into a, um... what Fiyero used to call a kitten battle. Or something like that. There's screaming and clawing and teeth marks on the hand that struck her face and a rip in the ruffles of Glinda's minty green skirt. Names are thrown about, cruel words she doesn't really want to say but does anyways.
When they've run out of ways to hurt each other, they sit on the floor in two piles of tangled clothes and just look at each other. There's a red mark on Elphaba's face, right under her angry but pretty eyes, and Glinda thinks, it's just too complicated. Her lip sticks out and she can't keep the whimper from escaping. Elphie-
What? Elphaba snaps. She jams her hat back on her head, bent and twisted this way and that, and Glinda's so tired of being on separate sides.
Couldn't we just- but she's not so good with words, not when they really matter. Ask me again, Elphie. Ask me to come with you.
This time Glinda would say yes, would fly away after her (she could now, you see, and although a glittering bubble might not make her appear as intellectualized as Elphaba, they would still arrive at the same place, side by side. And that, at least, is a concept that she desperately wants to grasp.)
Elphaba leans over, twists her finger around a blond curl, tugs at it with a sad smile. You couldn't handle the strain, Princess. You're too good for that life.
And Glinda nods, wanting to tell her that maybe good is too simple, good is not enough, but the words are too hard.