Exodus - 1/?
Title: Exodus
Fandom: Wicked (Book Universe)
Characters: General Cast
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Implied non-con, captivity, physical abuse.
Summary: Based off of the Gregory Maguire Wicked Years, AU. The Philosophy Club is everything it's rumored to be; disgusting and filthy with unspeakable acts happening in every corner. What Fiyero Tigelaar didn't expect was to find an enchanting emerald woman locked away in the basement, a slave to the club's mysterious owners. Warnings for non-con, captivity, physical abuse, and language.
For all of the raving his friends had gone on about the place, The Philosophy Club looked less than captivating. The rickety building stood hidden amongst a narrow alleyway, large panels covering up the windows, keeping passerby from looking in.
Or perhaps it was to keep the patrons from looking out.
Fiyero hung back as Avaric dug through his pockets for a wad of money to pay for their entrance. He glanced back at the Arjiki prince as if he somehow should have been financially responsible for this little jaunt but the idea was far from his. Though he’d never admit it, however, Fiyero was slightly curious about the claims of the creature rumored to be captive of the Philosophy club; the one they claimed was the pure embodiment of evil.
One that was like no other.
In his travels from Kiamo Ko, Fiyero had encountered many species. He was almost certain that the claims came from those who had never traveled outside the walls of Shiz, never encountered culture outside of the hustle and bustle of urban life.
Once they stepped inside, they were immediately relieved of their topcoats and ushered towards a theater. They were overwhelmed by the thick smog of pipe tobacco, the sounds of drinks crashing together and laughter. At first it seemed to be nothing more than a bar. A loud one at that. The patronage was varied, Animals and munchkinlanders, students from the local Universities tucked in the corner. The music played loudly and scantily clad women pulled the boys from their chairs one by one.
When Fiyero was approached, the lone man left at his table, he held up his hand to refuse her. This environment was new to him and he was still absorbing it, studying it carefully. He found little to be desired in the activities buzzing about him, it all seemed so meaningless.
“You’re such a downer, Fiyero,” Avaric called out, “try living a little!”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward and he shrugged ever so slightly, having no response to offer. Perhaps he was a so-called downer, but he was content to observe.
Precisely one hour after their admission into the club, a set of large oak doors opened and they were escorted into another room, this time it was a theater style room, the walls painted to simulate their descent into purgatory. Now Fiyero was interested, his eyes darting around the room. There were partitions, separating him from his friends. He could hear Tibbett carrying on, clearly drunk on the brew being served in the previous parlor.
Dimly, he was aware of participants being called to the stage, drawn out of their seats by erotic music and the promise of pleasure. His eyes had fixated at the corner of the stage, awaiting the next part of the show, if there was one.
Perhaps the evil spoken of was not a true embodiment but simply the loose morals associated with the establishment.
Just then, there was a slight tap against his shoulder and Fiyero turned in the direction of the physical intrusion. An old woman stood aside him, dark eyes sparkling with curiosity and invitation, “I know what you seek, boy.”
His brow rose ever so slightly, “And what exactly is that?”
Rather than providing him with a verbal answer, the woman grasped his wrist tightly and pulled him from his seat, “Purgatory isn’t it. What you seek is in the very bowels of hell,” she hissed, leading him away from his friends and the mischief on stage.
It crossed his mind only once that perhaps he should struggle against her, question the motives of the woman leading him into the ‘bowels of hell’ but curiosity had gotten the best of him. They arrived at black door that looked to be forged from steel, a cage to contain the evil beyond it.
“There’s a price to be paid if you wish to proceed,” the woman’s hand slipped from around his wrist and she extended her palm outward, “if you pay, you play.”
“And what exactly am I playing with?” He asked warily, reaching into his pockets.
The woman took his money without answering and opened the door. Before he could press her for an answer, she shoved him inside and slammed the door with a cackle.
Now he was nervous. He stood flattened against the wall, overwhelmed by the darkness. There was movement across the room from him, a dim light that his eyes would not adjust to, “Who’s there?”
He heard no answer, only the unmistakable sound of metal raking against metal, shackles. His eyes narrowed slightly and he mustered the courage to move away from the door and towards the light. He studied the light, made out the chains draped along the floor and followed them to what looked to be a very human foot, discolored by the glow of the room.
Or perhaps it wasn’t a trick of the light.
Now he moved toward the figure, entranced by the viridian skin entwined in silver chains. Was this the so-called embodiment of evil? His eyes danced quickly over the bared flesh, as if not looking somehow gave the woman before him privacy.
“Well, are you just going to stare?” Her voice wasn’t alluring in the least. It was the same as her body, weary, used, and defeated.
“I apologize,” he answered softly, kneeling next to her, yearning to see the face buried beneath the long locks of raven hair, “I get that too. Here in Shiz, anyway.”
In her young life, she had learned not to let curiosity get the best of her. It typically came with a quite painful cost, “Would you like me to feel sorry for you?”
Fiyero shook his head, “No. I wouldn’t,” he paused a moment, “I would like you to look at me though.”
“Well isn’t that nice,” she spat, still looking down. Of course he’d be one of those creeps, the ones who wanted to watch her.
“Is it?” He asked genuinely, “Do people not want to see your face?”
The question in his tone caused her to raise her eyes ever so slightly. She focused on ochre fingertips, pressed into the ground only inches from her body, a trail of blue diamonds beginning at the wrist and leading up over well-defined arms. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she continued to raise her eyes until finally the met his, as crystalline in color as the diamonds adorning his body.
For a long moment he held his breath, eyes fixated on hers. They were a beautiful brown, full of life and yet so empty at the same time. The woman before him was far from evil, she was simply a trapped soul, “Do…do you have a name?”
“Yeah. It’s Satan,” she answered flatly, pulling her eyes from his, “are you just going to make small talk the entire time?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“The same thing everybody else comes here to do.”
He allowed himself to glance at her body for a moment, saw the bruises along her hips and her thighs, the signs that her fate was far worse than being used as a display of evil, “I’d rather know your name.”
Her patron seemed more tedious than most, even though he was keeping a respectable distance, “It’s of no consequence.”
Fiyero relented, drawing his attention to her chains instead, “They are part of the show?”
The woman looked down to the shackles he motioned towards, shook her head slightly against her better judgment but neglected to answer that she wasn’t part of the show, nor was she a main attraction.
“You are here against your will?”
Unwilling to answer any more questions about the circumstances of her presence, she finally answered his initial question, “It’s Elphaba. My name.”
“Elphaba,” Fiyero repeated slowly, her name as enchanting as she was, “I’m Fiyero. Fiyero Tigelaar.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before he spoke again, “It is unfortunate that we have met under these circumstances.”
The sheer stupidity of his remark stirred something in her, an unfamiliar emotion and the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. She wasn’t sure at first if he was being genuine or if he’d had too much to drink but now she was fully aware that his mannerism weren’t an act of intoxication.
He was serious.
Fiyero smiled at the slight change of expression, “Why do they call you evil?”
“Why do people stare at you?”
“I am something different from what they are used to.”
“Then you needn’t ask.”
“They do not call me evil, though.”
“You’re not green.”
“I’ve always thought of green as a placid color, not one indicating maleficence or calamitous,” he countered, “green is the color of life and good.”
“I’m not good, nor am I alive.”
“You’re breathing,” he reached out, brushed his fingertips against the top of her hand and apologized softly when she flinched, “I do not mean to frighten you. I’m sorry,” his fingertips continued to her wrist at the pulse point and lingered for a few moments, “Your heart beats. Does that not indicate life?”
“It indicates life. It does not indicate living.”
“I understand.”
Elphaba shook her head, “Nobody will ever understand that. Not until they have experienced it.”
“What was before this?”
Before Elphaba could answer, there was a loud knocking against the door and a warning to stay silent and get on with their business. Fearing for the punishment that would come, Elphaba reached out to Fiyero, pulled at him, “Just be done with what you came for. There will be much for me to suffer if you do not.”
Still fully clothed, Fiyero hovered over her, unmoving, “I do not wish you to suffer. By their hand or mine,” he moved his head down to soft skin between her shoulder and ear, “they will not know,” he whispered against her flesh, reaching down to adjust his pants as to insinuate that he was following the rules but not truly doing so.
Elphaba closed her eyes, the flesh at the corners stinging. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything but empty. She preferred emptiness to the sudden sadness that overwhelmed her now. His breath tickled her skin and she shivered slightly.
“I will come to you again, Elphaba,” he promised in no more than a whisper against her neck. The door opened behind them, leaving her no opportunity to respond that he should not. Her eyes remained fixed on his as an Ox pulled him from the ground as he adjusted his pants, a slight blush of embarrassment to his cheeks that she may have seen something.
When the door closed, she looked back down at the ground, willing the feeling of lifelessness to reenter her body before the next patron was shoved into the room.
--
“Fiyero!” Avaric cried out, smacking his friend hard between the shoulders, “Where in Oz name have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Where were you?”
“In the theater, where you should have been.”
“I suppose I got lost,” Fiyero shrugged it off as they were escorted towards the door. There was no mention of what occurred in the theater from his friends and he neglected to mention Elphaba. Though Tibbett insisted that they were never going to return to the club, Fiyero knew otherwise.
He would see Elphaba again.
Fandom: Wicked (Book Universe)
Characters: General Cast
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Implied non-con, captivity, physical abuse.
Summary: Based off of the Gregory Maguire Wicked Years, AU. The Philosophy Club is everything it's rumored to be; disgusting and filthy with unspeakable acts happening in every corner. What Fiyero Tigelaar didn't expect was to find an enchanting emerald woman locked away in the basement, a slave to the club's mysterious owners. Warnings for non-con, captivity, physical abuse, and language.
For all of the raving his friends had gone on about the place, The Philosophy Club looked less than captivating. The rickety building stood hidden amongst a narrow alleyway, large panels covering up the windows, keeping passerby from looking in.
Or perhaps it was to keep the patrons from looking out.
Fiyero hung back as Avaric dug through his pockets for a wad of money to pay for their entrance. He glanced back at the Arjiki prince as if he somehow should have been financially responsible for this little jaunt but the idea was far from his. Though he’d never admit it, however, Fiyero was slightly curious about the claims of the creature rumored to be captive of the Philosophy club; the one they claimed was the pure embodiment of evil.
One that was like no other.
In his travels from Kiamo Ko, Fiyero had encountered many species. He was almost certain that the claims came from those who had never traveled outside the walls of Shiz, never encountered culture outside of the hustle and bustle of urban life.
Once they stepped inside, they were immediately relieved of their topcoats and ushered towards a theater. They were overwhelmed by the thick smog of pipe tobacco, the sounds of drinks crashing together and laughter. At first it seemed to be nothing more than a bar. A loud one at that. The patronage was varied, Animals and munchkinlanders, students from the local Universities tucked in the corner. The music played loudly and scantily clad women pulled the boys from their chairs one by one.
When Fiyero was approached, the lone man left at his table, he held up his hand to refuse her. This environment was new to him and he was still absorbing it, studying it carefully. He found little to be desired in the activities buzzing about him, it all seemed so meaningless.
“You’re such a downer, Fiyero,” Avaric called out, “try living a little!”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward and he shrugged ever so slightly, having no response to offer. Perhaps he was a so-called downer, but he was content to observe.
Precisely one hour after their admission into the club, a set of large oak doors opened and they were escorted into another room, this time it was a theater style room, the walls painted to simulate their descent into purgatory. Now Fiyero was interested, his eyes darting around the room. There were partitions, separating him from his friends. He could hear Tibbett carrying on, clearly drunk on the brew being served in the previous parlor.
Dimly, he was aware of participants being called to the stage, drawn out of their seats by erotic music and the promise of pleasure. His eyes had fixated at the corner of the stage, awaiting the next part of the show, if there was one.
Perhaps the evil spoken of was not a true embodiment but simply the loose morals associated with the establishment.
Just then, there was a slight tap against his shoulder and Fiyero turned in the direction of the physical intrusion. An old woman stood aside him, dark eyes sparkling with curiosity and invitation, “I know what you seek, boy.”
His brow rose ever so slightly, “And what exactly is that?”
Rather than providing him with a verbal answer, the woman grasped his wrist tightly and pulled him from his seat, “Purgatory isn’t it. What you seek is in the very bowels of hell,” she hissed, leading him away from his friends and the mischief on stage.
It crossed his mind only once that perhaps he should struggle against her, question the motives of the woman leading him into the ‘bowels of hell’ but curiosity had gotten the best of him. They arrived at black door that looked to be forged from steel, a cage to contain the evil beyond it.
“There’s a price to be paid if you wish to proceed,” the woman’s hand slipped from around his wrist and she extended her palm outward, “if you pay, you play.”
“And what exactly am I playing with?” He asked warily, reaching into his pockets.
The woman took his money without answering and opened the door. Before he could press her for an answer, she shoved him inside and slammed the door with a cackle.
Now he was nervous. He stood flattened against the wall, overwhelmed by the darkness. There was movement across the room from him, a dim light that his eyes would not adjust to, “Who’s there?”
He heard no answer, only the unmistakable sound of metal raking against metal, shackles. His eyes narrowed slightly and he mustered the courage to move away from the door and towards the light. He studied the light, made out the chains draped along the floor and followed them to what looked to be a very human foot, discolored by the glow of the room.
Or perhaps it wasn’t a trick of the light.
Now he moved toward the figure, entranced by the viridian skin entwined in silver chains. Was this the so-called embodiment of evil? His eyes danced quickly over the bared flesh, as if not looking somehow gave the woman before him privacy.
“Well, are you just going to stare?” Her voice wasn’t alluring in the least. It was the same as her body, weary, used, and defeated.
“I apologize,” he answered softly, kneeling next to her, yearning to see the face buried beneath the long locks of raven hair, “I get that too. Here in Shiz, anyway.”
In her young life, she had learned not to let curiosity get the best of her. It typically came with a quite painful cost, “Would you like me to feel sorry for you?”
Fiyero shook his head, “No. I wouldn’t,” he paused a moment, “I would like you to look at me though.”
“Well isn’t that nice,” she spat, still looking down. Of course he’d be one of those creeps, the ones who wanted to watch her.
“Is it?” He asked genuinely, “Do people not want to see your face?”
The question in his tone caused her to raise her eyes ever so slightly. She focused on ochre fingertips, pressed into the ground only inches from her body, a trail of blue diamonds beginning at the wrist and leading up over well-defined arms. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she continued to raise her eyes until finally the met his, as crystalline in color as the diamonds adorning his body.
For a long moment he held his breath, eyes fixated on hers. They were a beautiful brown, full of life and yet so empty at the same time. The woman before him was far from evil, she was simply a trapped soul, “Do…do you have a name?”
“Yeah. It’s Satan,” she answered flatly, pulling her eyes from his, “are you just going to make small talk the entire time?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“The same thing everybody else comes here to do.”
He allowed himself to glance at her body for a moment, saw the bruises along her hips and her thighs, the signs that her fate was far worse than being used as a display of evil, “I’d rather know your name.”
Her patron seemed more tedious than most, even though he was keeping a respectable distance, “It’s of no consequence.”
Fiyero relented, drawing his attention to her chains instead, “They are part of the show?”
The woman looked down to the shackles he motioned towards, shook her head slightly against her better judgment but neglected to answer that she wasn’t part of the show, nor was she a main attraction.
“You are here against your will?”
Unwilling to answer any more questions about the circumstances of her presence, she finally answered his initial question, “It’s Elphaba. My name.”
“Elphaba,” Fiyero repeated slowly, her name as enchanting as she was, “I’m Fiyero. Fiyero Tigelaar.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before he spoke again, “It is unfortunate that we have met under these circumstances.”
The sheer stupidity of his remark stirred something in her, an unfamiliar emotion and the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. She wasn’t sure at first if he was being genuine or if he’d had too much to drink but now she was fully aware that his mannerism weren’t an act of intoxication.
He was serious.
Fiyero smiled at the slight change of expression, “Why do they call you evil?”
“Why do people stare at you?”
“I am something different from what they are used to.”
“Then you needn’t ask.”
“They do not call me evil, though.”
“You’re not green.”
“I’ve always thought of green as a placid color, not one indicating maleficence or calamitous,” he countered, “green is the color of life and good.”
“I’m not good, nor am I alive.”
“You’re breathing,” he reached out, brushed his fingertips against the top of her hand and apologized softly when she flinched, “I do not mean to frighten you. I’m sorry,” his fingertips continued to her wrist at the pulse point and lingered for a few moments, “Your heart beats. Does that not indicate life?”
“It indicates life. It does not indicate living.”
“I understand.”
Elphaba shook her head, “Nobody will ever understand that. Not until they have experienced it.”
“What was before this?”
Before Elphaba could answer, there was a loud knocking against the door and a warning to stay silent and get on with their business. Fearing for the punishment that would come, Elphaba reached out to Fiyero, pulled at him, “Just be done with what you came for. There will be much for me to suffer if you do not.”
Still fully clothed, Fiyero hovered over her, unmoving, “I do not wish you to suffer. By their hand or mine,” he moved his head down to soft skin between her shoulder and ear, “they will not know,” he whispered against her flesh, reaching down to adjust his pants as to insinuate that he was following the rules but not truly doing so.
Elphaba closed her eyes, the flesh at the corners stinging. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything but empty. She preferred emptiness to the sudden sadness that overwhelmed her now. His breath tickled her skin and she shivered slightly.
“I will come to you again, Elphaba,” he promised in no more than a whisper against her neck. The door opened behind them, leaving her no opportunity to respond that he should not. Her eyes remained fixed on his as an Ox pulled him from the ground as he adjusted his pants, a slight blush of embarrassment to his cheeks that she may have seen something.
When the door closed, she looked back down at the ground, willing the feeling of lifelessness to reenter her body before the next patron was shoved into the room.
--
“Fiyero!” Avaric cried out, smacking his friend hard between the shoulders, “Where in Oz name have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Where were you?”
“In the theater, where you should have been.”
“I suppose I got lost,” Fiyero shrugged it off as they were escorted towards the door. There was no mention of what occurred in the theater from his friends and he neglected to mention Elphaba. Though Tibbett insisted that they were never going to return to the club, Fiyero knew otherwise.
He would see Elphaba again.