(Untitled)

[not_broomboy]

Elphaba lives.
Kumbricia stirs the pot, and licks the ladle,
He's not sure what that means. He's not sure what it means to him.
Sets the table, pours a glass of tears
He's not sure if it means he's free to be himself or not. That question brings up the bigger question, if he even is a self, if he has any existance outside of Elphaba's shadow,

Comments

[pat_rin]

Also at the Bar, a dark-haired man sips a glass of pale-colored wine and glances in his direction.

"Good evening," he says a little tentatively.

[not_broomboy]

"It's yet to have proven itself good."

[pat_rin]

Pat Rin raises an eyebrow. "Has it proven itself bad?"

[not_broomboy]

"It doesn't have to prove that."

Much as people don't have to prove themselves stupid to him. He shakes his head gruffly for a moment before pulling the package of perguenay cigarettes he'd obtained earlier from his pocket and slipping one from the box. It's lit in short order by the matches he'd obtained as well and then he sucks gently at the end as if merely wishing to touch the edge of the flavor. The scent of the smoke is nutty and a little gritty, but in a refined sort of manner that speaks of a pricey product.

He'd only had them before when Commander Cherrystone had given them to him. Now the cigarette between his lips felt better than told in his hand, even though he didn't like the coarseness it brought to his voice and had to pull gently on the smoke or he'd cough.

[creator_raven]

There is a Raven watching him, head tilted.

Then he stands, abruptly, and moves closer.

There is a cookie sitting in front of Liir.

"You are fond of cookies, perhaps?"

[not_broomboy]

He takes a cookie.

He puts it in his mouth and nibbles it.

It's a good cookie.

He has nothing to say.

[creator_raven]

Raven tilts his head, blinking.

"Is it the vocal cords that do not work, perhaps?"

He frowns.

"Or is it the chewing?"

[not_broomboy]

"A bit of chewing and something of confusion."

Elphaba's voice rings in his ears, reminding him of his tendency to stand about and do nothing when surprised and that spurs him on to speaking.

"Why are you handing out cookies?"

[hanild]

A small, young woman is sitting at a nearby table, and keeps glancing over in his direction, a slightly concerned expression on her face. She's trying to be discrete about it, but failing miserably.

[not_broomboy]

His fingers tighten around the broom that he's never actually let go of and he wishes suddenly for the Witch's cloak to pull around him. He was no stranger to populated places. He'd spent enough years in the Emeraldy City, years spent in the Home Guard, always with other men. But this place is strange, the people too... too helpful.

It was like being in a bar full of Lady Glindas.

This one even had blond hair.

He's glad she's not wearing pink, or he might start snickering and that's not a good way to start any sort of assotiation.

[hanild]

Hanild glances over once more, but this time, he's looking back. She frowns and looks away quickly.

..and then looks over again to see if he still is.

[not_broomboy]

"Are we playing a game? Should I tag you?"

He holds up the broom, as if to poke her with it.