never lose your heart, use your head.
title: Stopping Here
summary: "Make it last, make it important." Bookverse.
rating: PG
a/n: This is me being late for the Letters prompt at wicked_prompts. Whoops.
There was paper too, though not much: a dozen pages or so, in different shapes and thicknesses. Paper was in ever shorter supply in all of Oz. "Make it last, make it important," advised Sister Burser.
- - -
The paper was irritatingly blank, save for a few random ink smears, and two curilqued letters "Re". Were it twelve years ago, she would surely make up a story of how they happened to be here, unfinished and alone save for the other.
Something fancy that would put Crope and Tibbett to playing that they were grand literary critics, an illusion that would quickly dissolve when one of them became impassioned enough to toss their drink upon the other. Or something bawdy that would make Glinda blush and giggle, Nessa blanch and screech. Nanny, having heard it all ten times over if she'd heard it once, would merely roll her eyes and set to folding blankets. Something silly, making Boq fall off of chairs that weren't built for him, curls draped over his eyes like a lion's mane, although thoroughly unintimidating.
Seven years ago, and it would have been more vulgar still, but soft around the edges, soft like the oddly sleek caress that came from hard hands that felt magically like silk upon her back, strong and hard and covered.
Something.
- - -
"Silly Elphie!" Tibbett had said as he raked ragged fingernails up and down the worn-out mattress he had been dropped upon. "Why, it's silly Elphie. Daffy, deadly Elphie, funny-flibberty-jibberty. Galindabinda and Nessierosie, silly Elphie."
Not twelve hours in, and he had overstayed his welcome, but there was enough of a film over his eyes from either over-madness or near-deathness to mask them from her glower. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten how to glare, that would not surprise her in the least. Especially when it was taken into consideration that nothing surprised her.
"And so you see, why are they gone?" he asked her out of nowhere the next day, as somber as he had been giddy the day previous. "Where is your girlie? Where is he? Where is me and you and them and us?" He gazed up at her with what could have been desperation, but he was not able to touch the parts of brain needed for such a feeling. He only managed to look briefly curious, fading into bitter resignation so quickly that, had Elphaba not known explicitly how he felt, she would not have understood.
Understanding has eluded her for a long time, and so she joins him two hours later, when he is blinking at his fingers.
"And why would they want to wait?" she asked him, having come prepared, setting one leg on his bed and tilting back on her chair legs. A ladybug skidded across the ceiling like a child on a frozen pond. "What would they possibly think we have for them?"
"It's not just that, birdy boo!" Tibbett growled, his tongue sticking out of his mouth even as he said the words. Elphaba looked at him with something resembling distaste. "No, no, no. Elphie, my dovey, put your eyes in your head, put your head in their shoes, your feet in their ears, your arms in their hair. You mustn't think that way. You must answer, not ask." He narrows his eyebrows, what eyebrows he has left.
"I do not care to," she retorted, a clod of dirt falling from her old boots, making Tibbett shriek and bat her leg away. She had risen and was almost a step away when she felt fingers, she dropped her head, frozen.
"Well, that's why. It's what they wanted all along."
Elphaba sniffed. "They should have to think," she insisted, "and so they should be able to figure it out. If they cannot work enough for a solution, do they deserve one at all? They can pick whatever ending they want to come to, everyone is contented with that." She threw her hands in the air, a fire had begun to rage inside of her.
Tibbett hummed. "We're waiting, smelly Elphie! Waiting! We are leaving, come out, come out, come out, we are going to the pub, to the canal, to the library, to the shithouse, come come come!" He huffed in impatience. "While you're in there, tell Crope not to waste any more time on Glinda's hats, the little snit."
- - -
The paper was not the same color, some of it was so new that it was still white as snow, her skin set it to glowing when her hands were flat upon it. Some of it was yellow as old mustard, one sheet was as blue as the sky. Large and devastatingly endless.
The blue was the marred bit, splotches and Re.
She shall end something left starkly and infuriatingly undone. Her favor, charity to someone unnamed and unknown.
Redeem me from this hell. I have never regretted anything more thoroughly in my life. I shall die for forgiveness, I shall give away anything, do anything. I am so very sorry.
That didn't fit. This was intended for something else, not what had to be done, but something to make life altogether more livable. Such letters did not mean duty. Such letters could only mean love. Love, or the delusion of it. Love, delusion, or a heavy preoccupation with the grander things in life.
Read, she imagined. Read this note, it says everything I wished to tell you, my dear. I did not -
She paused, and scraped the dry ending of her pen over it. Elphaba was reluctant to scribble over such fine penmanship, it was a skill she had never mastered. She had had no hope of it, her writing had always been cramped and ugly, eager to shove in as many of her precious thoughts as she could transcribe. There was never any time for care or frippery, just a sense of time leaking away from her.
She traced over the letters, but her fingers shook on each swirl.
"Elphie, look. See how it shines, just like this," and then a necklace is being clasped about her neck, glittering silver and the tiniest jewels. Rainbows glinted when she picked it up delicately, and one landed itself on her cheek. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Gold hair. Then they are far too close, and she can see nothing at all that is clear enough to take a reliable note of.
It's dark now, and the weight on top of her has no need for an illusion of softness, there are no spells involved. She is silk, she is a kitten, she is the deepest sleep. Her eyes are open and wide as Elphaba rolls and bucks, she has lost control. Endless.
"Elphie, don't be a fool!" Devastatingly so.
She sighed. Make it important, she had been told. Something to satisfy. Something that lasted. Something that would last longer still.
Release me. Desist. It's not your fault. Let me go, I did not wish - I did not know what to do about any of it.
She stabbed the pen too hard. The ink blotched, a black sun over every wavy line.
Elphie folded the paper into a glider, delighting Liir, who ended up losing it in a
mud puddle.
Before its demise, it flew. Glowing in the light, before circling slowly back to the ground.
- - -
Elphie thought of sending a note to Glinda, if after all these years she was still there, but, being unable to decide yes, she decided no.
summary: "Make it last, make it important." Bookverse.
rating: PG
a/n: This is me being late for the Letters prompt at wicked_prompts. Whoops.
There was paper too, though not much: a dozen pages or so, in different shapes and thicknesses. Paper was in ever shorter supply in all of Oz. "Make it last, make it important," advised Sister Burser.
- - -
The paper was irritatingly blank, save for a few random ink smears, and two curilqued letters "Re". Were it twelve years ago, she would surely make up a story of how they happened to be here, unfinished and alone save for the other.
Something fancy that would put Crope and Tibbett to playing that they were grand literary critics, an illusion that would quickly dissolve when one of them became impassioned enough to toss their drink upon the other. Or something bawdy that would make Glinda blush and giggle, Nessa blanch and screech. Nanny, having heard it all ten times over if she'd heard it once, would merely roll her eyes and set to folding blankets. Something silly, making Boq fall off of chairs that weren't built for him, curls draped over his eyes like a lion's mane, although thoroughly unintimidating.
Seven years ago, and it would have been more vulgar still, but soft around the edges, soft like the oddly sleek caress that came from hard hands that felt magically like silk upon her back, strong and hard and covered.
Something.
- - -
"Silly Elphie!" Tibbett had said as he raked ragged fingernails up and down the worn-out mattress he had been dropped upon. "Why, it's silly Elphie. Daffy, deadly Elphie, funny-flibberty-jibberty. Galindabinda and Nessierosie, silly Elphie."
Not twelve hours in, and he had overstayed his welcome, but there was enough of a film over his eyes from either over-madness or near-deathness to mask them from her glower. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten how to glare, that would not surprise her in the least. Especially when it was taken into consideration that nothing surprised her.
"And so you see, why are they gone?" he asked her out of nowhere the next day, as somber as he had been giddy the day previous. "Where is your girlie? Where is he? Where is me and you and them and us?" He gazed up at her with what could have been desperation, but he was not able to touch the parts of brain needed for such a feeling. He only managed to look briefly curious, fading into bitter resignation so quickly that, had Elphaba not known explicitly how he felt, she would not have understood.
Understanding has eluded her for a long time, and so she joins him two hours later, when he is blinking at his fingers.
"And why would they want to wait?" she asked him, having come prepared, setting one leg on his bed and tilting back on her chair legs. A ladybug skidded across the ceiling like a child on a frozen pond. "What would they possibly think we have for them?"
"It's not just that, birdy boo!" Tibbett growled, his tongue sticking out of his mouth even as he said the words. Elphaba looked at him with something resembling distaste. "No, no, no. Elphie, my dovey, put your eyes in your head, put your head in their shoes, your feet in their ears, your arms in their hair. You mustn't think that way. You must answer, not ask." He narrows his eyebrows, what eyebrows he has left.
"I do not care to," she retorted, a clod of dirt falling from her old boots, making Tibbett shriek and bat her leg away. She had risen and was almost a step away when she felt fingers, she dropped her head, frozen.
"Well, that's why. It's what they wanted all along."
Elphaba sniffed. "They should have to think," she insisted, "and so they should be able to figure it out. If they cannot work enough for a solution, do they deserve one at all? They can pick whatever ending they want to come to, everyone is contented with that." She threw her hands in the air, a fire had begun to rage inside of her.
Tibbett hummed. "We're waiting, smelly Elphie! Waiting! We are leaving, come out, come out, come out, we are going to the pub, to the canal, to the library, to the shithouse, come come come!" He huffed in impatience. "While you're in there, tell Crope not to waste any more time on Glinda's hats, the little snit."
- - -
The paper was not the same color, some of it was so new that it was still white as snow, her skin set it to glowing when her hands were flat upon it. Some of it was yellow as old mustard, one sheet was as blue as the sky. Large and devastatingly endless.
The blue was the marred bit, splotches and Re.
She shall end something left starkly and infuriatingly undone. Her favor, charity to someone unnamed and unknown.
Redeem me from this hell. I have never regretted anything more thoroughly in my life. I shall die for forgiveness, I shall give away anything, do anything. I am so very sorry.
That didn't fit. This was intended for something else, not what had to be done, but something to make life altogether more livable. Such letters did not mean duty. Such letters could only mean love. Love, or the delusion of it. Love, delusion, or a heavy preoccupation with the grander things in life.
Read, she imagined. Read this note, it says everything I wished to tell you, my dear. I did not -
She paused, and scraped the dry ending of her pen over it. Elphaba was reluctant to scribble over such fine penmanship, it was a skill she had never mastered. She had had no hope of it, her writing had always been cramped and ugly, eager to shove in as many of her precious thoughts as she could transcribe. There was never any time for care or frippery, just a sense of time leaking away from her.
She traced over the letters, but her fingers shook on each swirl.
"Elphie, look. See how it shines, just like this," and then a necklace is being clasped about her neck, glittering silver and the tiniest jewels. Rainbows glinted when she picked it up delicately, and one landed itself on her cheek. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Gold hair. Then they are far too close, and she can see nothing at all that is clear enough to take a reliable note of.
It's dark now, and the weight on top of her has no need for an illusion of softness, there are no spells involved. She is silk, she is a kitten, she is the deepest sleep. Her eyes are open and wide as Elphaba rolls and bucks, she has lost control. Endless.
"Elphie, don't be a fool!" Devastatingly so.
She sighed. Make it important, she had been told. Something to satisfy. Something that lasted. Something that would last longer still.
Release me. Desist. It's not your fault. Let me go, I did not wish - I did not know what to do about any of it.
She stabbed the pen too hard. The ink blotched, a black sun over every wavy line.
Elphie folded the paper into a glider, delighting Liir, who ended up losing it in a
mud puddle.
Before its demise, it flew. Glowing in the light, before circling slowly back to the ground.
- - -
Elphie thought of sending a note to Glinda, if after all these years she was still there, but, being unable to decide yes, she decided no.