|The Perfect Fit
Author: Restless Brook PM
Oh, but Galinda does love creating glitz and glamour. Pity she can't actually sew a stitch. GalindaElphaba. Fluff.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance - Words: 1,588 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 1 - Published: 11-19-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3251852
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Notes: Like most of my more recent works, I first posted this on my writing journal over at livejournal. Again, I wanted to post it here.
Anyway, this is pretty fluffly, with just a smidge of vain angst on Galinda's part. Any kind of feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the novel or musical of "Wicked." I am making no profit from any of this. All events portrayed herein are fictional.
The Perfect Fit
Scarlet glistening, like the illuminated petals of a rose, caught her eye the moment she set foot into the dormitory. Elphaba cringed. It had to be another of Galinda's 'projects.' Why she seemed intent on using that particular shade of red, she'd never know. It was like watching her sew velvet, seeing the material clutched in her delicate, heiress hands.
"Oh, Elphie! I'm so glad you're back!" The shrill voice of Galinda rang out through their shared room, echoing like one thousand decorated bells. Elphaba sighed. Anticipating the worst came with the territory of living with Galinda. From the relatively short time that they had been at Shiz, this was a lesson Elphaba had learned particularly well.
"What is that?" Elphaba wasn't going to avoid it. Bluntly, she pointed one viridian finger in the direction of the fabric.
"Your new dress, silly." Galinda smiled, obviously proud of herself. Elphaba wanted to puke.
"What for?" She asked, swallowing her sarcasm as easily as one might gulp wine. It was kind of Galinda to think of her, after all, and she didn't want to come off as petty and rude.
"The dance this weekend, at the Oz Dust. Remember? Fiyero told everyone about it yesterday." Galinda was still smiling. Elphaba found it oddly charming that Galinda's hopeless optimism was so enduring, like a veteran war soldier, almost. It was oddly endearing.
Galinda was poised, like one of her beloved models from one of her beloved fashion magazines, for a positive response. "Well, what do you think?"
Elphaba silently smirked to herself. Oh, she could have so much fun with this…
"I'll wear it, but on one condition." She allowed her smirk to broaden, covering her face like an exaggerated mask.
Galinda's face fell, caving in like a ruined wonder of the world. "What?"
"You let me make yours." Elphaba smiled, saying nothing more of what she really had in mind for the other witch.
"But…but…" Galinda was stuttering now, at a loss for words. Elphaba was always fascinated by how easily the queen of composure could come undone. With just the right words, she became nothing more than a mess on the floor, a puddle of spilt milk. Elphaba wondered what excuse she'd use to save herself this time.
"I've already got a dress." They both knew that wasn't true. Galinda never retrieved her dress until the very last minute. She had to observe what everyone else wore, to ensure that she'd be the bell of the ball, so to speak.
"No buts." Elphaba felt like a mother scolding a troublesome, small child.
"Okay, fine." Galinda was always so easy to win over. Conflict and confrontation just wasn't her scene.
The room was soon silent with concentration. Elphaba, with her magic prowess, had managed to gather fabric to her within moments. Bits and pieces of mismatched material floated to her, as if on a breeze, and she could feel Galinda's beady eyes on her as though they were naught more than insects, creeping down her back with all the grace of a multi-legged creature.
She always loved that about Galinda. She never really could help herself, especially if the situation involved some object or another that she desperately wanted.
God bless insatiable curiosity.
Time left them to their own devices. Like sheltered widows, they discarded the shifting light of day as easily as they might toss aside an old rag. Their efforts translated into the frustrated orchestra of determination, each witch resolute in their goals to outdo the other. Galinda was particularly troubled. Though she loved the craft of needlework, she detested the thought of patience. Needless to say, though she was the first of them to finish, it was apparent that her work was…rushed.
With all the enthusiasm of a young child, Galinda, giddy with anticipation, proudly stepped aside, revealing her relentless efforts as if they were an exotic act fit for the festivals of Oz. Her grin stretched wide, like a brilliant rainbow after the tension of a thunderstorm had settled.
Elphaba glanced over as she, too, finished the last of the details of her own creation. She had to make an obvious effort, at first, not to burst out laughing. Galinda's "project" looked more like a fashion apocalypse. Stitches ran freely, like an escaped horse, all across the 'gown.' Like a messy canvas, if one squinted hard enough, one could still call it art.
"Well, what do you think?" Galinda nearly squealed, throwing her arms up, poising in expectancy. Elphaba took one look at her, caught the prevailing, naïve optimism shimmering in her eyes like diamonds.
She didn't have the heart to break Galinda's. She'd worked hard on it, just for her. Elphaba had to think of what she could possibly do next, allowing the silence to divide them like draped curtains.
"It's…breathtaking." She said at last, cringing internally, trying to blind herself to the countless errors strewn across the ruby fabric, like stars.
Apparently, her ability to lie wasn't as up to par as she thought it to be. In the next moment, Galinda burst into tears, looking to Elphaba very much like a distraught fairy princess. She really didn't know how Galinda managed to pull off looking glamorous while mismatched tears ran down her face, bringing all the powder and the blush along for the ride. There was an ethereal sort of beauty in the way her blonde curls shook with desperation, in the graceful way that she let herself fall apart.
"You're lying. You hate it." The other girl sniffled, bringing an embroidered handkerchief to her face to hide the naked tears.
Elphaba felt guilt-gradual and thick, like one of her father's favorite wines, ease its way down her throat, intoxicating her with regret. She really shouldn't have said anything. Silence would have been far better to this emotional Galinda. Coupling with the strange, exhilarating rush she experienced from observing Galinda cry, Elphaba felt awful. She knew she shouldn't be taking any sort of pleasure from someone else's pain-after all the years she spent in misery, she felt she should know better, at that point.
"I don't hate it." Elphaba replied, moving closer in an attempt to comfort the weeping girl. "It's just…you didn't spend enough time on it, is all. I can help you fix it, if you like."
She embraced the pale witch, who had looked up from behind her handkerchief to acknowledge Elphaba's presence. She was somewhat caught off-guard when Galinda pulled her in closer, tighter.
"Really, Elphie?" Galinda whispered, her voice illuminated with all the hope of a wishing eight year old. Elphaba had to smile, at that. Galinda was so very much like the second-hand dolls she would get for her birthday, after Nessarose had finished with them. They were usually worn, frayed at the edges, just as Galinda was now. But as with the dolls of her youth, Elphaba still managed to find enchantment beyond the exhausted delicacy.
"Yes, really. It's only a dress, after all." Elphaba whispered, as Galinda shifted her head to look up at Elphaba.
"You make it sound so easy."
Elphaba laughed, meeting Galinda's fierce, cereluan gaze. She saw spring in them, she was certain. Among the shards of drying tears, she was almost positive she could distinguish a developing relief spreading itself over the other witch's face.
"Believe me, it's not."
Neither of the pair had realized that they were still attached, like puzzle pieces. They clung to each other with as much of a grip as a lover, oblivious to their closeness. Until Galinda shifted, just slightly. As if she were a petal swaying in the breeze, the girl dressed in pink faltered closer to Elphaba, silencing the distance between them with a single step.
She was so close now, Elphaba could feel the slightest tendrils of Galinda's breath wrap around her, a benign fragrance, like a rose.
She could easily drown, if the ocean indeed was composed of Galinda's breath.
It wasn't unusual that their lips met just then. It seemed a natural conclusion, in all honesty. Elphaba savored the taste of their locked mouths. It was as if she but a demon privileged enough to be kissing an angel.
Time demanded that they eventually pull away, an order they reluctantly obliged, moments later. Elphaba could only stare. She was never one for the rose and the pearl. Only Galinda could convince her otherwise.
Only Galinda could make her understand the beauty of romance.
"I'll tell you what. I'll repair the dress, if you do me one small favor." She allowed for her most wicked of grins to reemerge.
Galinda could only smile, albeit hesitantly. "What?"
"Let me bring you to the dance."