It's alive!

Elphaba slipped carefully through the streets in a desperate attempt to find Fiyero. She expertly ignored the usual staring, concentrating only on the pavement before her, and her search for dark skin and blue diamonds.

There was a notable change in the thickness of the crowd as she progressed, but didn’t let it faze her. At the least the amount of people meant that there was a parade passing through—at worst there was a strike or a robbery being attended to. Regardless of the reason of the heavy crowd, Elphaba had to find Fiyero before he gave himself more trouble than he could handle. She found in experience that he couldn’t quite take care of himself, and wasn’t going to let him start now.

After some more shifting through the thick mass of people, it became clear why everyone had decided to collect there, and it hit her quite suddenly. Elphaba cursed loudly just as another surge of people made her back away off the street. She clutched her oils to her chest and looked over on her left side to see Fiyero. He was smiling quite awkwardly, as he had just noticed her, too, but Elphaba was sure her own expression wasn’t so hopeful.

“You really are quite the genius, Fiyero,” Elphaba yelled at him through the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you,” he responded back, just as loud, but stiff with annoyance, “that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. I love you, Elphie!”

When Elphaba saw her chance, she clutched Fiyero’s shirt and quickly zigzagged down a narrow passage between the crowd and the old wall they’d pressed up against. When they were finally out of the throng, they took a hiding spot behind a grey dumpster to peek at the object of the crowd’s attention.

“We can’t go out in the open,” Elphaba said breathlessly, “there’s a good chance she’ll see us. Then we’ll have to go to her house for tea, and all that rubbish. . . .”

“Why would that be so bad?” Fiyero asked. “I think we should see Galin-Glinda. Maybe if you pose as Sarima I could introduce you as my wife. . . .”

“Oh yes, that’s witty of you, Fiyero,” Elphaba sneered. “Now let me steal Sarima’s identity along with her husband.”

“Oh come on,” he sighed, “I know you miss her; we both do. It’ll be reassuring to see her again, won’t it?”

“It will be the opposite of reassuring. The thought makes me feel sick.”

Fiyero rammed his fish against the dumpster and slid down to the ground.

Elphaba settled beside him and softened a bit. “Sorry, Fiyero, but we just can’t. . . . Her palace is full of guards who would be happy to kill me.” She attempted a weak smile, but her lips were too dry for that. She bent down and mopped her forehead with her skirt.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said slowly, “but I just wish—”

“Well all wish, love. I wish, too, but I can’t let trivial wishes get in the way of what’s important; life. Besides,” she said, cuddling up to him and wrapping her arms comfortingly around his waist, “wishing only wounds hearts. Don’t wish, Fiyero.”