Fic: a summer of tigers

[swatkat]

Title: a summer of tigers
Fandom: Wicked (bookverse)
Character(s): Nessarose, Glinda
Rating: PG
A/N: Title from Pablo Neruda’s ‘Furies and Sufferings’. Written for ariestess in purimgifts, originally posted here.
Summary: You are content with the Lord's will, but you wish Glinda had never come back.



+


Glinda returns to Shiz in a blaze of infamy.

There is talk on every corner, whispers behind your back and eyes following everywhere you go—even more than usual, that is. Even more than what you've become used to ever since Elphaba and Glinda took off on their little adventure, leaving you behind.

Madam Morrible, of course, insists that she board with you.

'I trust you to keep an eye on her, dear,' she says with a crocodile smile, and you know it is another trial, one of the many she has strewn in your path.

Another punishment.

You are content with the Lord's will, but you wish Glinda had never come back.

+

You watch her settle in. It is as though she never left.

She chatters less and broods more—you decide it is a blessing. There is very little you have to say to her. You have no desire for her company, her presence.

+

'And were you afraid of the Wizard?'

'A little.'

There is no end to Nanny's curiosity—or Glinda's conceit, for that matter. They sit by the fire and go and on about Glinda's disgraceful excursion with your sister.

Who is gone, and for good, you think.

Elphaba has always been arrogant and wilful.

'My poor Elphie!' Nanny starts up again. 'To think of her all alone, in that dreadful city! Oh!' She appears to be a minute away from yet another bout of tearful lamentation—she did always favour Elphaba—and so you demand, 'Brush my hair, Nanny.' You have had enough.

Glinda retires very early that evening.

You wonder if she sees you every day and wishes you were green instead.

+

News spreads quickly in Shiz, and they all drop by, one by one—Crope, Fiyero, Boq. All that remains of your once charmed circle.

Your conversation is strained, awkward. You skirt around the real questions and settle instead for small talk. Chitchat.

This is what Elphaba has reduced you to.

Nonetheless, as the day progresses, Glinda grows more talkative. There is colour in her cheeks now, a faint sparkle in her eyes as she smiles at Crope's flavourless jokes.

+

Glinda spends the evening alternately buried in her books and practising cheap conjuring tricks with a variety of objects.

You are taken aback when she says, 'I had a good time today,' her voice soft. 'It was good to see everyone again.' You watch a pen levitate off her palm.

Sorcery, your father has always said, is a foul, deceitful thing, but Glinda somehow manages to add charm to the enterprise.

The pen lands on a piece of parchment and scribbles strange shapes.

'Yes,' you agree, much to your own surprise.

'Thank you,' Glinda says.

You are unsure why you're being thanked, but it is not entirely unpleasant.

The pen finishes its task and fall back on the bed. Glinda picks up the parchment and surveys her handiwork.

E-L-P-H-A-B-A, it reads, in a neat, even scrawl.

+

Comments

[jaybee65.livejournal.com]

I'm only now catching up with this, but this is gorgeous and wrenching and just PERFECT.