milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Elphaba's actually out for a second night in a row.

This is unusual in and of itself.

What's more unusual is the fact that she's glaring at Bar rather like she'd enjoy setting her on fire.

It might have something to do with the book she was presented with.

Which she's (grudgingly) reading for lack of anything better to do.

And snorting quite often at what she reads.

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"Your mother rarely had any and is unused to it," she replies.

"She's more used to it than I think she likes, but that's my opinion, I suppose."

"Not in anything she wanted it in. And everyone has an opinion, just like an asshole. It doesn't count for much."

"It gives you someplace to get rid of your shit anyway."

It's almost fun.

"And here that book said the best way to do that was counseling." Still looking digusted. "I must write in and tell them to correct it."

"Books are written by people and thus, often need correcting. The world is too, but it doesn't take well to red ink."

His mind is wandering now. It happens.

"Most books are written by people," thinking of one in particular. "I'm not sure all are. And of course not. Too much green. It would look like a festival all the time."

"Too much green?"

He looks at her, pointed.

"Or nor enough? And which books do you think weren't written by people?"

He doesn't feel like telling her about what he saw at Nether How, of the man with the Grimmerie.

"I meant the foliage, with I blend in with quite nicely, thank you," she retorts. "The ones that breed hate. I don't mean not by a human, or even an Animal. But not by a person. I don't think a person can write some things," eyes dark.

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