milliways_bar | (no subject)

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elphaba thropp

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Elphaba is quite possibly avoiding Glinda still.

She said they'd talk about--that.

She didn't say she'd make it easy.

The book from Eddie is placed with a note that's brief and to the point--very brief, consisting about of Thank you. -Elphaba and nothing else--on Bar.

Who is still giving her the five times damned parenting books.

"This," she informs the counter, "is getting ridiculous."

But since there's not a hell of a lot she can do about it, she takes the book and a glass of wine and settles on a couch.

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Over at a nearby table, Shadwell's eyes widen very slightly before returning to their natural state: suspicious squinting.

... Because that?

Is a lot of green for a little lady.

She ignores the squinting for the moment and turns the page of her book.

For the moment.

Oh, she can ignore him if she likes, aye.

BUT FOR HOW LONG?

...Probably for as long as she wanted to, really.

But she's remarkably low on patience as of late, even for her.

"Are you going to stare or use your tongue?" she asks, glancing up at him after a few minutes.

Now, to Shadwell's way of thinking, there are three possibilities here:

1. She's a witch.
2. She's had a horrible house-painting accident.
3. She's a witch.

Because that's goin' against nature, skin like that. Could've had the decency to take a bath.

"And what manner o' talk would ye be wantin' wi' me, daughter o' sin?"

"Funny, that's what my father said," dryly. "And none at all, but you seem to find me worth studying. It's the new dress, I'm certain."

"Tricksy buggers," Shadwell mutters, glaring. "Out in the open, like ye own the place."

That gets an eyebrow raised. "I was unaware that there were rules about who could sit on the couch."

She wouldn't give a damn if there were, for that matter, most likely.

The urge to snap at him is there, but he's rather fascinating.

Reminds her a bit of the winged monkeys.

That could be because of the smell.

"Ye ken well what I mean, ye green devil," he retorts, reaching new levels of glare.

Oh, is that what that is?

She snorts. "Well, the green's right enough, and some say'd the devil is too."

Shadwell snorts back.

"Oh, aye, there's plenty as think so-- if they happen tae be Satan's miserable fiendish slaves."

"Who?"

He blinks.

"... Satan," he repeats, somewhat derailed. "Prince o' Darkness, Father o' Lies?"

"I'm an atheist," she says calmly.

She's never heard that name, anyway.

Shadwell blinks.

One o' them pagan sects, no doubt.

Silly Shadwell.

That's Nanny's gig.

"Anyway," he says sullenly, "bet ye cannae cry."

"You must have a very low amusement threshold if this is how you spend your time."

Shadwell gives her a defiant sort of look.

"It's not fer sport, this. It's a calling."

The look fizzles into one of disgust.

"Woulndae expect the likes of ye to understand."

That's a very arched eyebrow.

"The likes of me."

"Aye, the likes o' ye," Shadwell retorts. "Witches, the lot."

She grins, briefly.

That's never good.

"The wickedest there ever was."

Shadwell's eyes narrow.

"Oh, aaaaaye?"

"So I've been told."

Mostly by Glinda when she's bitchy.

Now, that is a confession.

He can work with confessions.

"And do ye repent o' yer hellish salacious ways, doin' the De'el's work an' signing yer name to 'is turrible Book?"

"I don't do any work but my own, I've yet to sign my name in any book but attendance at Shiz, and I'm fond of my hellish salacious ways."

Shadwell glowers.

"Have it yer own way. Ah noo what ye're about."

"Reading? Yes. Though I doubt that you've often indulged."

Now that's just ignorant.

Shadwell likes a good Necrotelecomnicon as well as the next man.

"Say what ye will, daughter o' sin," he says, pointing dramatically. "It's yer own luck Ah haven't got me firelighters."

Clearly the fuzzy chicks, one brilliantly orange, and one a more mellow blue, thought that this was the best idea ever, and were going to give her something to practice good mothering on, namely, themselves.

Well they're not...named, but she is eyeing them with interest.

They eyed her right back, inkdrop eyes bright, blinking one right after the other, finally one of them peeped, and the other cheeped, and they both ruffled up.

Perhaps you did not see Puck.

He is sneaky like that.

However, he is also hungry.

Therefore, with the sort of speed that gets one's girdle 'round about the earth in forty minutes, a slim hand darts out, grabs a chick, and stuffs it into his own waiting mouth.

"I do hope you're inclined to share," he mumbles cheerfully around a mouthful of cornmeal and feathers.

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