Chapter Text
“It’s dreadful— truly, enormously—!”
“I feel that may be an overexaggeration.”
“I quantify my own misery, thank you very much, and I decree it terrible. Tumultuous. Terrifically abhorrent!”
“And likely to turn you into a thesaurus, apparently.” Pfannee snorts over his coffee.
“Oh just hush.”
Feathers thoroughly ruffled, and there went any semblance of her composure today, Galinda turns back to her mind-mapping master plan. Glares at it all. Every spun-strand of gold connecting her work, every image, every document in file.
She had set it up for the express purpose of this case, and so far it had been less fruitful. Hells, she had even taken over one of the conference rooms for this client— the one nearest her own private office, thank you very much —and yet all the fuss hadn’t helped her process. Not at all.
Hours and hours of research, observation, assumption, whispers and nudges in the ears of humans, again and again and—
All she had was one, huge question mark. Not even a preferred type outlined in her notes. Though, certainly, this Miss Elphaba Thropp was indifferent to the matter of gender. And, apparently, everything else.
“I’m ruined.” Galinda Arduenna announces with certainty. Already, she can imagine the Madame now, hand held aloft in mountainous disappointment calling to clip her wings off.
“Come— the green skin isn’t such an obstacle?” Shenshen tilts her head, staring at the tapestry before the three of them. “Though it’s certainly… something.”
Pfannee nods his agreement. “Yes, right. She’s fairly pretty in a, oh I suppose— nature-like way?”
Of course, Galinda was aware of that. Extremely, rather intimately, since she’d been staring at Miss Elphaba Thropp’s case files, and therefore face, for days now. Not to mention her likeness, now plastered all over her board of ideas. Pinned between potential lovers, the rejects, all loved and liked things of Miss Elphaba.
It was part of the job— of course. Galinda was practically made with the purpose to stare at pretty faces and find them their other, perfectly pretty face, yes. But, oh— it was hard not to notice how uniquely entrancing the woman was.
It should have been easy, then, in theory, to find the good Miss a similar tender heart to dote on. She was uniquely beautiful. Anyone should have swooned at the sight. Galinda was certain many had. It was hard not to, wasn’t it?
And yet.
Impossible, maddening—
“Green—?” Galinda splutters. Blinks rapidly. Because— oh, yes, she was in fact green skinned, that was their object of conversation. Of course. “Oh, hardly obstacle-like, no no. Don’t be absurd, no. It’s this blasted, bothersome—”
“Thesaurus—” Pfannee helpfully interjects.
“Hush. It is, quite verily mind you, everything else. She is— she is simply averse to—” A noise of agony escapes her. “She is a cranky, insular, bookwormed misanthrope. Oh, she is— this Miss Elphaba is impossible. I shall never find her true love. She barely seems to even want it— isn’t that terrible? To not to want for love. Real, true, love— I can attest! Surely!”
“It is your job.”
Galinda sniffs haughtily. Jabs a finger at the picture of Miss Elphaba that’s pinned to the dead centre of her board of scheming, as if poking out a pictures eye could give any satisfaction.
“I have all the right qualifications. I’m the best of us all. The bestest. Everyone has said, haven’t they. Not even one rejected case— my record is sparkling, and yet—”
Miss Elphaba Thropp.
Elphaba blasted Thropp, the only woman she has ever encountered to ever entirely reject the idea of romance. Entirely. Not even Mister Fiyero Tigelaar, handsome and charming and flirty and perfect, practically heavens-made for a romantic jaunt— and not even he could sway her.
No, Elphaba Thropp had rejected his advances. Through uncertain measures, perhaps circumstance, but still. It had been a ripe plan, she’d put days into it. Galinda had almost lost her whole head of heart-curled hair that ruined afternoon. Truly, because who in their right mind—?!
It was official. Galinda Arduenna, of the Upper Upland Cupid Agency, was sure to lose her mind.
Elphaba Thropp, for some unforetold reason she is still trying to parse, has taken to frequenting a new teashop. It’s exciting news. Or potentially exciting news. It’s something.
A change in the norm of an insular life was, in her humble opinion, excellent for love. There were so many new people, so many chances. All so delicately interesting, all in their own ways. Surely someone, somehow, somewhere, would look upon green skin and captivating eyes and take a chance.
At least, that was the academic theory. Galinda finds herself a more hands-on sort.
Which, as it so happens— perhaps by co-incidence if anyone cared to ask— has her as she is, sat atop a wooden shop table, kicking her legs to and fro, completely unseen to a mortal’s naked eye, and watching Miss Elphaba Thropp read.
She did a lot of reading, generally. The book of present was overlarge, the title being a subtle, Witches and Matriarchy, A Treatise on the Prevalence of the Witches of Kumbric in Ozian Theology.
Terribly broad thinking for a Monday morning. Though part of her investigation had revealed that woman had a pre-disposition for complicated ideas. Perhaps she also possessed a disposition for complicated people too, and there lay the root of her frustrations.
Whatever it is, Miss Elphaba’s nose is buried so deep within the pages she barely notices the glances afforded to her. Or— from the way she is all but hiding behind the tome —she does, and simply finds a treatise more interesting than all the attention.
After an hour of this, in which Galinda thoroughly critiques the décor of the teashop, then it’s management, then it’s location, and finally it’s residents, all to an audience of none, something occurs. Rather, a man occurs.
He rises from his seat and picks over to Miss Elphaba’s little corner. Stands awkwardly, waiting to be noticed.
He was an adequate looking specimen — gently curled hair, dark eyes, a respectable jawline. The cut of his clothes was fine, if a little sloppy, and his spectacles were well maintained. Not Galinda’s first choice, perhaps, but this was a step in the right direction.
Even with a little wave of cupid luck to help him along, it feels inadequate. Miss Elphaba wasn’t just anyone after all. So, Galinda leans in, hands resting atop her knees, and attempts to beam with her eyeballs some level of interest into Miss Elphaba’s skull.
Somehow, Miss Elphaba glances upwards despite Galinda’s invisibleness. Bespectacled eyes trained somewhere over Galinda’s shoulder— and wasn’t that odd —before she acknowledges the man by her table.
“What do you want?” She says shortly.
Terrible, awful start.
Galinda bangs her heels together. Sends a prayer to whichever deity was in charge today. This had to amount to something. Her career was resting on it.
“I, uh, noticed you across the room and—”
“I’m green, yes,” Miss Elphaba interrupts. This was going awfulociously. “How observant of you. Congratulations. Anything else?”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” He says, a small smile and edging a polite distance away. “Maybe get your number, too?”
It’s a perfectly acceptable coming-on-to. Galinda approves, and perhaps it’s born out of tiniest bit of desperation, but it could be something. Finally, something.
And Miss Elphaba—
In a flat, disaffected voice, merely says, “No. Go away.”
Oh, Galinda could strangle the pretty green thing.
So, the teashop was a bunk. Miss Elphaba seemed to become a valiant knight crusading against her own romantic chances the moment she set foot in public. Every time. Not even one moment was given to humour anyone.
It was… understandable, perhaps, considering everything. Galinda can’t bring herself to be too mad at the woman for it. But she, broadly, is upset. Composure-ruiningly so. Pfannee even told her to take a break once.
And, simply, this could not be happening to Galinda Arduenna. It couldn’t. How could one client get so under her skin?
The devastation only continues through the week. Four suitors, all turned away, all chosen and cultivated lovingly by Galinda and ignored entirely. One from the University, another from her job, two from the bus. But no, no, no.
It was starting to feel personal. A slight against one Galinda Arduenna, to spit in the face of her perfection. If anyone, Miss Elphaba Thropp seemed the most likely of any mortal to spite her celestial self in some unfathomable way.
That is to say, it all culminates, horribly, terribly, with Madame Morrible of Upper Upper management wrapping her knuckles on her office door. Leaning her perfectly put-together visage into her space and levelling that look at her. The one that says: I rarely believe in you and I certainly don’t now, and how much faith can one put into those Arduenna’s, really, they’ve never so much as worked a day downstairs in their lives.
It rakes horrid nails down her spine.
“Progress, Miss Arduenna?” Madame Morrible says. Though her eyes burn with all that unspoken, and trips Galinda on her words all the while.
“Getting there, Madame. Many potentials, yes— so many suitors. It’s trimming the flock, really, that’s the issue.”
“I’m sure you’ll meet the deadline.” The Madame says, in that thinly-sort of way that makes anyone wither and wilt, and Galinda smothers her wince with a smile. “I have… faith, in your abilities.”
“Right, yes, thank you Madame,” She says thickly, and feels a terrible, cold panic drip down her spine.
Another one in as many days.
Hells and demons, truly, how many suitors could Miss Elphaba possibly reject? A pretty blonde boy with a bookish charm to him, a fabulous short-haired beauty, a bemusing and yet fascinating woman. Three darling situations involving ducks, a covert collision, a choice passing car.
But no no and no. Apparently—!
Oh, none were for Miss Elphaba.
Elphaba Thropp could make a career in rejection alone. Galinda has no idea what to do. It’s quite clear the woman has no conscious want for love, and barely a moment of vulnerability to allow it in anyway.
Galinda was going to stress herself featherless at this rate. Enough, she decides, was enough.
A quick jaunt and flirt in the accounting departments of the agency has her passage granted, and one Galinda Arduenna of the Upper Uplands Agency finds herself down amongst mortals within the day.
She flutters her way to Miss Elphaba’s apartments in short order. A quaint studio apartment on an uppermost floor of a complex, modestly expensive and furnished. Paid for by the job Miss Elphaba works alongside her studies, rather than the Thropp fortune— and how wondrously humble of her to boot.
Galinda slips through the front door with a whisper, and plans to turn the place over for clues, or information or— oh, well something. A journal, a scribbled forenote of some ardent feeling, a buggering romance book, just anything to give her a leg to stand on.
But of course, because why wouldn’t it, it doesn’t quite go according to plan. Arm shoved into one of practically a dozen bookcases, the third in a handful of clock-ticks, Galinda misses the noise of the room until Miss Elphaba rounds the door, clad in what must be her pyjamas.
And then everything tilts on its side.
Because weeks, she’s been staring at this damnable woman. Weeks, her career has been on the line. Weeks and weeks and yet—
“Elphaba Thropp,” She shrieks, lurching forward and falling, quite like a comet, straight out of her realm and right into the woman’s eyesight, “For heaven’s sake, and for mine, Hell and God for all realms sake— Just tell me what your type is!”
Elphaba Thropp freezes, stumbles backwards, and begins to flail. “What the fu— Who are—?”
“Choir strike me down, I have tried everything— everything, and you— you—!” Her hands leap to the woman’s shoulders, shake frantically to rid the desperation in her own, “How are you so impossible?!”
“Who are you?” Miss Elphaba splutters, “How did you— are those wings?”
“That is besides the point! Miss Elphaba, tell me who you find attractive or so help me—!” There’re feathers all over the floor from her frantic wing-beats, and Galinda can’t find it within herself to care. “I have tried everything— truly! Verily! And— oh awful, you haven’t fallen in love once!”
“Are you flying? How is this possible—?”
Galinda shakes her shoulders hard enough that Miss Elphaba’s head jerks about like a doll’s.
“Hush! Hush up! Not once, do you hear me?! It’s been weeks. Do you know what the Madame will do to me? My career is ruined! Capital ‘R’ ruined, and that is unacceptable— I am Galinda Arduenna! Galinda Arduenna does not get fired!”
The woman is barely even lending a word to her agony, and Galinda’s face twists despite herself. There’s unflattering sweat on her brow, a flush in her cheeks, and goodness— it feels as if she’s about to drop out of the air.
“Well?” Another vigorous shake. It seems to rouse Miss Elphaba from some sort of stupor. “What do you have to say for yourself!”
“Are you an angel?”
Angel? That wasn’t right. She had been promoted, and there weren’t any heavenly messengers so close, Galinda would know, naturally, and what an odd thing to—
Oh.
Oh, right.
Galinda freezes. Well then.
This quite well buggered everything up.
There were only three rules to the life of a cupid; one was never to fall in love with a human, one was not to reveal oneself to a human and the other— well, it was hardly relevant right now. One couldn’t just break the rules. Galinda had never broken the rules, not once, not ever.
Her career was more than over, now. Unless—
Unless.
Galinda coughs loudly and returns to the floor. Feet finally on the wooden floor— covered in feathers, oh she’d have to do something about that —she dusts herself off. Tosses heart-curls over one shoulder. Folds her wings up, tight and demure and not at all as flustered as she still feels.
Everything was fine. It would be fine. She was not one to fall under a simple stress-fuelled mistake. She was Galinda Arduenna. She would love-sick her Miss Elphaba, prove Morrible’s unspoken assumption wrong, retain her crown as the best Cupid in the agency, and get that well deserved promotion.
A spit on anyone who doubted her. A double spit on any who doubted Miss Elphaba. Everyone could love and deserved to love. They’d all see— they would.
“Pardon me. Truly.” Galinda flutters her hands, “How untoward of me—”
“Untoward? How did you even get in here?” Miss Elphaba swallows, hard. Backs up one step, then another, long green legs oddly tantalising beneath her sleep shorts. “Who are you?”
Galinda affords herself a quick glance around the apartment. It was darkened and— oh, it must be close to midnight here in the world. That would explain the pyjamas.
“Well, since the cards are on the table, so to speak, I suppose we ought to acquaint ourselves properly.”
Galinda grabs Miss Elphaba’s hands where they’re pressed to her chest. The woman in return, through all defiance of gravity, manages to lean a foot back from her personal space and not fall to the ground.
“No, I’m not an angel.” She says, and squeezes their joint hands, “Well, not anymore, though I have a few cousins who—” A cough, “—Are not relevant right now. I’m a cupid, my dear. Galinda Arduenna, of the Upper Uplands Agency,” And here she jabs her finger vaguely up towards the heavens. “Upper Upper. I’m one of the best, truly.”
“A cupid.” She breathes and does nought much more than keep breathing. Galinda tilts her head, peers at the woman.
How odd to see her so close, in the flesh, after so long looking from afar. To see the flecks of brown in her vibrant-green eyes, to see the messy-black hair curling at her temples. It was oddly capturing. Thrillifying, in such a way, to have her so physically real. Touchable. Tastable, one could say.
Hardly common in her line of work, there’d not been a metaphysical intervention for decades now.
“Yes, ask anyone— I’m truly the most wonderful at the art of love. And you, my dear Elphaba Thropp, are going to fall in love with someone. My life and wings depend on it.”
“O-okay?” She stutters. Staring, hard, at their intertwined hands, Elphaba Thropp seems bowled over by her mere presence. Eyes roving like a physical touch over every inch of Galinda Arduenna. “This doesn’t make any sense—”
And here her eyes stray behind Galinda’s shoulder. The wings, she assumes. They twitch under her scrutiny, and it’s adorable, how the woman’s eyes widen even further.
“I have questions. A lot of questions.”
“Of course, yes.” Galinda grins, leans in. “All in due time. We’re going to be friends now, Miss Elphaba. You’ll thank me when you’re happily married to your beau, you know.”
Elphaba Thropp snorts and it sounds quite like a challenge. “Married. Right.”
“Just you wait and see.” Galinda winks and tugs her from the doorway. “Come, let’s talk proper. What do you humans drink at night— tea, or milk, or something of the sort, yes?”
Miss Elphaba, in possibly a daze, allows herself to be drug into her own kitchen. It’s almost physical, how hard she’s staring at her wings. How odd, how much Miss Elphaba’s gaze makes her feel strange. She wasn’t expecting this.
As if in agreement, Miss Elphaba mumbles, “This is bizarre,” Before she is wheeled in front of the— the water thing.
“All new experiences, my dear.” Galinda pats her shoulder. Then her arm. Then grabs her arm and shoves it toward the water-thing. “Come, come— how does this thing work?”
“It’s a kettle.”
“Well, you’re the expert. Kettle-away, I’ll just—” Galinda pops over and sits on the dining table. Strikes a pose, for extra affect, and for the way Miss Elphaba rolls her eyes. “And we can have a chat.”
“Mhm.” Is all Miss Elphaba says back, and sets to work on the kettle-thing.
The bed of awkwardness between them is resolutely ignored. First time jitters, Galinda assumes, for seeing a cupid in the flesh. After Miss Elphaba passes her a steaming cup of tea, Galinda looks about again. Properly, this time, since acquainting was in order.
The apartment was entirely her, from what she could gather. Rich dark panelling, books stuffed into every corner, worn throws and green couches and a tiny kitchen. All very expected.
When she says as much, Miss Elphaba’s face twists.
“I don’t like that. Should I be concerned with how much you know about me?” She says as she sits across from her. Hands bowled around her own teacup, the moonlight shining stark against her verdant skin.
“How so?” Galinda gasps. Presses a hand to her chest and ruffles her feathers, just a little, because the insinuation.
“It’s a little unfair, isn’t it? Here you are, knowing… weeks’ worth of information about me, did you say?” A tilt of her head. It displays her jaw wonderfully. “And I know nothing about you. Or your kind.”
“How dare you, this is my job!”
“You broke into my apartment!” Elphaba snaps. “How is that part of your job, oh celestial being?”
“Gee whiz— I, well yes, I shouldn’t even be here, sure, but management sent your case down and it’s been thrown and thrown, and then the Madame—”
Too much, much too comfortable. Where was her professionality? Goodness. All rather telling that she’d blabbed too much, too, in the way Elphaba’s eyes alight, in the way she leans forward just a say.
Galinda presses a hand to her cheek. Finds it peculiarly warm.
Hm. Troublesome.
“Oh, just look at me, prattling on,” And she bodily waves the entire conversation to the side, “The why doesn’t matter. We’re here now, and this arrangement will be fruitful. And I must say, Miss Elphaba, it is just so nice to speak with you face to face.”
After a moment in which Miss Elphaba swallows, hard, she manages to drawl, “And now you’re lying. How quickly am I able to get rid of you?”
“Oh, that’s just hurtful— you mean thing, no! You can’t get rid of me, of course not!”
“Well, why not?” Miss Elphaba sets her lovely jaw impetuously, “This is a complete intrusion. I never asked for a— for a cupid.”
And perhaps Galinda could sit down and explain the dizzying lines and rules and ways and processes of ordained cupid intervention. And perhaps she could elaborate on just why Elphaba Thropp was sent down from up top.
But instead, since rudeness was awful and she refused to tolerate it, Galinda harrumphs, slaps her hands on the countertop, and whines, “Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone.”
“Well, you’ve found the exception. Congratulations.”
“You— oh, you really don’t wish to find love? You don’t want to share your life with someone? To have every day filled with the laughter of another? Know your presence— oh just your smile alone! —lights up another’s life?”
“Did you write that down before you came here?” The woman drawls. When she puffs her cheeks out to elaborate her annoyance, Miss Elphaba rolls her eyes. “Funnily enough, not everyone is the same. And I’m not going to change myself for— whatever you’re offering. I don’t even want it. I never have.”
Dread reacquaints itself with her spine and Galinda smothers her ensuing grimace. This conversation was supposed to be enlightening, not crushing.
Miss Elphaba had to love someone, or else demotion was imminent in her future and then she’d be nothing but a desk jockey for some awful messenger job in the lower agencies, hiding from her darling mentors and their darling hopes for her shining bright future and—
This couldn’t happen. Not to Galinda Arduenna.
“I refuse to believe it!”
“Of course,” Another perfectly rude roll of her eyes, “Because I’m something to be fixed, is that it? Go on— please elaborate on how my very existence is perverse. I bet from a celestial’s mouth it’ll be even richer than usual.”
Usual?
Usual?
She opens her celestial mouth to say something, but Miss Elphaba’s jaw is set, eyes narrowed, and it all feels rather horrid. So, she shuts it with a click. Resists the urge to smooth down her feathers like some youngling.
What was she supposed to say to the human? Goodness, how did this even work? Not even HR did courses on human discourse.
Bother. Already, she was mucking this all up.
“You’re enormously rude, you know.” Galinda says weakly, with nothing else worth saying.
Miss Elphaba raises an eyebrow, eyes droll and guarded, “Are all cupids are so chronically uncharming?”
“Hey—!”
A cross of green arms, “Let’s just cut to the chase. Can I get rid of you? Is that an option in your upper agency?”
“No—! Well, I—” Galinda flutters her hands. She ought to be truthful, really, since this was an unprecedented situation. Maybe honesty would fix whatever she had previously said wrong. “Think of it as quid-pro-quo, Miss Elphaba. You get a wonderful romance and someone to share your life with, and I don’t get fired from my job, my wings clipped, and my life ruined. There!”
“That— seems like a lot.”
“Well, it is. Why-ever do you think I’m here! I don’t just razzle on down here for anyone, you know. You’re a special case.”
And at that, it seems as if someone takes a winch and winds Miss Elphaba’s shoulders tight and uncomfortable. A long, rather overwrought sigh leaves her a moment later. Then she palms her nose, takes off her glasses to clean them.
It’s all theatrical, in the sense that Galinda feels she has said something wrong. Which was the second time she had in as many minutes. She tries not to let her wings shudder in despair.
“Right. Right. Whatever.” The glasses are neatly slid back onto the bridge of her nose, “So you won’t leave. We’re stuck together, then.”
“Well it doesn’t have to sound so distressing, you know—”
“What does this—” A sharp-nailed hand waves between them as Miss Elphaba interrupts her, “Entail, exactly?”
Galinda shoves her tongue in her cheek. Goodness, but that habit of interrupting was awful.
“Nothing so strenuous as you’re thinking, please. I’m a professional.”
A snort. “Professional. Don’t tell me, there’s a love-academy in heaven?”
“I feel as if you’re making fun of me, dear thing.”
“God forbid.” The woman drawls, clearly making fun of her.
Awful. To think in both upper and lower this confusifying woman managed to be a pain in her wings. There could be no doubt this was a trial sent from Upper Upper to test her.
And she ought to work on Miss Elphaba's sharp tongue, among other things, if this was to be any success. Which it had to be, otherwise Miss Thropp's love life wouldn't be the only thing in ruins. It was life or death, really. Galinda gathers herself, puts on her best smile, and tries not to glare too hard at the woman.
"In regards to this arrangement, you will simply live your life as you have, and I will… spirit a tender romance to your doorstep.”
“How easy. If it was as easy as that, I think everyone would be lovesick idiots.”
“What a darling thought.” Galinda sighs forlornly.
“Mhm.” Miss Elphaba grunts disapprovingly, and takes a sip of her tea.
It starts off… well, it certainly starts. It’s better than not starting, Galinda would garner, since she had not started for all of a month so far.
So, there’s a start, which is a success. It’s an early, fresh start to their wonderful new friendship— and professional relationship. A first for her, to be certain, being friends with mortals, humans more specifically, but Galinda was nothing but the most professional.
“First,” She calls, stood proudly in the kitchen and wagging a finger at the extremely disgruntled, freshly-awoken form of one Miss Elphaba Thropp. The human had complained about sleep and bed and such, and had abandoned Galinda to her own devices for an entire six hours. “We must establish our basics, ground rules, all of those things. Any good contract will have boundaries, clauses, ectera.”
Miss Elphaba is silent. Blinks once, twice.
“Oh. So you’re actually real.”
“Yes?” An indignant ruffle of her feathers. “Of course I am!”
Another pause. And then, “It’s seven thirty in the morning.”
“Congratulations on time-reading.” Galinda huffs.
“In the morning. Seven thirty in the morning.”
Was repeating things normal? Galinda didn’t know. Sometimes humans picked up the most bizarrely darling habits. Like in the turn of the century, when they had started using those odd new phrases that made no sense at all.
Galinda waves airily, “Yes. Good morning? Now as I was saying—”
A groan interrupts her.
“Here’s my first ground rule; no talking until half-past ten.” Miss Elphaba grumbles, then shoulders past Galinda, her wings, and her door to beeline to the fridge.
“You can’t be serious?”
Miss Elphaba Thropp says nothing. The lean plane of her back was answer enough.
Great. Galinda scrunches her nose. Humans really were so much odder than she last remembered them being.
“And your pupils?” Miss Elphaba questions, pen poised above a worn, fat notebook.
“You know, when I said we should establish ground rules, I didn’t mean interview me.” Galinda whines and takes a brief moment to mourn the visibility of her wings before leaning back against the bookshelf. “Because that’s entirely what ground rules aren’t, by-the-by. A negotiated verbal contract does not, in fact, require discussion on biology.”
“You’re not answering the question.” Miss Elphaba says back, and flicks open another book — this one on the celestial, rather than divine.
Galinda wonders briefly why this specific book place had so many tomes on heavenly metaphysics. It seemed rather misplaced. A library was commonly a place for kissing, as anyone well knew. The very fact that after the morning’s mandated quiet-time, Miss Elphaba had strutted from the apartment and to this place—
Well, if Galinda didn’t know any better, it would be a coming-on-to. As she did know better, it was simply disappointing. And, well, really, she wasn’t a research project. If anything, Miss Elphaba was hers. It was a terrible turn in events.
“Well— ugh! What about my pupils, Miss Elphaba?” A finger jabbed at her, “Do they pertain to your love life?”
“They’re heart-shaped.” Miss Elphaba says simply. Twirls her enormously fancy fountain pen around her finger. “Anatomically, that shouldn’t make sense. Though, I suppose if you’re aquatic, perhaps some kind of a deep sea species—”
It’s a wonder that she can feel this offended. A fish? She had wings, for heaven’s sake!
“You shouldn’t be gazing into my eyes, Miss Elphaba!” Galinda hisses. Stomps her foot, just a little. “You should be gazing into someone else’s!”
“I can do what I want. Perhaps I want to gaze into yours.”
“Well, that’s against the rules.” Galinda sniffs, and valiantly fights the very-useless and of-questionable-origin blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Stop staring. Stop it!”
“You don’t strike me as someone uncomfortable with attention.”
“Oh, please— spontaneous optometry doesn’t count, and I get plenty, thank you. I’m the best cupid in the Agency. My wings are Arduenna, and—” Miss Elphaba was furiously scribbling something down. Galinda stomps her foot properly. “Oh stop it! Stop studying me!”
Miss Elphaba raises an eyebrow. Galinda glowers back.
So what that it was hypocritical? Heavenly investigation wasn’t Miss Elphaba’s job. She had nothing on the line. She was simply doing it for some— some strange self-satisfaction. It made no sense.
Perhaps, in a past life or past case or past something, Galinda had upset a cosmic balance of some sort and now the Lady Karma— that gorgeous entity that she was —was upset with her. It was the only explanation. Really, what had she done to deserve this?
“I don’t appreciate this. Not one tick of it, doll. Now come— get up,” Galinda bustles over, shuts the books in front of Miss Elphaba, and begins tugging at her shoulders. If Miss Elphaba stiffens at the contact, well, it’s just cosmically ordained payback. “I’m going to find you your soulmate.”
“Oh, please, finding my other half? That’s derivative and self-destructive, and they don’t actually exist—”
“Hush.” Galinda barks, and wrestles her out of the chair.
On the conclusion of the first week down in the mortal realms, Galinda bustles into Miss Elphaba’s apartments, claps her hands, and excitedly announces—
“Hair!”
It was a stroke of genius this scheme. If the woman disliked strangers, perhaps her reticence to romance was simply a matter of internal stifling. All that needed doing was encouragement, self-growth, building one’s confidence and worth. And what was more of an expression of self than hair? Cupids knew it better than most, better than any celestial in truth, and Galinda boasted some of the best hair in the entire industry.
So, hair. It would solve everything, she was certain.
“Hello Galinda, nice of you to break into my home again.” Miss Elphaba sighs. Eyes her behind those charming glasses. “Hair?”
“Yes, hair. Come, come—” Galinda grabs her arm and tows her into the bedroom. A box of a room, truly, one small double shoved into a corner that was seemingly in eternal conflict with the forest of plants also in the room. Miss Elphaba was ever-so-fond of green. “Sit down, dear thing. We’ll find you a darling style in no time.”
“Dare I ask why you’ve become obsessed with my scalp?”
“I have a brilliant plan. Truly, it’s wonderful, and just wacky enough that perhaps you’ll take to it.”
This time, Galinda doesn’t say, because there was no need to highlight her failures. None at all. It would be untoward and rude and demoralising.
Of course, Miss Elphaba does anyway.
“This is about love. Again.” Miss Elphaba sighs, and flops heavily onto her bed. “Don’t tell me this is like the boots thing. And the pick-up lines thing. And the—”
“This is different because it will work.” Galinda snaps. “We’ll change your hair up and then you’ll feel confident, and then you’ll approach others, and then you’ll stumble across your true love. Swell, isn’t it?”
A noisy sigh. They were becoming more theatrical by the day, Galinda thinks. By the minute, even. “Someone save me.”
“From love?”
“From you, you great big pigeon.”
Galinda splutters so furiously that the English language entirely flees her.
“Next you’ll attempt to declaw me, then de-greenify me—” A dramatic flourish of her hands, “And then Elphaba Thropp will simply cease to exist.”
“Oh just— that’s not even— pigeon, really—?”
Miss Elphaba takes one look at Galinda and begins to cackle. Because of course. Galinda crosses her arms and pouts.
“Hush up, you mean thing. I’m not changing anything about you, I’m finding who you are. The dearest expression of oneself and one’s heart is, I’ll have you know, self-expression. Hair!”
In between chuckles, “You can have quite the way with words, if you try.”
There was a lack of a vanity in the room, expected really, but Miss Elphaba was in possession of a handsome full-length mirror. Galinda glares at the pair of them reflected in it, softens the moment she sees Miss Elphaba’s crooked grin reflected back.
Though infuriating, seeing her so animated, so real, no longer a picture atop a file of study, was oddly... nice. The colour in her cheeks and the shine in her eyes was awfully pretty. The woman was terrifically pretty regardless, but there was something unguarded about her mirth in the now. Something delicate. Her clients had never felt so, not ever before.
Galinda takes a breath. Another. Smooths down the raised feathers of her arms.
It wasn't so bad, really. Maybe, just maybe, they could find some equilibrium during these weeks together. If Miss Elphaba kept looking like that around her, it was likely indeed.
“You know, hair is awfully important to us cupids. It has special meaning. And you have quite the gorgeous mop of it. So,” Galinda drifts to stand by Miss Elphaba’s shoulder, peers at her in the mirror. “It’s not about changing you. It’s about finding what you adore on yourself. One has to love oneself before they can truly love another.”
“You’re fixated on this, aren’t you?” Miss Elphaba says back, meeting her eyes in the mirror. There’s something hesitant, thoughtful, beneath the tone of her words.
Galinda shrugs. Brushes a hand down the lean length of one green shoulder. “It’s harmless, is it not? Just a makeover, that’s all.”
A moment, in which Galinda can feel the thrum of her own heart, beating fast and something strange beneath her ribcage.
“…Fine, love pigeon. Preen away— but I want to hear about the significance of cupid hair.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Galinda giggles, and sets to work.
“What about her?”
“No,” Miss Elphaba says shortly, not looking up from her tome of a book to even see the woman. She was studying cupids, again, apparently.
Galinda sighs. Sticks the lollipop back into her mouth and squints out onto the street. The teashop was certainly growing on her, and its location made for great people-hawking. Perfect, really, for sniffing out Elphaba Thropp’s type in people.
Not that she had yet to be successful. These last few days were treating her awful indeed. Not one romantic candidate, not a single potential. The only upside, really, was that Miss Elphaba herself had been suspiciously lenient about her presence in her routine. Something to think about later. Blessings were hard to come by these days, afterall.
Galinda yanks the lollipop from her mouth, now shiny and slick with her lipstick, and jabs it at a man across the way.
“What about him?”
“No thanks.”
A furious removal of her sunglasses. Heart shaped, of course. “You’re not even looking.”
“I don’t want to date strangers. I don’t want to date. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Ugh, honestly. You really can’t tell me that—” And then Galinda pauses. Blinks for a moment. “Hmp.”
That had to be the flaw to her approach, didn’t it? Miss Elphaba simply approached romance differently. They were on the wrong frequency. She needed to know the person beforehand. Yes, that was her fatal flaw in this otherwise completely and utterly flawless plan.
Galinda claps her hands together, leans back, and pops her lollipop again. “Marvelous. That makes my job so much easier.”
“Does it, now? And what brilliant idea have you thought up?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You make fun of me an awful lot, Miss Elphaba.”
“I have reason to.”
“Such a kissable mouth, and yet such sour words out of it.” Galinda sighs back, misses the way the woman’s face blooms dark-green, and slides her heart-shaped sunglasses back up her nose. “No matter. Now, it's a shame to waste the day. Let’s find you a type at least. What about them—?”
It’s midday, somewhere within the second week of her stay down in the human realm, when four sets of rapid knocking ring out from the front door. After grumbling and groaning and shooing Galinda into a corner, Miss Elphaba shuffles over to open it and—
There’s a strange gaggle of boys crowding around the doorframe, peering in nosily and hissing to each other. It was an odd thing, probably some strange human ritual HR hadn’t informed her about. Galinda squints at them. She was, afterall, on the job.
There— well, one was clearly Miser Fiyero Tigelaar. Then… Mister Crope, Mister Tibbett, the two already struck with love’s arrow. A little fellow— Mister Boq, she recalls vaguely.
An odd party. Galinda squints harder.
After reviewing her notes last night— because, truly, what else was she supposed to do whilst Miss Elphaba slept? She had gotten rather bored, damnable sun and moon cycles of earth and all —the only conclusion she can draw is that whilst rich in friends, Miss Elphaba was poor in company.
All these boys? Truly, what rotten luck.
As the little one and Mister Fiyero wave at her, Miss Elphaba scolding or muttering or saying something low and biting to the other two, Galinda gathers herself. Dusts her outfit, tosses her hair, and puts on her best smile.
As they walk through the door, looking awfully suspicious besides, Galinda sticks out her hand.
“How do you do? I’m Galinda Arduenna, of the Upper Uplands Agency.” She looks from boy-to-boy. “A pleasure.”
Mister Fiyero was visually the better of the four, certainly, but there’s a charm to the others. The two love-struck boys dress fantastically well, and the little fellow has a… charm, of sorts. If they are potentials, well, Galinda isn’t too upset. Sort of.
Not strangers, the woman had said. Really, Galinda had her work cut out for her.
“Well, well,” Says Mister Crope— or maybe Mister Tibbett.
“Where did you find this pretty little thing, Fabala?” Says the other.
No one shakes her hand. Galinda lowers it, and does not frown, and wonders if the human world had perhaps changed more than she thought.
The door thuds shut, and then her vision is green skin and dark clothes and a scowl thrown at the gaggle of boys. “You imagined I just stumbled across her, do you?”
Mister Crope begins palming his chin, a cheeky grin above it. “Well, how else does a vegetable kidnap an angel?”
“Oh— that’s not—” Galinda sputters, vaguely offended on Miss Elphaba’s behalf. Turning to gauge the woman’s reaction, it’s rather horrid that she looks uncommonly flustered.
Galinda stares at her. Because— oh no.
Surely not these two? Or perhaps surely. Love had a funny way of ignoring all sensibilities, afterall. Miss Elphaba was unique, and surely her romance would be just the same. Though, well, Galinda would be awfully disappointed if it was these two. They were far too wrapped up in each other, clear even from a glance.
How troublesome. She really had hoped it would be Mister Fiyero, if any of them at all.
“Perhaps if said vegetable prayed to the Unnamed God hard enough?” Mister Crope says.
“How much praying could one possibly have to do to summon such a darling thing?” Mister Tibbett volleys back, hanging off the other’s shoulders.
“I imagine convent would be involved. And an all-black habit.”
“Oh, then there’s no doubt you’ve been up to no good, Elphaba my dear.”
“Caught,” Miss Elphaba shrugs, and Galinda turns to gape at her. “I maintain wickedness as a general rule.”
“Well, that’s just not even true—”
“And how would you know?” Comes Mister Crope.
“Yes, how would you know, miss angel?” Says Mister Tibbett and— oh she’s getting sick of their riddling-sphinx routine already. It's as if they had praticed this conversation before and co-ordinated accordingly. Humans were so odd.
“I’m not an angel,” Galinda grouses, “And Miss Elphaba is certainly not wicked. Perhaps a little misanthropic, true but—”
“No need to flatter me—”
“—but, no, I came here of my own accord.”
Which, of course, is only middlingly true. But it served well enough, and with the way both boys are narrow-eyed and appraising— it feels safer to weave a tale. There’s the distinct impression that this was some sort of ambush. A test, even.
And perhaps that was why Miss Elphaba looked so flustered. She was embarrassed to introduce her to her friends. The thought stings more than she would imagine.
“So then Miss Arduenna, what business do you have with our dear Fabala? We’re utterly shocked to only just learn of your existence— and through her hairstyle, of all things.”
Oh. Miss Elphaba had kept the hairstyle she had given her days before. Miss Elphaba had liked it, cared enough to recreate it. That was—
Something.
“Rude of Fabala to keep this beauty from us, absolutely, you’re so right.” Mister Crope nods.
“Must you?” Dear Fabala sighs.
The sticking point. Sure, it had only been a handful of days since she had fallen into Miss Elphaba Thropp’s life, but needs must, and concerns of the heart transcended silly things like rules and politeness, sometimes. She was going to have to get her hands stuck into this odd troupe of boys to find dear Elphaba her one and true.
So, it was prescient to invent a tale of their very human relationship. Clearly.
It was all part of the plan.
“Well,” Galinda chirps. Clasps her hands together and flutters her lashes, “We’ve struck up a friendship recently. I’m staying with Miss Elphaba for the foreseeable future.”
“Hold— wait, you are?” Miss Elphaba splutters.
The boys are forgotten as she whirls around to face Galinda. No more lean backs of middling height, instead Miss Elphaba is gaping at her. Curiously flustered, again, which seemed to be an awfully common occurrence right now.
Embarrassment, again. Of her? That had to be it. Potentially. Or flustered from one of the boys. Goodness, she truly hopes it isn’t Mister Crope and Mister Tibbett, of all sphinx-adjacent people.
“Do you think we maintain real estate? Goodness, my dear, what an idea.” Galinda waves a hand and tosses her hair, for greater effect. “And besides! You’ll soon be living with your beau—”
“Don’t start with this again—”
“—Which means I’m practice for your future cohabitation. You’ll hardly even notice me.”
“Aha.” Says Mister Crope.
“I see, I see,” Says Mister Tibbett.
Miss Elphaba sighs miserably and shoves her head in her hands.
“Here’s the room,” Miss Elphaba grunts after the boys are shoved out the apartment. Leaning against the doorway, “Your room now, I guess.”
“You sound disgruntled.” Galinda parries back.
“You moved yourself in. Am I not allowed to be irritated?”
Straying inside to run her hands over the office desk in this spare room. High windows and more bookshelves than ever, it felt much like a haven than anything else.
An intrusion, too. Galinda frowns down at the framed picture of Miss Elphaba and another girl. The sister, she recognises. Miss Nessarose. As beautiful as her sister, and noticeably not green.
“No— no, you can. It’s perfectly reasonable." Gaze back on the woman, Galinda tries to understand. Truly, why had she been so flustered? And now, so defensive. Was it really the boys? "Miss Elphaba, please, believe me when I say this isn’t either of our first choices.”
And there— something in the woman’s face shutters. Through sheer will alone, Galinda manages not to let her wings back into mortal realms. It’s a hard thing. What was it? She seems to be doing nothing right today. Not in words, not in actions, goodness, not even in love.
Damnable boys. It had to be them.
“It is true us cupids have no real estate here," Galinda continues, when Miss Elphaba says nothing, "But we also do not need to sleep, or eat, or do much of your idea of living. I shan’t be a burden. You'll barely even notice I'm moved in, really.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant." Miss Elphaba mutters. Hands clutched to her biceps and eyes sharp, "Living like that. I mean, what else is there?”
Galinda shrugs. “How should I know? I’m a cupid, my dear. We don’t exist like you do.”
"But you can?"
"Eat and sleep and well so on? Yes I-I suppose," Galinda responds, entirely unmoored by the sharp turn of conversation, "but why would we want to? It's not our place."
“You mean," Miss Elphaba says, and there's fire beneath her words that is uncommon, and misplaced, and so strange to be about cupids of all things, "you spend your entire existence meddling in our lives, and you’ve never even thought about what those lives are like?”
“I think about love. Nothing concerns me beyond that.” Galinda peers through her lashes, taking in the strange puzzlement of Miss Elphaba. Like she was realising something profound. “Oh. Have I said something wrong?” Again.
“No. No— just.” Miss Elphaba tilts her head away. To the picture and the two people in it. “It must be lonely. You spend your whole life watching us and yet you can’t experience any of it.”
Galinda shuts her mouth with a click. Too much. That was too much.
“Thank you for the room, Miss Elphaba.” She says gently, and turns away from whatever was painted across the woman’s face. "I promise I won't be a bother."
This was all silly. Her musings were silly, and to little point, really. What was the point in lingering on that? They only had a month and a half left together.
No matter Miss Elphaba's odd moods and depths and confusibility— or her own new and growing ones, for that matter —it would all be fine. She'd fall in love, no matter what, and everything would return happily to how it was.