Work Text:
Fiyero lies on Galinda's bed, arms folded and eyes closed. Galinda straddles him, hunched over and her face scrunched in concentration. Her body is rigid but the hand that wields the wand is light, brushing something black and matte and nubbly that thickens and pronounces Fiyero's eyelashes. Nessarose sits at the bedside, observing the scene carefully as if it were some operation she was midwifing.
Elphaba cannot believe the ridiculousness of the tableau before her. She cannot believe that they were studying for exams a clock-tick ago, nor that Galinda stopped studying to fix her makeup, nor that Fiyero asked Galinda to try painting his face. Just because he wanted to try it.
"Do the thing," Fiyero orders, "The thing you do, where you put a black line right over your eyelids."
"The eyeliner?" asks Galinda, capping her wand of mascara with a click.
"Yes, the eyeliner. I can feel you rolling your eyes, Miss Thropp." Elphaba's mouth turns into something that is not a pout, and her sister erupts, bending forward, her hand flying and failing to muffle her bright laughter. “Do you ride horses, Miss Nessarose?” Fiyero asks, eyes still closed.
Nessarose straightens in her seat. “Oh, I always wanted to. But Father wouldn’t let me.” A hint of wistfulness creeps into her voice. "You're quite the rider."
Don't encourage him, Elphaba thinks.
"I think Galinda is quite the rider right now," Fiyero says. Galinda squawks, Nessarose colors, and Elphaba makes a face. Fiyero laughs at them all.
Elphaba turns to her roommate. "I can throw him out of the room," she offers.
"I'll remember that," Galinda sniffs, but she stays seated. "You hear that, darling? Behave."
Fiyero assents, but the corner of his mouth carries a hint of a smile. “Riding makes excellent exercise for anyone," he continues. "I was telling Feldspar about you the other day. You know, before he came to the royal palace, he was a physical therapist of sorts." (Elphaba listens, wondering where this could be going.) "Used to have patients who couldn't walk or couldn't stay balanced, so he'd have them learn to ride with him--a little relaxation, a little fresh air, it goes a long way."
"Anyways--he offered to let you ride with him, try it out.” Fiyero opens his eyes and looks at Nessarose. “What do you say?”
“Stop moving around,” Galinda retorts, “You’ll ruin my work.”
Nessarose’s breath comes out in a rush. “Oh, your Highness, that’s such a generous offer-”
“Fiyero,” he says firmly.
“Fiyero,” Nessarose amends shyly. She glances in her sister's direction.
"It's not my decision, it's yours," Elphaba says, keeping her voice gentle and her eyes fixed on Galinda's dressing table.
She lets her fingers organize and reorganize the boxes, brushes, and bottles as her sister accepts the invitation. Even without looking, Elphaba can feel the hope and excitement swelling in her sister. She only glances up once they are engaged in the discussion of when and where and the particulars of horseback riding.
She watches Fiyero grin at Nessarose: it's not the smile he uses when he’s turning on the charm. It’s wider, toothy, more real. He behaves as if Nessarose had gifted him something, rather than the other way around.
When it became clear that Fiyero would talk too much to stay still, Galinda slid off boyfriend and bed and joined her roommate at the dressing table. They squeezed on the little cushioned stool and watched--as Fiyero made animated gestures, his face near-glowing with a glittering sheen, somehow managing to look dashing with only one eyelid painted. Nessarose leaned towards him like a sunflower, unable to dim her smile.
"He's impossible," Galinda sighs. She leans on Elphaba's shoulder, stroking her back. "Could I do your hair, dear? That's far more soothing."