Chapter Text
Nessarose doesn’t have any strong feelings when Father drags her away from Colwen Grounds to Upper Uplands that day. The journey is long and tough, but boat rides are interesting and honestly? Nessarose feels kind of addicted to that woozy sensation whenever the boat sways. Her wheels are enchanted anyway, so there’s no way she would suddenly tip over and drown in this river.
Hopefully, at least.
She knows how hopeless her father is when it comes to swimming. Or even anything that involves deep water, really. Her sister is the same; she loves showers but will find a thousand excuses to avoid dipping herself in a bath. So it’s a wonder why father hates her so much, always screaming how no child of his is green whenever he has his friends over and nothing can ever change that.
But if there’s something that Nessarose would like to change, then that is her sister’s absence.
‘Faba.
Elphaba, technically—but Nessarose thinks her name is too long. Elphaba gets to call her Nessa, so why can’t she call her sister with just ‘Faba? Besides, ‘Faba doesn’t mind it. In fact, her eyes always soften and she’ll ruffle her curly hair affectionately whenever Nessarose calls her by that name.
Father, however, never seems to like it. Whenever she does call her that, Father will scrunch his nose and mutter away something in disgust. Nessarose often wonders why. Does he dislike it when they get close? But ‘Faba is her sister, isn’t she?
(Why is she papa’s girl while ‘Faba isn’t?)
So, ‘Faba isn’t here. Not on this voyage to the North. Nessarose doesn’t understand why, but Father forbids her from coming along. It didn’t matter how much Nessarose cried and begged, Father had already made up his mind. Elphaba was to stay in Colwen Grounds with Dulcibear and Nessarose was to go with him.
It’s not fair.
Is it because ‘Faba’s skin is green and she has magic? Nessarose always gets told how green is a strange color for a skin. Unclean. Wicked. Odd.
But ‘Faba isn’t any of those things. Sure, she gets angry easily over those Munchkin kids teasing her, but that’s that. The most she’d do was throw stones that made them blue on the skin, but Nessarose doesn’t remember ‘Faba ever making any of them bleed red.
Nessarose snaps out from her musing when she feels a warm weight on her shoulder. She looks up, just as Father points out a shiny and tall castle-like building looming in the distance. It’s surrounded by what seems to be a bustling town, alive with music and colors draping over bright and lovely pastels. There’s a festival there, it seems.
“That is Shiz University,” Father tells her, chest puffing up with pride. “Your mother used to study there. And hopefully, you’ll go there too.”
Nessarose nods absently, clutching the fluffy green doll against her chest tighter.
Ah… she misses ‘Faba already.
The journey takes days. By the time they’ve arrived at the Upper Upland Station, Nessarose is already far too accustomed to Gillikin’s style of meals and drinks. They are rather bland, somewhat—but Nessarose isn’t one to complain much. She usually leaves it to ‘Faba whenever something is too much for her.
They board on another carriage—again, colored in bright pastels, just like the one that picked them up from the docks to the station—but this one has a large golden insignia on its back. Pretty. Nessarose doesn’t comment even when Father coos, asking if she likes the carriage and if she wants something like that back in Munchkinland.
She shakes her head politely. She doesn’t think it’s necessary. She has perfect wheels of her own, after all.
(Father doesn’t know how fast she can run her wheels.)
(And for the sake of his heart, Nessarose probably shouldn’t show off.)
After another long stretch of travel that takes hours, they’ve finally arrived at what Father introduced to be Frottica. A very luxurious town in Upper Uplands that even the air smells incredibly expensive. And of course, it’s covered in pastels.
Rich people sure do love pastels, she muses, not quite as amused as Father expected, just as they pass through the large and shiny gate of a large estate.
“Governor Thropp!”
A tall brunette with brown eyes greets her father immediately the moment they climb down the carriage, the chill of Northern Gilikin’s air enveloping her almost immediately, eliciting a shiver running down the spine. Nessarose eyes the woman as she strides closer, her brown eyes shining with welcome.
Nessarose instinctively knows she’s a warm person, the type who talks loudly and laughs even harder. “It’s great to see you! I hope the journey isn’t too daunting!”
“Please, just Frexpar, Highmuster Arduenna,” Father smiles widely at the woman, accepting her outstretched hand in a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again. I apologize for having to inconvenience you for the next few weeks.”
“Please, call me Idrissa! I am your wife’s best of friends, there’s no need for all that formality.”
Nessarose perks up at that. Oh, does that mean Nessarose gets to call her Aunt Idrissa? Good, Highmuster Arduenna is a mouthful.
“And this must be Nessarose?”
Nessarose blinks her brown eyes, half-startled when Aunt Idrissa bends down so that they are eye-to-eye. “Hello, Aunt Idrissa,” she greets her quietly, bowing forward as best as she can from her chair. Just like how she’d seen how Governess Loula teach ‘Faba to do. She’s a big girl, too! She can do that.
“Polite as well,” Aunt Idrissa's smile grows wider, clearly delighted. “She looks exactly like Melena, Frexpar.”
“Oh yes, yes she does.”
Nessarose’s attention snaps toward the elegant blonde just behind Aunt Idrissa, just as the brunette steps back to drape her arm on the blonde’s waist. She’s pretty, but not as striking as Aunt Idrissa is. Her eyes are the brightest shade of blue, with sharp and no-nonsense features. But still, her smile is so very pretty. Warm like a sunflower. She greets Nessarose with a shy, but still somehow elegant, hello.
And behind her, peeks another blonde clutching the lapels of the blonde woman’s skirts. Half her height, with features exactly like the woman in front of her, but with the largest brown eyes Nessarose had ever seen. Like Aunt Idrissa’s eyes.
“This is Larena, my wife and this—” Aunt Idrissa gestures at the little blonde girl, urging her to come forward “ —is Galinda, my only daughter.”
This Galinda is really, really pretty, Nessarose thinks. While she’s the exact carbon copy of the quiet and elegant Aunt Larena, the way she beams and bound over and her eyes are very much Aunt Idrissa. She’s dressed in the prettiest glowing pink gown she’s ever seen.
She wants that, in the future. Maybe in blue. Or red.
(Or maybe green. To match ‘Faba.)
“Hello!” The little girl greets, smiling so wide and proudly showing her missing front tooth. Her voice rings out like a bell—bright and full of joy, just like Aunt Idrissa.
“So you’re Sir Frexpar’s daughter!” The blonde beauty exclaims, bouncing over towards Nessarose’s wheelchair enthusiastically. So enthusiastic, that Nessarose instinctively wheels back like a spooked animal. Usually it deters anyone who approaches suddenly, but it seems that the young Upland heiress isn’t just anyone.
(She doesn't even point out how Nessarose is sitting on a chair.)
(There's warmth blooming in her chest.)
“I’m Galinda,” the girl announces, theatrically bowing as if she's royalty. “Galinda Arduenna Upland, of the Upper Uplands!”
Nessarose eyes the outstretched hand, unsure what to make of it rather than being weirded out by Galinda’s overdramatic introduction. Only adults ever extend a hand to her for a handshake—never children her age.
“Nessarose,” Nessarose says simply, accepting the hand after reluctantly pulling her right hand away from the doll on her lap. “From Colwen Grounds, Munchkinland.”
Galinda’s hand encloses around hers firmly, and… she’s warm. But not as warm as ‘Faba. ‘Faba gets cold a lot, but her hands always stay warm.
Galinda doesn’t seem interested in the way she mimics her. She just beams harder, if possible. “Alright, Nessie!”
Nessarose’s eyebrows instantly knit together.
“It’s Nessa.”
“I know,” Galinda unapologetically replies, unfazed by the frown. “Now that we’re friends, I should call you that. Right Momsie, Momsicle?” She looks hopefully at Father and her own parents, whom she referred to as… Momsie and Momsicle? Odd, but Galinda is odd, Nessarose supposed. Not as odd as ‘Faba, but still. Galinda’s oddness is… bright and sparkling, like a shiny pink marble among rocks. While ‘Faba’s oddness is more like… broccoli among carrots.
They aren’t so different, it seems. Just different in colors.
(Which is good. Only the odd ones can stand her, Nessarose thinks. Like that adorable Munchkin boy who told Elphaba that green looked good on her. They’ve been friends ever since, dragging Nessarose with them.)
Aunt Idrissa bellows with laughter, her voice loud yet warm. “Of course! You both are friends! That is the reason why we brought her here to meet you, Duckie,” she says, patting Galinda’s back. “To make friends, and friends do give nicknames to each other.”
“That is correct!” Galinda agrees with a theatrical fervor, nodding with her chest puffed out. She flips her hair over her shoulder, lips stretched ear to ear, again showing off the rows of pearly rows of several missing teeth. “And you may call me… Galinda.”
“That is your name,” Nessarose points out, confused.
“I know,” Galinda twinkles, unfazed. “But I can’t tell you to call me princess, can I?”
Nessarose can’t help but giggle. She’s such an oddball that it’s funny.
The blonde suddenly darts behind her wheelchair, tiny hands wrapping around the handles. “Come on, I’ll show you some cool tricks I learned from Ama!”
“What cool tricks?” Nessarose asks, stiffening and clutching the doll in her arms like a lifeline as Galinda pushes her wheelchair onward, preparing to climb the gentle slope heading toward the insides of the large estate.
“I’m gonna show you how I hang upside down!”
Nessarose’s eyes bulged out. “Hang upside down—?!”
Too late. The wheelchair lurches forward under Galinda’s strong little arms. Nessarose lets out a scream, heart leaping into her throat as amused laughter erupts from the adult behind them.
They take a different turn than the adults, heading to the backyard while the adults go inside the drawing room. There’s a new woman tailing the both of them now, just right beside Nanny, Nessarose realizes, after they passed a large mirror on the corridor. A plump older woman whose steps are as light as a ghost, making no sound at all. Even Galinda is late on noticing her.
“Oh! Nessie, this is Ama Clutch, my Ama!” Galinda chirps, waving her hand to gesture at Ama Clutch, who bows when Nessarose turns her body around to see her better. “She helps me with everything! Except for some toilet stuff, of course, because I’m a big girl!”
Nessarose nods at Ama Clutch, then gestures at Nanny. “This is Nanny Phee. She’s just like your Ama.”
The two older women share polite smiles and knowing nods, chuckling a little when Galinda turns around to wave a cute hello! to Nanny Phee.
They finally stop near a pretty pastel—again—picnic table that overlooks a tall tree with a treehouse. Nessarose always dreams of a treehouse, but her legs deter her so. Ama and Nanny busy themselves with something on the picnic table under Galinda’s bossy but delightfully adorable instructions, as Nessarose loses herself in the view.
It’s a pretty sight, Nessarose thinks, eyeing the rows of blooming flowers around her and some handsome and beautiful statues decorating several points of the vast expanse of green. It’s definitely far more curated than the back of Colwen Ground’s mansion, which still retains its natural trees.
She raises the doll with both hands, facing the front of the doll as if she’s telling the doll to look at the sight. “‘Faba, look—the flowers are different from our garden.”
She almost doesn’t hear the footsteps bounding closer.
“That’s a cute doll!”
Startled, Nessarose looks over her shoulder, immediately pulling the doll back to her embrace. Her arms tighten around the green furred fluffy doll in her arms, shielding it from Galinda’s view when the blonde girl curiously peers over her shoulder.
“What’s her name?” Galinda asks, big brown eyes only grow even bigger as she shuffles forward, hands clasping the armrest of Nessarose’s wheelchair, chin against the back of her hands.
“You name your dolls?”
Galinda nods rapidly, determined. “Of course, silly! That is a… a rite of passie-passe—uuuhhh, passage, for everyone who has dolls!” She beams proudly after finally getting the word right.
“Everyone names their dolls,” she continues, pulling away to count her fingers. “I have some, too! There’s Miss Anna, Mr. Jonny, Mrs. Mimi, Mr. Gold—and my favoritest are Miss Thea and Miss Issa! They both have curly hair, just like yours, Nessie!”
Nessarose frowns a little at the nickname but ignores it this time, letting out an “Oh” before looking at her doll again. The fluffy green unnamed creature that ‘Faba and Dulci, ‘Faba’s bear nanny, made for her. She’s been with her ever since she was born.
“She doesn’t have her own name,” Nessarose admits softly. For her, the doll has always been somewhat an extension of her sister. A specific name has never been necessary. She always calls it ‘Faba.
Galinda gasps so loudly that Nanny and Ama have to turn around to check on them. “She doesn’t? But.. but Granny says that’s bad luck!” Galinda exclaims, bouncing over again and theatrically planting the back of her palm on her forehead. Nessarose doesn’t miss how Galinda peeks over her hand shielding her forehead. “They’ll come to get you and eat you and take your name!”
And that successfully makes Nessarose freeze, her arms hugging the doll tighter. Her eyes are wide, both in skepticism and fear. “…really?”
“Miss Galinda, you mustn’t scare Miss Nessarose that way,” Ama Clutch chides from behind them, shaking her head.
That makes Galinda straighten herself again, stiff and prim, face and tone completely serious. “But Granny told me it’s Qua-Qua’s folklore,” She says it with such scholarly conviction, nodding as she speaks. “Granny usually tells so many tales, and most are true!”
“Miss Galinda,” Ama repeats, just a tad firmer.
Galinda wilts instantly.
“Alrighty fiiine, Granny never told me that.” She pouts, shoe scuffing against the ground and hands clasping behind her back. “Sorry, Nessie. I just wanna see if I can scare you.”
Nessarose shrugs, then looks down at her doll again. At its strange humanoid-shape. At its faceless head. She traces her little fingers along the soft green fur.
“It’s alright,” Nessarose says, “‘Faba would never eat me, anyway.”
Galinda tilts her head at the unexpected reply. “Who’s Faba? You’ve named her already?”
Nessarose shakes her head. “No. ‘Faba is my sister.” She lifts the doll up, so Galinda can see it better. The fluffy fur catches light, and Nessarose perks up when Galinda’s jaw drops in awe. “She made me this. So I just call this ‘Faba, too.”
“That’s amazing!” She gushes, squealing and visibly vibrating in excitement. Her brown eyes sparkle, as she clasps her hands together, bouncing in her place. “I wish I had a sister who could make me dolls.”
The offer slips out before Nessarose can think twice. “I can ask ‘Faba once I’m back, if you want?”
Nessarose instantly regrets the moment a bright, delighted squeal follows her offer—so loud and jarring in her ears that it makes her flinch a little. “Really? That’s so good of you, thank you Nessie!”
“Nessa,” Nessarose corrects under her breath, knowing well the blonde girl isn’t listening at all with how she’s squealing and bouncing on her spot.
Galinda suddenly stops bouncing then, gasping as if struck with epiphany, and twirls to face her again. “As my thanks, I’m going to show you how I hang upside down!”
Nessarose opens her mouth, then closes it again once she realizes Galinda has already bounced towards treehouse, Ama hurries over to her, calling for her to slow down.
“...Please be careful,” Nessarose murmurs at last, lips already curling in amusement as Nanny pushes her wheelchair forward, following Galinda’s close behind her.