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WHO AM I?

"a cupid out of caravaggio" "merciless and all-loving demonic god" "the embodiment of thirst itself"

I DO NOT KNOW ANYMORE. NO ONE HAS PAINTED ME IN OVER 400 YEARS.

"Please, I don't want to talk about it, if you—" A sharp, hissing intake of breath as she touches the broken, bruised skin of his ribs. The blue of the trailing diamonds there is marred with blotchy purples and smearing reds. He exhales with what, from the tone of it, can only be an oath in Arjiki. "—If you don't mind!" Whatever private and completely managed imaginings he might have entertained about Elphaba's touch on his bare skin, he certainly cannot have ever anticipated that he would feel it in a wound-dressing after an after-dark attack on the streets of Shiz. But he'd gotten too comfortable, willing himself to believe that he was getting to be familiar and not a foreigner - choosing not to see the looks nor hear the jeers that sometimes met him when he walked in town alone. Or if he saw, if he heard, he reasoned away that these people must have only be like Avaric: a little dumb, a little mean, but harmless and able to be won over. This is what happens when someone like him forgets. He'd come to Elphaba thinking she'd be the most savvy of the few true friends he's made, and the most likely to competently put all his pieces back where they belong, but he hadn't considered that that righteous sensibility of hers might be inflamed. How long can he withhold the ugly truth under her questioning. "Why talk about it? It would be unpleasant, and isn't this—" Another hiss, a wince. "—isn't this unpleasant enough already?"

elphaba knows she can be short tempered. her father tried his very best to teach her to not be ( she recalls mutterings on how it is not becoming, on how she needs to be a good big sister, an example ) but it is not a trait she has corrected just yet ( and she is fairly confident it will not ever be ). worse, it is a trait of hers that cannot be restrained when the things and people she cares about are bothered, which is why the moment fiyero approaches her a fierce mixture of concern and rages fills her. she does not try to reel it in, not until he hisses for a second time.

fingers withdraw from the bruise hesitating to figure out where she should touch “ we need to talk about it. ” she insists, despite seeing fiyero’s clear discomfort, looking back down to the injury before looking up into his eyes again, a softness to her for a moment as her gaze lingers and she shakes her head.

“ we need to talk about it because in order to give you the best care i can, i need to know what happened. ” it’s not entirely a lie and she would not be surprised if fieyero saw right through her. later she will hope he will either not mind or come to forgive her… for as she allows her eyes to drift down again she feels her concern deepen as well as her anger at all of the what if’s flowing through her mind.

... do not get ahead of yourself elphaba... it could have been a nasty tumble down some stairs... but would fiyero seemingly sharply dismissive about talking about what happened?! frustration boils inside of her ( not at him, but at the what ifs roaming in her mind ), all the while her mind reels to try and figure out just how to treat this. she takes a deep breath. she tries to center herself. the last thing she needs is to get to wrapped up in her emotions. she inhales, she exhales, she rests a green hand upon his shoulder.

But Elphaba's determination is stronger than his affected apathy; taking her orders is just another step down the path of least resistance. He eases into a chair and lets his breath out through his teeth.

some bookverse designs c:

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