A lot more —

She’s a little concerned with how quickly the woman shoots her down. “Well, like I said, I’m not exactly planning on it. But, y’know, accidents happen and I wouldn’t give the kid up or anything. I could be a single parent. If I had to be.” She does want a baby, though. Of course, she won’t admit that much to a stranger. “Thank you…I think?”

              ❛  thanks, i know ––– and i just might. though,                         i might need some convincing. ❜

“Well unlike some people, I don’t need a prize to know my own worth, but I guess if your self-esteem is so low to begin with it’s the only thing that will work, albeit temporarily.” Clearly the vainglorious gesture was just a facade because no one actually did things so performatively. Well, there was Vivienne, but her daughter wasn’t exactly typical. “I watch. That’s what I do. I’m good at it, and I also get some vicarious joy out of seeing other people do what they love.” Oops, her voice slipped into sarcasm by the end, but that was only natural.

Her face darkened at the implication that the black was only to appear thinner. “No, other people can call themselves fat when really they’re a normal and healthy weight, but that will never be me.” She’d made that decision long ago, to let her body do whatever it did without judgment. Though when she did it, it wasn’t about self-love, as much as she wanted to prove how bad everyone else was at taking care of themselves. “I wear black because I look good in it.”

She tried to hold in her laughter but it came out as a snort anyway. “Nope, it was a perfectly choreographed trip. I may not dance professionally, but I could at least see that much. Who couldn’t, that’s the real enigma.”

          The blonde scoffed, rolling her eyes at the woman before her because who did she even think she was? She wore all these fancy, depressing clothes with this sharp, defined haircut that so did not suit the shape of her face and just, what? Pretended she knew better? Used big, broad, pseudo-philosophical concepts of not needing a prize? This was just —— Sad. Well, not really sad. Frustrating would have been the exact word, but if Zinnia told herself that the dark-haired woman was sad, at least it was easier to pity her. Besides, anyone doing that to their hair would be upset on a daily basis. It came with looking in a mirror. 

          ❝ Please. That’s the kind of thing losers               always say to make themselves feel better. Not               that it would surprise me, considering —— ❞ 

          She waved vaguely, dramatically at the whole of Joanne’s appearance. She could be petty when she wanted to (unyielding, too. Headstrong. Always right). 

          ❝ Anyone can watch. Your commenting, though, was               sloppy. And I really love dancing! ❞

          It was not a defense, but a statement, something said with pride in face of utter, disgusting sarcasm. It still hurt somewhere deep inside of her that she’d never gotten a fair chance at it, that life had happened to her in the cruel way it happened to everyone and that now that she was married and had had kids, the best she could ever hope for were those amateur competitions. She wouldn’t trade her life for professional dancing, though (not now, anyway. Not since she’d met Harry and had gotten a comfortable life), but she felt she was well within her rights to feel offended no school had wanted her. 

          ❝ Well black is the colour of sad, uptight               people but, oh well! If you’re saying you               look good in this, then I guess we all know               why.  

          Cheap shot. Zinnia was really proud of it, putting a hand on her hips as she let her pink lips curl into a smug expression that she willed to keep firmly on despite the comment on her Rumba. 

          ❝ My Rumba was full of originality, unlike               the one of the winning couple. If you can’t               see that, then by all means, I’m sure my               dance partner would love to discuss his               choreography choice with you. ❞ 

“No matter what the cause, the best thing for pain is to walk it off. Or hard liquor, but I’m nominally attempting to get sober, so I can’t offer you any.”

Honestly she hadn’t even expected the nod of acknowledgment, Zinnia was so self centered. She appreciated the little so much that she didn’t even make the easy jab about how the other woman had humiliated herself enough already.

Well, Joanne’s attempt at kindness lasted approximately ten seconds and then Zinnia proved her point for her. “How do I put this, precious? You lack a little something called tact, and for some reason car salesmen don’t like to be told that their wives and sons are ‘clunkers.’ The fact that you weren’t wrong has very little bearing on the fact that we were attempting to be diplomatic this time.“

A huff (whether it was out of pain or frustration, or perhaps even both, was anybody’s guess). 

          ❝ I’d prefer hard liquor. ❞ 

She deserved hard liquor. More probably, though, she would grab whatever watered-down beer she could find when they were safe(r) and complain about it the whole time. Her ankle was not getting better in any case. It was not getting worst either, which should have been a good indication that Zinnia was being over dramatic but that the fake blonde instead took as a sign that her entire leg was now ruined. What if she never walked properly ever again? 

          ❝ It’s not fading. Why is it              not fading?! ❞ 

Her voice rose up, high-pitched in self-centered anger as she grasped Joanne tighter. 

          ❝ Hey! It’s not my fault they can’t               handle honesty. It’s really like               they have no standards! People               love me, usually. ❞ 

It kind of was her fault though, but getting her to admit to that was a lost cause. 

    ❝ right. um, see, here’s the thing– there’s     a  difference  between   PHYSICAL  attraction     and EMOTIONAL  attraction.  have  you  ever     thought about that? why do  you  think  those     types of relationships never last? ❞

The lack of ill-intent in the blonde’s laughter wasn’t lost on Elphaba, and she was surprised to say the least. She hadn’t expected understanding by any means, and that wasn’t necessarily a comment on Zinnia - she didn’t expect it from anyone. One didn’t live the sort of life that Elphaba had and find oneself feeling particularly generous towards how much others could empathise, after all.

Her eyebrows rose in genuine, unhidden surprise when she found herself being given what seemed to be sincere, considered advice; while it wasn’t necessarily advice that she would have taken under different circumstances, that same lack of… Of a lot of things that she was used to hearing in people’s tones when her appearance was the topic of conversation made her uncertain of how to reply. An over-reliance on snark and derision had become such a necessity when it came to conversation that Elphaba found herself quite at a loss when neither would be an appropriate response. In the end, she settled for gentle self-deprecation, and an almost wry smile that faintly curved her mouth.

“I’m not sure there is much potential to exploit, but I think I may be even more surprised by the idea that there is a colour that would… Make even the vaguest of impacts than I am by that comment.”

“She’s not going to be happy about that, you know. This area has become something of a… Project for her.”

          Zinnia snorts at Elphaba’s comment on her own potential, before looking her over once more and taking in everything — The visible cheekbones, the thin face, the ravenous hair, the fact she wore too much black (perhaps to hide a bony body?). There wasn’t much to do, but this was why the green skin was interesting. It added character. Besides, Zinnia had been a little girl with mousy brown hair and nothing special to be said about her who’d made sure she would be noticed by changing the way she dressed and her hair colour. There were lost causes, of course, but at least having the intention of bettering yourself was a good step forward. And if she failed on the green girl, she doubted anyone (not even that roommate of hers) would make any more progress.

          So, she smiled, her lips tugging at her skin lightly. It was not completely dishonest (for Zinnia truly believed something could be done about the woman), but much less candid than before.

          ❝ There is always potential! ... And people too stupid to exploit it because they underestimate the importance of their looks. Leave it to me! You’ll be positively glowing emerald once I’m done. Maybe a touch of silver, too? This would be so exciting! You need to try it! ❞

          A shrug of her shoulders.

    ❝ uh, are you implying that people DON’T     like clever people? because t h a t is wrong. ❞

          She examines her nails, they were a bit dirty and uneven. The young girl often chewed on them out of nervous habit, and if not that it was due to the many misadventures she got into. “ YOU do know that I do not OWN nail polish ?? You never buy me anything besides food. “

Zinnia snorts as her eyes rise up once more to stare at Matilda. This felt like a trap. An  obnoxious, obvious trap set out by her child to remind her of what an unfit parent she was, as if this would make any difference in the  fake blonde’s behaviour.