#pcppins

@pcppins​   :   “ memory lives longer than what it remembers. ”

CURIOUS EYES GAZED UPWARDS AT SUCH words, brows drawing together as she tried to comprehend what was being said. The princess was a bright girl, but even so, adults’ words could still confound her. But she didn’t immediately question the nanny’s statement, choosing instead to turn the phrase over in her mind. Better to think about it first, than ask for straight explanations. 

Her expression was rather serious for a child of nine, but Elsa was given to seriousness. Especially since that night. So she clasped her hands, and set her gaze at the floor. It took an effort to keep her tongue inside her lips, a habit she had been chided for in the past. 

mary poppins: i beg your pardon?

elphaba, sweating nervously: 

@pcppins​ :  “  i’ve  never  met  anyone  quite  like  you.  ”

THE  STATEMENT  IS  RATHER  unpatronising,  strangely  and  admittedly,  and  despite  itself   --  --   despite  how  a  statement  as  such  usually  sounds  coming  from,  well,  anyone.  Because  of  this  Elphaba  is  rendered  wordless  where  she  normally  strikes;  a  feat  in  itself.  She  stops.  Stops  studying  the  veins  and  threads  and  intricacies  within  Chistery’s  wingspan,  fingers  wordlessly  hovering  upon  the  joints  that  connect  flesh  to  flesh;  stops  attempting  to  understand  the  relationships,  the  tissue  biochemistry,  the  spell.  For  one  moment.  Freezes;  she  lets  the  wing  drop  slowly,  before  the  both  of  them,  and  fold,  no  longer  incasing  the  front  of  her  in  a  protective,  academic,  veiling  stance  --  --  no  longer  hiding  herself  from  Mary.    

        “  Nor  I  you,  ”   Elphaba  says  at  last,  simply.  It  is  the  truth,  and  she  is,  for  a  moment,  reeled  by  it.  She  stands,  silently,  eyes  slits,   squinting,  narrowing  them,  not  threateningly,  but  instead  in  a  dark,   STUDIOUS  look  that  reads  I  am  suspicious,  and  isn’t  that  also  intrigued?  

&.          @pcppins​            ›         another hundred people   (chicago),         𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻  𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 . 

he  was  always  in  such  adoration  of  the  city.    he  rarely  let  himself  come  here  now.    too  many  faces  cause  too  much  pain.     and  yet,    in  this  moment,    sat  atop  a  tall  building  and  looking  down  upon  the  scenes  below,    he  couldn’t  help  but  remember  his  love  for  it.   “   aren’t  they  fascinating?    humans,   i  mean.      they  find  each  other  in  the  crowded  streets  and  the  guarded  parks.    by  the  rusty  fountains  and  the  dusty  trees  with  the   -   battered  barks.     and  they  walk  together  past  the  postered  walls  with  the  crude  remarks.   ”

 her memory is not perfect   ---   too crowded, too imaginative  ---   but evelyn has an excellent eye for faces.     on the wild english coast, when evelyn ran barefoot along the cliffs, she’d been struck by such a put-together woman looking after several rambunctious children.    their brief meeting made enough of an impression that she committed the face to mind, eventually shoved back and away...  until this afternoon, across the aisle from the same lady in a monte carlo cafe.

AUTUMN-COLORED HAIR is disheveled, a halo encircling her head just as wild as the look in her wide blue eyes as she raises her head to gaze beseechingly upon the other.

❝ Promise me that all you say is true ❞ 

Her smile is beautiful, strung of dreams and wishes and GOBLIN MAGIC. Her arms fold over her chest in a teasing sort of way, one that portrays her to be the rather ill mannered father of the household.