fandomhigh | BWI Airport | Portalocity Lounge | Saturday Morning

In most instances, no one would bat an eye at seeing a boy and his dog. In this instance, some people might actually run away screaming at the sight of this boy and this dog. Percy Jackson didn’t look all that intimidating on his own. He was average height, dark haired and carried a ball point pen in the pocket of his jeans.

Of course, the huge hellhound sitting behind Percy might have turned a few heads if not for the Mist. Thankfully, most mortals didn’t see Mrs. O’ Leary, Percy’s inherited hellhound sitting lazily in the BWI airport lounge (how the hellhound had fit, Percy didn’t know).

Percy himself didn’t look as relaxed as his dog. His eyes were jumping left to right, almost as if he expected something to attack him or for Luke to emerge from the crowd with that more smirk than smile look on his face.

This was about the fourteenth school Percy had been to since age twelve. He didn’t expect it to last. He wanted to be at Camp Half Blood. Instead, he was waiting in an airport lounge for a shuttle to cart him and his hellhound to a place called Fandom.

Percy frowned. He didn’t think this day could get worse.

[Open shuttle bus! Mrs. O’ Leary is a big ole hellhound that most mortals probably would not see because of something called the Mist. If you’re not exactly all the way mortal, you’d see her though. She’s not going to attack anyone, I promise.]

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"That's ... kind of weird," George observed. Very tactful, right there.

Great, she'd put this girl on the spot and acted like a jerk about her being weird.

"My cousin ... had a mole on his face," she offered. "One of the really huge ones that grew hair. It covered most of his eye."

This was somehow supposed to make Elphaba feel better about ... having green skin, or George not freaking out about Elphaba having green skin? Look, she sucked at this, okay?

"Well if all you have to say about it is 'kind of weird', I think I'll be fine," Elphaba said. "It beats pointing, laughing, or just shunning me."

All of which she was quite familiar with. "I'm Elphaba."

"People do that?" George asked. Just for having green skin?

Right. People treated one another like total shit for much dumber reasons all the time. It was practically a hobby.

"People suck," she said. "I'm George."

... shit. She probably shouldn't use her real name, all things considered.

"Or ... Millie," she added, weakly. "Whichever."

"Which is it?" Elphaba asked, her brow slightly furrowed. She looked a little quizzical as she peered through her glasses. "I can happily call you whichever you like, but I would need to know which."

George was probably enrolled in school as Millie Hagen, since Georgia Lass was, well. Dead. So she had been introducing herself as Millie for the past few months to everyone except other reapers.

"... George," she said. "It's a ... long story."

She'd just pretend it was a bizarre family nickname. Maybe Millie's middle name was George. After a dead grandfather or something.

"George is still a good name," Elphaba said. "I've never known a George before. It sounds very... regal."

"It's usually a boy's name," she admitted, "but I like it. It's mine."

Millie was a stupid name. She was going to tell people she was George and not give a damn if there were consequences.

"I've ... never known an Elphaba," she added. "Is that ... common, where you're from?"

"I've never met another one," Elphaba admitted. "My sister is called Nessarose, which is a far prettier name. But of us, she is the one far prettier so it is only fair."

"Don't say that," George said impulsively. "Maybe you're green, but she's ..."

It was really hard to insult some random girl she'd never even met.

"That ... doesn't mean you're not ... pretty," she finished, aware of how lame that was. "I'd rather have a cool name than a pretty one, anyway."

If her parents had named her Nessarose, she would have found an ugly nickname to go by.

Elphaba was honestly perplexed. She really was not used to people saying such things about her. "You've not met Nessa," she said. "So I hardly think you can say I am prettier."

"No, but ... pretty people are usually shallow, anyway," George said, pretending that her line of conversation made a lick of sense. She thought to add, "Is she nice?"

She wondered if Reggie had found her key yet.

"She's very nice," Elphaba said. "When you have to live like she does, you don't get far if you aren't. Even when you're the governor's daughter."

"How does she have to live?" George asked. "Politics?"

If they were the governor's kids, it was a fair guess.

"She isn't able to walk," Elphaba said. "She has a chair with wheels she uses to get around. Her legs never fully grew after she was born so early."

That was the easy part to talk about.

"Oh," George said. She was just sticking her foot in it left and right, wasn't she? "You guys ... don't have the best luck, do you?"

She could sympathize. Neither did she.

Elphaba nodded. "But father says my luck will change here," she said. Or he wouldn't have to see her every day, which would be better for him. Not that she blamed him for his feelings.

"Or, rather, at the school, when we arrive."

"Do you think this place is lucky?" George asked. Huh. That'd be a first. "I could use some good luck for a change."

"I have hope," Elphaba said. "More hope than I've had for anything before."

That was the truth.

Awww, that was sweet. Possibly sweet enough to make her feel less cynical than her usual.

"Me too," she said, softly.

It didn't really do to add that that would not be hard, considering that George's general 'hope' levels dwindled at 'slim-to-none.'

To be honest, this was probably the least cynical Elphaba had been in a long time. But being treated decently by so many for the first time has softened her a bit, at least for today.

She nodded in agreement. "And if we are disappointed, well, we can take solace that we both have rotten luck."

"Maybe everyone here does," George mused. "We'll know if we start getting hit by hurricanes and tornadoes."

"Or terrible flood," Elphaba said. "Things always could get worse. Drought. Plague. Horrible insects."

If that was why she was here, George was going to be so pissed.

Of course, the plague division might cheer up. They'd been bored for years.

"Great," she mumbled. "Just what we needed: the plague."

Elphaba sighed and shrugged. "We can always hope not," she said.

BWI Airport | Portalocity Lounge | Saturday Morning | August 28

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