Two in the Morning
Title: Two in the Morning
Author/Artist: wtfjustgoforit
Character/Pairing: Ti Moune, young Javert, Elphaba
Fandom: various musicals
Prompt: #1 - 2 a.m.
Two in the morning and she should be asleep, should be dreaming about Daniel.
She is not.
Daniel is so kind to her, so tender and solicitous. She can tell that she excites him with her “foreign” ways, her dances and her gods and her dark, dark skin. And truth be told Daniel himself is exciting, with his rich suits and his French voice and his gray, gray eyes.
But it is two in the morning and here she is, not with her gray-eyed Grandhomme, but playing cards with a green girl and a white boy in a uniform.
The girl is sarcastic and completely defiant of any god at all - it is a wonder the gods have not struck her dead, especially Agwe, whom she avoids most - but surprisingly gentle, despite her biting tongue.
She has a wonderful poker face.
The boy is really French, much paler than Daniel - not brown at all, but a gentle tan color. And so very solemn too; he recently became a prison guard (and, as he explained so passionately to Ti Moune, this job was the best in the world because life was either with the Law or against it, and every person had to choose eventually) and he normally doesn’t hold with gambling, but for some reason unknown to either Elphaba or Ti Moune, he makes an exception for them.
They never play poker for money, though. Only for matchsticks. He will not play for money.
Ti Moune doesn’t know his name, or at least not his first name. But then, she reasons, she doesn’t really know Daniel’s last name either.
It’s the end of the game, and Ti Moune has lost all of her matches once again.
“Two and a half boxes,” says Javert, counting his winnings meticulously. “Exactly.”
“Highly improbable,” scoffs Elphaba. “Exactly half a box?”
“Count yours,” he counters. “And then compare that number to the number on the box. Then tell me that I’m wrong.”
She folds her arms. “I never said impossible. I said highly improbable. Completely different. Of course,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, “that could be parsing. But then again I don’t really care.”
“You’re just sour because you lost.”
“And you’re insufferable.”
“Point,” Javert concedes with a small smile.
Ti Moune doesn’t say anything. She just watches them.
She used to think there were only two worlds: the black peasants with their four gods, and the coffee-colored Grandhommes with their shiny cars. Now she knows there are so many more. And watching her friends, these people from other worlds, is a treasure. Not even Papa Ge, demon of death, will be able to take this from her.
Her soul, however …
“… Don’t you need to run on back to your university before your roommate realizes you’re gone?”
“Oh, Galinda. She’s probably passed out drunk in our room; she won’t even notice.”
“Thought you said Galinda didn’t drink?” asks Ti Moune, wrenching herself back into the conversation.
“It’s Shiz, dear,” says Elphaba. “Everyone drinks.”
“Even though most of you are underage,” Javert says disapprovingly.
“Fuck off,” Elphaba laughs. “Next thing you know you’ll be known as Inspector Stick-Up-His-Arse.”
“I’m not a police inspector, I’m a prison guard.”
“Same basic idea.”
The back-and-forth goes on, and Ti Moune watches it like a tennis match, but suddenly the time has caught up with her - two in the morning and she should be asleep, and now she is yawning her head off.
Suddenly the debate ceases and both heads turn to look at her.
“Oh no,” says Ti Moune guiltily. “Keep talking, it’s fine. I’m not tired at all.”
“Don’t lie to me, dear,” says Elphaba. “You’re having trouble just keeping your eyes open.”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“Ti Moune - ”
“I told you I’m fine.” She smiles. “Daniel is a heavy and long sleeper. He won’t wake up until the sun is high in the sky - he’ll never know I’m gone. He never does.”
“But you need sleep.”
Ti Moune frowns. “You sound just like Mama. I’m not a child anymore, Elphie. Please, I know what I’m doing.”
“Which in turn begs the question - why exactly are you hiding this from Daniel?” asks Javert, his eyebrows quirked together. “I know gambling isn’t the most wonderful of pastimes, but surely keeping secrets like this can’t be healthy.”
She shifts uncomfortably, and a just as awkward silence fills the room.
“As it happens,” says Elphaba abruptly, “I do have to get back to Shiz.”
“Lots of things to do?”
She shrugs. “Essays to write, boys to torment, governments to conspire against.”
“Now hold on - ”
She laughs. “Honestly, Javert, you’re even more fun to tease than Avaric.”
Elphaba stands, waves once, and leaves. Javert begins to put the matchsticks away. Another awkward silence descends.
“I love him, you know,” says Ti Moune suddenly. “More than life.”
He gives her a sidelong glance. “That’s admirable. I should think most people our age wouldn’t know what love looks like.”
“Love is sent from the gods. Erzulie touches everyone’s heart eventually. It is up to us to tell when she does.”
“Your gods are so strange. There are no set rules on your island, are there? No ultimate, divine Law?”
“Well, no. We dance to please the gods, and we work for our livings. And we try to stay on the good side of the Grandhommes.”
“And you’re going to marry one, are you?”
Ti Moune smiles. “Well, yes, at least I think so. We are very much in love.”
“What do his parents think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” says Javert incredulously. “How can you not know what his parents think of you if you are going to marry him?”
“Well - ”
“Back in France it takes ages to haggle out a marriage. I should know; it took nearly forever for my half-sister to be married off.”
“You have a sister?”
He waves a hand impatiently. “That’s beside the point. The real point is, you want to marry Daniel, and you say that you love each other, but you don’t know what his parents think of you - and you haven’t told him a word about our midnight poker games?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know,” says Ti Moune helplessly. “They are Grandhommes. I do not know how they would react to this.”
“Well, it may be poker, but it’s just matchsticks.”
“I know, I know,” she laughs. “You won’t play for money.”
“Damn straight,” he says briskly.
They share a chuckle, then she stands and stretches, yawning again. He stands too, almost immediately: such a gentleman, Javert, although he can be a bit abrasive at times.
He can’t be more than two or three years older than her, but he is so very tall and his brown eyes are so very serious, he might as well be at least thirty by now, the way he looks and behaves.
She turns to leave, and he catches her by the shoulder, turning her back to face him.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Ti Moune,” he says quietly.
She gives a small smile and puts her hand on top of his, still on her shoulder. “I promise you, Javert. I won’t.”
~
It’s still dark when she gets back to the Hotel Beauxhomme, and as usual Daniel doesn’t stir when she climbs onto the bed and snuggles next to him, just as if she’d been doing so all night.
Two in the morning - well, later than two now - and she’s drifting off to sleep, but instead of dreaming of a certain gray-eyed Grandhomme, she’s dreaming of brown eyes.
Author/Artist: wtfjustgoforit
Character/Pairing: Ti Moune, young Javert, Elphaba
Fandom: various musicals
Prompt: #1 - 2 a.m.
Two in the morning and she should be asleep, should be dreaming about Daniel.
She is not.
Daniel is so kind to her, so tender and solicitous. She can tell that she excites him with her “foreign” ways, her dances and her gods and her dark, dark skin. And truth be told Daniel himself is exciting, with his rich suits and his French voice and his gray, gray eyes.
But it is two in the morning and here she is, not with her gray-eyed Grandhomme, but playing cards with a green girl and a white boy in a uniform.
The girl is sarcastic and completely defiant of any god at all - it is a wonder the gods have not struck her dead, especially Agwe, whom she avoids most - but surprisingly gentle, despite her biting tongue.
She has a wonderful poker face.
The boy is really French, much paler than Daniel - not brown at all, but a gentle tan color. And so very solemn too; he recently became a prison guard (and, as he explained so passionately to Ti Moune, this job was the best in the world because life was either with the Law or against it, and every person had to choose eventually) and he normally doesn’t hold with gambling, but for some reason unknown to either Elphaba or Ti Moune, he makes an exception for them.
They never play poker for money, though. Only for matchsticks. He will not play for money.
Ti Moune doesn’t know his name, or at least not his first name. But then, she reasons, she doesn’t really know Daniel’s last name either.
It’s the end of the game, and Ti Moune has lost all of her matches once again.
“Two and a half boxes,” says Javert, counting his winnings meticulously. “Exactly.”
“Highly improbable,” scoffs Elphaba. “Exactly half a box?”
“Count yours,” he counters. “And then compare that number to the number on the box. Then tell me that I’m wrong.”
She folds her arms. “I never said impossible. I said highly improbable. Completely different. Of course,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, “that could be parsing. But then again I don’t really care.”
“You’re just sour because you lost.”
“And you’re insufferable.”
“Point,” Javert concedes with a small smile.
Ti Moune doesn’t say anything. She just watches them.
She used to think there were only two worlds: the black peasants with their four gods, and the coffee-colored Grandhommes with their shiny cars. Now she knows there are so many more. And watching her friends, these people from other worlds, is a treasure. Not even Papa Ge, demon of death, will be able to take this from her.
Her soul, however …
“… Don’t you need to run on back to your university before your roommate realizes you’re gone?”
“Oh, Galinda. She’s probably passed out drunk in our room; she won’t even notice.”
“Thought you said Galinda didn’t drink?” asks Ti Moune, wrenching herself back into the conversation.
“It’s Shiz, dear,” says Elphaba. “Everyone drinks.”
“Even though most of you are underage,” Javert says disapprovingly.
“Fuck off,” Elphaba laughs. “Next thing you know you’ll be known as Inspector Stick-Up-His-Arse.”
“I’m not a police inspector, I’m a prison guard.”
“Same basic idea.”
The back-and-forth goes on, and Ti Moune watches it like a tennis match, but suddenly the time has caught up with her - two in the morning and she should be asleep, and now she is yawning her head off.
Suddenly the debate ceases and both heads turn to look at her.
“Oh no,” says Ti Moune guiltily. “Keep talking, it’s fine. I’m not tired at all.”
“Don’t lie to me, dear,” says Elphaba. “You’re having trouble just keeping your eyes open.”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“Ti Moune - ”
“I told you I’m fine.” She smiles. “Daniel is a heavy and long sleeper. He won’t wake up until the sun is high in the sky - he’ll never know I’m gone. He never does.”
“But you need sleep.”
Ti Moune frowns. “You sound just like Mama. I’m not a child anymore, Elphie. Please, I know what I’m doing.”
“Which in turn begs the question - why exactly are you hiding this from Daniel?” asks Javert, his eyebrows quirked together. “I know gambling isn’t the most wonderful of pastimes, but surely keeping secrets like this can’t be healthy.”
She shifts uncomfortably, and a just as awkward silence fills the room.
“As it happens,” says Elphaba abruptly, “I do have to get back to Shiz.”
“Lots of things to do?”
She shrugs. “Essays to write, boys to torment, governments to conspire against.”
“Now hold on - ”
She laughs. “Honestly, Javert, you’re even more fun to tease than Avaric.”
Elphaba stands, waves once, and leaves. Javert begins to put the matchsticks away. Another awkward silence descends.
“I love him, you know,” says Ti Moune suddenly. “More than life.”
He gives her a sidelong glance. “That’s admirable. I should think most people our age wouldn’t know what love looks like.”
“Love is sent from the gods. Erzulie touches everyone’s heart eventually. It is up to us to tell when she does.”
“Your gods are so strange. There are no set rules on your island, are there? No ultimate, divine Law?”
“Well, no. We dance to please the gods, and we work for our livings. And we try to stay on the good side of the Grandhommes.”
“And you’re going to marry one, are you?”
Ti Moune smiles. “Well, yes, at least I think so. We are very much in love.”
“What do his parents think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” says Javert incredulously. “How can you not know what his parents think of you if you are going to marry him?”
“Well - ”
“Back in France it takes ages to haggle out a marriage. I should know; it took nearly forever for my half-sister to be married off.”
“You have a sister?”
He waves a hand impatiently. “That’s beside the point. The real point is, you want to marry Daniel, and you say that you love each other, but you don’t know what his parents think of you - and you haven’t told him a word about our midnight poker games?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know,” says Ti Moune helplessly. “They are Grandhommes. I do not know how they would react to this.”
“Well, it may be poker, but it’s just matchsticks.”
“I know, I know,” she laughs. “You won’t play for money.”
“Damn straight,” he says briskly.
They share a chuckle, then she stands and stretches, yawning again. He stands too, almost immediately: such a gentleman, Javert, although he can be a bit abrasive at times.
He can’t be more than two or three years older than her, but he is so very tall and his brown eyes are so very serious, he might as well be at least thirty by now, the way he looks and behaves.
She turns to leave, and he catches her by the shoulder, turning her back to face him.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Ti Moune,” he says quietly.
She gives a small smile and puts her hand on top of his, still on her shoulder. “I promise you, Javert. I won’t.”
~
It’s still dark when she gets back to the Hotel Beauxhomme, and as usual Daniel doesn’t stir when she climbs onto the bed and snuggles next to him, just as if she’d been doing so all night.
Two in the morning - well, later than two now - and she’s drifting off to sleep, but instead of dreaming of a certain gray-eyed Grandhomme, she’s dreaming of brown eyes.