Chapter Text
The next day before rehearsal, Avaric, Galinda and Boq came early before everyone else to work on the slap scene. They decided Boq should join because he is on stage where it happens and also to make sure it's very convincing enough.
"Alright. So Audrey flinches from Orin yelling at her all because she forgot her sweater. But the slap was unexpected. That's the point," Avaric said, rolling up his sleeves with surgical precision. Galinda bit her lip, shifting her weight between her feet like a nervous sparrow.
Avaric didn't touch her—not yet. Instead, he circled her slowly, his polished shoes clicking against the stage floor like a metronome. "You know it's coming," he murmured, voice low enough that Boq had to lean forward from his seat in the front row to hear. "But Audrey doesn't. Not really. She thinks she knows—she's braced for it every second—but when it lands?" His fingers twitched, hovering inches from Galinda's cheekbone. "It still knocks the breath out of her."
Galinda inhaled sharply—not at the proximity, but at the realization dawning in her widened eyes. Without thinking, her body curved inward, shoulders hunching protectively. Avaric's gaze flicked to Boq, who sat frozen with his script crumpling in his grip.
"Watch closely," Avaric said—not to Galinda, but to Boq. Then his open palm flashed through the air.
The slap never connected. Galinda flinched so violently her pearl earrings swung like pendulums, her gasp echoing through the empty theater. Avaric's hand stopped a hair's breadth from her face, his fingers trembling with the effort of restraint. Her head turned from it as well.
"How's that?" Galinda asks, rubbing her cheek where Avaric's palm had stopped—an inch from impact, but the phantom sting lingered. Her voice was smaller than usual, lacking its customary lilt.
"Pretty good for a start," Avaric admits. "The only thing missing is the sound effect. But I think either the pit orchestra will provide that or..." He fishes a pair of leather gloves from his pocket—the kind coroners wear—and snaps one against his palm. The crack makes Boq jump three inches off his seat. "We'll rehearse with gloves until then. Boq, would you time the slap with these?" He tosses the gloves to Boq, who catches them reflexively, his fingers tracing the stiff stitching.
"Okay, two more times, then we'll run the scene," he said positioning himself just offstage left—Orin's entrance point. "Boq, wait for the swing, then snap the glove right as my hand passes Galinda's face."
The redhead nodded, fingers tightening around the stiff leather.
Avaric asks Galinda, "Ready?"
The blonde girl nodded, adjusting her skirt with trembling hands—not the usual flutter of Galinda’s practiced gestures, but something jerky and raw. Avaric watched her with detached precision, rolling his shoulders like a surgeon preparing for theater.
"One. Two. Three."
Avaric's hand swung, stopping just short of the blonde girl's cheek—but this time, her whole body jerked sideways as if struck. The movement was instinctual, her arms crossing over her chest protectively. Boq's fingers clenched around the gloves, the leather creaking under his grip. He snapped them sharply—the crack echoed like a gunshot in the empty theater—only half a second late.
Galinda's fingers hovered near her cheekbone where the ghost of Avaric's slap still tingled. "How do you do that?" she breathed, her voice barely louder than the creak of the stage boards beneath them. "It's like you're not even moving—then suddenly you are."
Avaric shrugged, rolling his shoulders with the casual grace of someone who'd spent years mapping the geometry of violence. "Took stage combat classes last semester." He flexed his fingers, studying the way the overhead lights caught on his knuckles. "Sixteen weeks learning how to fake-break noses."
"Ohhh."
"Okay, one more time," Avaric said, rolling his shoulders back with the precision of a clockwork mechanism. She nodded, swallowing hard as she reset her stance—feet planted slightly apart, hands clasped loosely at her waist, chin lifted just enough to expose the delicate curve of her cheekbone.
Avaric didn't warn her this time. His hand moved like a whipcrack, stopping mere millimeters from her skin. Galinda's reaction was visceral—her entire body recoiled as if yanked by invisible strings, her arms flying up in a flinch so authentic it made Boq's stomach clench. The sound of Boq's glove-snap rang out right on time.
"Good! That's good!" Avaric's sudden praise broke the charged silence, his fingers flexing as he stepped back. She straightens feeling relaxed. "Now, let me do the cue line after you forgot your sweater, you went offstage for a brief second to put it on, come right back and then I give you a slap."
The blonde nodded taking a deep breath.
Avaric turns back to Boq. "Ready?" His voice carries none of Orin's sadistic glee—just clinical precision.
The redhead watches, his eyes fixated while holding the gloves. Galinda walks offstage for a brief second before coming back on when Avaric calls.
"Alright. Action! 'Forgets her friggin sweater! Lurline, if your stupid head weren't screwed on!'" he barked in character before going in for the slap—his hand flashed towards Galinda's face with the same controlled fury as before, stopping just short. Boq snapped the glove on cue—a sound like ice cracking across a pond—and her entire body recoiled as if struck by lightning. Her pearl earrings swung wildly as she staggered back a step, one hand flying up to cradle her cheek instinctively.
"That's it! That's perfect! Nicely timed Boq!" Now going out of character, Avaric asks her gently, "Are you okay?"
She nodded quickly. "Better than okay! I have to say, this alone made me see Audrey differently," she admits, rubbing her cheekbone where Avaric's palm had stopped—no contact, yet the phantom sting lingered like stage fright. A smile of relief and excitement formed on her lips.
Boq stood abruptly, the gloves slipping from his numb fingers before gripping them tightly. "That was—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, flexing his hands as if shaking off invisible vines. "It's so real that it made me angry and impressed at the same time."
Excited, Avaric points his finger at him. "Exactly! And that's what you should be during this scene because at first you're unsure about going through with murdering someone for plant food—but seeing Audrey getting slapped? That's where it all changes and you made your decision."
They heard a clink followed by a splashing sound from the audience seats. All three turned to see the director standing there frozen, a coffee cup rolling away from his feet—dark liquid spreading across the hardwood like a slow-motion inkblot test. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between horrified and exhilarated.
"Tenmeadows?"
"Yes sir?"
"How would you like to take the assistant director position?"
"How much does it pay?"
"How about it completes your community service hours and gives you extra credit?" The director's voice was drier than the dust clinging to the stage curtains.
Avaric's smirk widened—slow, dangerous. "And here I thought you'd at least offer me a juice box."
The director exhaled sharply through his nose, wiping coffee from his shoe with a crumpled program.
"Erm, that's a joke sir." Avaric added hastily, watching the director's eyebrow twitch like a live wire. Galinda stifled a giggle behind her hands and Boq tries hard not to smile.
The director sighed. "Just—keep doing whatever unholy method acting this is. Because whatever you three cooked up? That's the first time I've believed Audrey might actually be afraid of Orin. So congratulotions. And keep it in the show!”
Hours pass and they go to the "Suppertime" number with Crope and Boq timing their lines to the music with Elphaba singing in between the orchestral cues. Halfway through, Fiyero notices Elphaba's voice is getting raspier—not the usual gravel of Audrey II's demonic hunger, but something thinner, strained. He waits until the director calls a five-minute break before sidling up behind her, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.
"Hey love...You okay?"
The green girl turned her head slightly, letting Fiyero's fingers linger against her overheated skin. Her throat pulsed faintly where vocal cords strained from hours of growling Audrey II's demands. "Forgot my water bottle," she admitted, voice cracking on the last syllable like dried-out kindling.
He gives her his water bottle.
"Drink," he murmurs, his thumb brushing her wrist as she takes it—a fleeting touch that makes her fingers twitch against the condensation-slick plastic. Elphaba drinks greedily, water spilling down her chin in uncharacteristic clumsiness. The cold shocks her throat after hours of growling Audrey II's insatiable demands.
"Better?" His voice comes out rougher than intended.
Elphaba nods letting the liquid go down her throat. She presses the chilled water bottle against her flushed cheek before handing it back. "Better," she murmurs, but Fiyero catches the wince when she swallows again.
"You know Fae, if this is too much for you tonight, take a break and hydrate," he suggests.
The green girl shakes her head. "I'm alright Yero. Really. Don't worry about me."
The prince's lips thinned unsure. Her voice did sound tired. But he decided not to push it and left her to drink the rest of the water from the bottle.
"Woodsman!" The director calls and the redhead snaps up from his script. "Yes sir?"
"I got a surprise for you." The director's grin was too wide, too sharp—the kind that made his stomach flip like a pancake on a griddle. When the director's excited, it means for Boq to brace himself.
He watched as the director walks offstage only to show up thirty seconds later wearing Seymour's jacket—the same one Boq tried on the other day—but his arms were wrapped around something large and leafy. The director staggered slightly under its weight, the jacket's sleeves stretched tight around whatever he cradled. Boq blinked—once, twice—as realization dawned.
It was Audrey II.
But not Audrey II—not the large monster that Fiyero puppeteers and not the small one that started wilting from the start. This one was medium-sized, complete with a pot underneath. The plant's head is larger than their heads.
Several cast members watching from the wings gasped audibly as the director staggered forward, the plant's vines swaying with each unsteady step. Up close, Boq could see the meticulous craftsmanship—the way the jacket's right sleeve had been stuffed with batting and stitched into a permanent curve around the pot's base, creating the illusion of a supporting arm. The left sleeve hung loose, its cuff secured around Boq's wrist with a hidden Velcro strap.
"Woodsman," the director wheezed, adjusting his grip on the pot with both hands now that he'd reached center stage. The plant's head lolled forward like a drunkard’s. “Meet your new scene partner."
Boq reached out instinctively—then froze when the director twisted the jacket's inner lining. The entire plant jerked to life, its head snapping upright as the hidden mechanism inside the collar whirred. A chorus of shrieks erupted from the wings as Audrey II's maw yawned open unnaturally wide, revealing rows of felt teeth and a very red tongue made of felt.
"Alrighty, so as I mentioned earlier," the director begins explaining as he pantomimes the puppet. "This puppet only appears in 'Ya Never Know' and it's the only scene you'll interact with it. As Seymour, you're going to try to control it but the puppet meanwhile has a mind of its own—hence the jacket." He moves the puppet's head up and down, its lips smacking audibly in agreement. "The right sleeve is stuffed making it look like a real arm. That and your left arm hold the pot, but your right arm controls the head movements."
Boq watched, mesmerized as the director manipulated Audrey II's jaw—first opening wide like a yawning hippo, then snapping shut with a loud clap of felt-on-felt. The sound echoed through the empty theater, making Boq flinch despite himself.
"The trick is to make it look like you're struggling," the director continued, his hands buried deep in the jacket's sleeves as he twisted the inner mechanism. The plant's head lurched violently to one side, making the director stumble a bit. "See? Right now I'm the one controlling it, but the audience thinks you are—and failing miserably."
Boq swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides as if already rehearsing the motions. The director noticed and grinned—that same sharp, unsettling smile.
"Here," he said, shrugging out of the jacket and draping it over Boq's shoulders with surprising gentleness. The plant's pot settled heavily against Boq's hip, its weight unexpected enough to make him stagger.
The director adjusted Boq's stance with clinical precision—positioning his left hand beneath the pot's base, threading his right arm through the stiffened sleeve. "Now remember—you're not just puppeteering," he murmured. "You're also acting like Seymour thinks he's in control but you're also acting like the plant. So you are technically playing two different parts with two different ideas."
Boq swallowed hard, fingers flexing inside the jacket's stiffened sleeve. The pot wobbled against his hip—too heavy (despite it being light), too alive—its vines twining around his wrist like possessive fingers. From the wings, Elphaba watched, her lips pressed thin.
Once his hand reaches the puppet's head inside, he starts to move it. At first, the motions are stiff—awkward jerks that make Audrey II's head loll sideways, but Boq moves the hand again and again, slowly getting the hang of it. The puppet's felt lips smack together as he manipulates the hidden jaw mechanism.
A strange warmth blooms in Boq's chest as the plant's head tilts toward him. The director had been right—there was something unsettlingly alive about the way the puppet's mouth gaped and snapped shut, the way its vines trembled when Boq twisted his wrist just so. He found himself smiling without realizing it.
"Okay, so let's method act this. Ask the puppet any question and make it nod yes or no and then get it bite something or someone. But remember, you're still Seymour," the director said. Boq blinked—then grinned as the challenge clicked into place. He adjusted his grip inside the jacket sleeve, twisting his wrist experimentally until Audrey II's head bobbled like an overripe melon on a stick.
"Is it feeding time?" Boq asked—not even a line from the script but delivered with such earnestness that the director snorted. He jerked his arm sharply, making the puppet's head lurch forward in an enthusiastic nod before snapping its jaws shut with a wet *clap* right next to the director's ear. The director yelped—actually *yelped*—and stumbled back two full steps as laughter erupted from the wings.
Boq's cheeks ached from grinning. He'd never felt this kind of power before—not just controlling the puppet, but becoming it.
"There! Now we're getting it!" the director praises, rubbing his ear where Audrey II's fake teeth had nearly grazed him. Boq adjusted his grip inside the jacket sleeve—not too tight, not too loose—just enough to make the puppet's head sway with unnatural life.
"Alright, ask it something else. Make a conversation and use your words like you're training a puppy," the director said. Boq felt the ridiculousness of the situation—standing there in a stuffed jacket, talking to a felt puppet—but also the thrill of it. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip inside the sleeve.
"Uh. Do you... like sunlight?" Boq asked, then immediately winced at his own lameness. But Audrey II's head bobbed enthusiastically, its vines quivering as if delighted by the question. Boq couldn't help but laugh—a real, surprised sound that made his shoulders shake and the puppet wobble dangerously.
"Careful, you'll decapitate it," the director warned, but he was grinning too.
Boq steadied the plant, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Okay, real question—do you think Galinda's pretty?" Audrey II's felt lips smacked wetly before its head lolled forward in an exaggerated nod that made Boq chuckle. "Of course. Obvious answer." He flicked the vine coiled around his wrist. "But what about Elphaba?" The plant nodded quickly this time, smacking its mouth twice—once for emphasis, once for drama. Boq grinned. "Damn right."
Behind him, Fiyero choked on his water bottle. "Is the puppet flirting with my girlfriend?" he wheezed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
That was when Boq asks the plant with a smirk, "Would you like to bite Fiyero?"
Audrey II's head snapped upright with terrifying enthusiasm—a violent nod that made its felt teeth chatter. Boq's hand makes the puppet head lunge for Fiyero's wrist with startling speed. Fiyero yelped, jerking back so fast he tripped over a stray prop bucket. The metallic clang echoed through the theater as he landed hard on his tailbone, staring up at the puppet with genuine alarm. Other cast members laugh at the sight
"Did it just hiss at me?" Fiyero demanded, scrambling backward on his palms like a crab.
Boq twisted his wrist experimentally, making Audrey II's jaws snap shut inches from Fiyero's retreating toes. "Feed me, Fiyero," he intoned in a guttural growl that was nothing like Elphaba's smooth contralto—more like a drain clog finally giving way. The vines quivered with menacing delight as Boq added, "Feed me all night long."
Elphaba laughs loudly—a rare, unfiltered sound that echoes off the theater's rafters—as Boq manipulates the puppet's jaws dangerously close to Fiyero's ankle. The plant's felt teeth chatter with theatrical menace, its vines twitching like live wires as Boq twists his wrist with newfound confidence.
The redhead moves the puppet away from Fiyero and goes to Galinda and Elphaba who are both loving the entertainment.
"Look at you two!" Galinda squeals, clapping her hands as Boq maneuvers Audrey II in a jerky little dance—the plant's vines flapping wildly as its head bobs in time to some imaginary rhythm. "You're meant for each other." Galinda pets the puppet's head like it's a puppy. Boq makes the puppet look like it's enjoying the touch—tilting its head into her palm with surprising coordination for someone who'd been fumbling with the controls moments ago.
"You're so cute!" The blonde girl squeals as she scratched beneath Audrey II's felt chin like it's a dog.
Boq tells the puppet, "Awww you enjoyed that? You liked terrorizing Fiyero though didn't you?" Audrey II's head wobbles in an exaggerated nod, its felt lips opening and closing as Boq twists his wrist to make its jaw snap shut near Galinda's dangling pearl earring. Galinda shrieks—half-laughing, half-startled—as she bats the puppet's head away with a script rolled into a tube.
"Stop encouraging it!" Fiyero groans from the floor, rubbing his tailbone where he'd landed earlier. But Boq's already pivoting toward Elphaba. "This is Elphaba. She's gonna be your voice," he tells the puppet, bouncing its head enthusiastically. "Say hello to Elphaba. Go on."
Audrey II's mouth opened—once, twice—before the entire puppet lurched forward with alarming enthusiasm. Boq's wrist twisted sharply, making the plant's head tilt at an unnatural angle toward Elphaba. Its vines twitched like eager fingers.
"Say hello," Boq whispered—too low for anyone but Elphaba to hear—before jerking his arm in a quick, exaggerated motion. The puppet is brought close to the green girl and he controls to make it look like it’s giving a closer look at her.
"Hello," Elphaba murmured—not to Boq, but to the puppet. Her thumb stroked the underside of its chin, tracing the rough stitching where its jaw hinged. The motion sent a shudder through the vines wrapped around Boq's forearm.
Then, with the slow precision of a magician revealing a trick, Elphaba tilted her head and pressed her lips to Audrey II's frayed felt mouth making others laugh, some whistling at the sight in front of them. Galinda laughs and Fiyero's eyebrows raised.
Elphaba pulled back first, her mouth quirking at the corner.
"I'm your voice," Elphaba murmured, still holding Audrey II's chin, her thumb stroking the felt seam where jaw met vine. The puppet's mouth hung slack beneath her fingers—parted, waiting. Then Boq twisted his wrist inside the jacket sleeve, and the plant's head jerked forward with startling eagerness, its felt lips pressing clumsily against Elphaba's collarbone nipping softly.
Galinda squeaked. Fiyero's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Boq, caught between panic and delight, yanked the puppet back—but not before Elphaba's startled laughter bubbled up, green fingers tangling in Audrey II's synthetic leaves. "Easy," she chided, though her eyes glittered with something dangerously close to mischief. "Oz, you're better than Fiyero at this."
Fiyero’s jaw opened in mock outrage. “Oh hey now—“
The director who watches the whole thing unfold, leans against the proscenium arch, arms crossed. "Well," he muses, rubbing his chin. "That's certainly one way to establish character motivation." His dry tone barely conceals the amusement flickering behind his glasses.
Boq's cheeks burned crimson beneath the stage lights making him pause on stage—Audrey II's felt mouth still hovering near Elphaba's throat like some deranged suitor. The silence stretched three heartbeats until he broke puppet character and stammered, "I—I didn't mean to—"
Elphaba smiles. "It's alright Boq, I started it." Her fingers linger on the puppet's jawline, tracing the stitches with unexpected tenderness. "And I admit, you're doing a great job."
The silence that follows is broken by the sharp clap of the director's hands. "Right. Now that we've established Audrey II's romantic inclinations—" A ripple of laughter cuts through the tension "—let's get the number ready. Places for 'Ya Never Know.'"