[Welcome to the last installment of Under Your Spell. A lot of you reacted really positively to the Elphaboq chapter, which was very kind of you, since I was worried about how that would go down. Thank you again, and enjoy some Elpharic!]
Avaric had never commited to any one thing, and he didn't suppose he ever would. Many would agree with him, some more strongly than others. He was careless and artless, rude yet urbane, devilishly handsome and a pig.
But he had himself a little fascination with the third heir apparent of the Charmed Circle, as repulsively green as she was. Yet there was a curious attraction to her too, a draw that slowly pulled you in, even if she was telling you in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. She didn't shy away from debate, and wouldn't take bullying or teasing lying down. That was what made her really interesting; she would verbally spar with anyone. Although Avaric wouldn't put physical sparring past her.
Yes, Avaric had a little crush on Elphaba, Third Thropp Descending of Munchkinland.
Of course, he hadn't meant for it to happen. But she was so passionate when he was so passionless. She had values and ideas, while he had his looks and a wealthy father. He supposed she could be rich, if her father wasn't so religious, like her irritatingly pious sister, Nessarose.
There was a girl who could be beautiful and charming if she wasn't so damned devoted to her faith. Church was her favourite place, and despite her lack of arms, Avaric could tolerate her. On a good day. When she was quiet, and didn't rant about the Unnamed God and damnation and evil.
Elphaba had no such religious zeal, but she indulged her sister when she could. Avaric had never understood those two, those broken sisters. One green, one armless.
She was a challenger, and wouldn't stand for Avaric badmouthing anyone, despite their connection to her. Like when Fiyero had first arrived, and Avaric had made a completely harmless comment on the funny shade of skin he possessed, and Elphaba had jumped right in and called his opinion - and he quoted - 'shitty'.
Elphaba was a firebrand, no doubt about it.
She was probably fantastically fiery in bed, and it gave Avaric a lot of self-important pleasure to imagine her writhing under him in ecstasy. Her body wasn't bad, if a little too skinny for his tastes. Her skin wasn't as repulsive as he made out. It was actually rather entrancing, especially whenever she moved. But when she was still, there was still a fluidity and moving quality to her body, as if she was restless.
Her face also was manageable, in regards to beauty. Not pretty, like Galinda (now there was a lady, if ever Avaric had seen one), but curious. Elphaba's brand of beauty lay in her eyes and lips. The colour of her eyes was a deep, coffee brown, rich and mature, while her thin, pretty lips were very dark against her skin, almost black in hue. Her tongue was almost as dark, Avaric had noticed, although there was the tell-tale hint of redness in her gums and the muscle.
Avaric put a stop to that train of thought, knowing it would barrel towards a wildly unrealistic scene of passion, starring him and Elphaba.
He couldn't seem to desist in his attention to her. Despite the many, varied other girls who were perfectly happy to entertain him, and who had perfectly normal features.
But Avaric didn't seem to want normal.
He wanted, desired, wished for, yearned for, a peculiar, fiery green woman.
Doomed. Avarirc was irrevocably doomed.
[Here it ends! Thank you to all who have reviewed, followed and favourited; you make my day. Avaric was quite infuriating to write, as fun as it was. He's so rude and inconsiderate. I had to keep referring back to himself (since it is his thoughts) because of his self-importance. Well, I only hope it was successful. Review please!]