With her back to her old friend Elphaba frowned, fingers searching and finding the deformed tin of tea from its shelf, feeling that dull ache sharpen acutely and dig into her. This was torture, Glinda<em>had</em>to know that.  It was unforgivably painful yet, it was also very much a masochistic pain: the more she heard, the more it hurt but, at the same time, the more she wanted to hear.<br/><br/>"Boq's no good to her... I bet he's still hung up on you. Oh, Nessa..."<br/>She sighed, her dark brows knitting together.<br/><br/><em>//I'm so, so sorry... but I don't expect you to ever forgive me.  It would be better to forget me.//</em><br/><br/>Elphaba approached the low and poor excuse for a hearth and grabbed the black iron rod that hung next to it jabbing at the sooty ashes piled high until the glowing embers began to sleepily peer out from their ashen bed. At the mention of Glinda and Fiyero Elphaba's hand slipped and the kettle of water came tumbling down onto the poor fetal embers, aborting the poor coals in a wave of icy water and smoke. Elphaba cursed and jumped back to avoid the splash, waving the curling smoke and soot away.  She stood there, stunned for a moment - they were going to get married?  Oh, she knew this already - she had heard all of the grand and fantastic celebrations about it - but to hear the news firsthand from one half of the pairing...<br/>A new and queer sensation arose from it's deep slumber with-in her breast, yawned a great yawn, and began to methodically gnaw at her innards as its first duty.<br/><br/>"Congratulations."<br/>She stooped and retrieved her fallen kettle.<br/><br/>"Oh, well... future congratulations. When is the big day?"<br/>She spoke with a casual air - perhaps a little too casual and mechanical for how she had been acting before as she cleaned the soiled kettle, not looking anywhere in the general direction her golden-haloed companion.