Disclaimer: For all those who shall read this Fan fic, I did not create any (except for a few minor characters) of these people in this story, nearly all of them have some tie to the Frank L. Baum original story and/or Wicked in both book and Broadway Musical form. I take NO credit for their creation, nor do I take any credit for the world or the places put together by the original creators of these two stories. Like you, I'm here to enjoy the story and add my small ideas to make the wonderful world of Oz slightly more colored. So sit back,

Tik-Tock 1

In the years that followed, five to be exact, since the melting of the unspoken "You-know-who" and the quiet discreet disappearance of the Wizard from Oz, things somehow remained much like they were before. There were few minor changes brought about by the revered Glinda the Good, but being Good had it's limitations and with the avid froth still seething from the Wicked Witch Sisters Demise Day, (fully instated without the consent of Glinda) the swelling emotions reached a new tizzy every year. Glinda had tried, really she had but, finding the right opening to even remotely suggest that the Wicked Witch, wasn't really all that wicked had refused to appear.

Even now, on the fifth annual reenactment of the "Great Melting," Ozians from all over were coagulating in the streets in front of the now historic property Emerald Palace (the head curator who kept in working order was Glinda, naturally.) From high above in one of the many balconies, Glinda leaned on her elbow, surveying the masses cheer in the bloodlust of spectacles to come. The really was nothing Good about the day… and Glinda had to find some way of neutralizing it and at the same time pacify all of Oz's demands for a well needed holiday.

Most of this is my fault anyway. Oh… being Good officially is confustible! Not to mentions stressful! This horridable holiday gives my the hee-bee-gee-bees. And, she added with a quick peek in the little mirror in her hand, wrinkles! Oh dear. Everyone gets so into this thing. Even Lion and Tinman come annually to tell the story over and over and over again…they only seem to make things worse…

Idly she waved her wand back and forth changing the colored garland draped from the balcony into different colors as she thought. A thought struck her, turning the garland a bright yellow.

Maybe that's where I'll start. I'll just ask dear Mr. Lion and Tinman to... go easy on the story telling from here on, such gory details! 'Her screams gurgled as she sunk into the floor,' after all there are children present. With a flip-flip of her head Glinda swished into her quarters and rang for one of the guards.

"Yes, Glinda the most Good?" He asked tapping his spear firmly on the ground.

"When our Beloved Heroes get here, please send them to me. I have a favor to ask them, to make this festival even more special. Thank you." With a coy smile she glided forward making sure that her point was taken and understood.

"No, Thank You, most Good of all Goodness!" He said before turning on his heel and marching from the room. Glinda rolled her eyes. That was too much, even for her. She needed a vacation, a real one. When someone as perfect as her is sick of her perfectness, it's time to go on a trip.

"Another year another festival, I sure wonder where Scarecrow ran off to after getting his brains and all." Lion said walking along the road towards Emerald City.

"Probably to do all the things he wanted to I guess. He's the smart one." Tinman said lamentably remembering the effect that all the screaming had done to his built in echo chamber down below.

"You mean you don't like the honor and glory of hero worship? The people of Oz love us more than the wizard now. I kind of like all the attention." Lion said with a shrug.

"I was always a bit of a party pooper, Lion. That's why…"

She never loved me, was what he thought.

"I don't care much for big celebrations." Was what he said. Lion rambled on about Glory and how being King of the Beasts is such a great job, except for the Health Insurance Coverage. Tinman half listened, his mind was reliving it all. He did every year.

The chill that ran through my veins, that shrinking feeling in my chest. Then, everything was cold…I'm not Boq anymore, I'm the Tinman. Glinda doesn't even know. I can't bear the shame of telling her. She thinks I just left after Nessa died. Just disappeared. She never came to the witch-hunt, nor did Elphaba tell her about her mistake… too proud I guess.

Suddenly as if jarred by out of a dream the Lion tackled him on the side of the road and the squeal of wagons brakes screeched as the Tinman went tumbling.

"What the-" Tinman said trying to get up, with little success.

"I'm so sorry!" Gentle but playful voice said nearby, "I just thought that I would never catch up to you two!"

"Yes, I'm the Tinman, and yes, he is the Lion. Yes, we really did assist in the demise of the Wicked Witch of the West, and yes, we will sign your broomstick." Tinman said boredly struggling harder to get up.

"Oh no, it's not that." The voice was at his ear now, if his neck wasn't so rusty he could take a peek! He felt some supporting arms lift him gently to his feet. He turned quickly and came face to face, nose to nose with the most interesting looking person.

Her eyes, almond shape, had each decided upon what color they would be, one choose a yummy raspberry color, the other a teal green. Her clothes were colored similarly and tiny bells hung from the ends of her frock, and a scruffy looking neckerchief tied securely around her neck. She looked like a patchwork of patterns and shapes, her shoddy shabby dress was well worn, but looked a lot more comfortable than his body of tin. It was her skin that intrigued him, it was tannish but with a slight hint of that raspberry shade again.

She smiled, and was indeed quite beautiful, though Tinman still only had eyes for one Good Witch and only experienced the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

"Well hi again!" She said her cheeks blushing a riper raspberry.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met. Unless I signed your broomstick from last year's festival and have forgotten. I do apologize." The Tinman said numbly going through his quick apology for fans he had forgotten. Her face fell, as he expected it should, but not with disappointment, in fact, her face looked so sad that it made him feel very uncomfortable.

"My mistake, I thought that you would… never mind. Do you want a ride?" The raspberry growing riper with every extra second she stood there her smile draining away like sand through a sieve.

"Much obliged, I think that tumble did a number on my joints. They don't make me like they used to." The Tinman said trying to cheer her up. Suddenly, it was like someone had flipped a switch, she grinned and spun around on her toes, bells tinkling after her.

"Come on then! We don't want to be late to the festival! Do we?" And with that she loaded the lion into the back of her wooden wagon with its red-shingled roof and hoisted the Tinman into the driver's seat beside the reins.

"Nick Nick." She clucked through her teeth giving the reins a gentle flick. The wagon lurched off to a slow but comfortable pace. Out of the corner of his eye (his neck really was dented) he saw her take a long glance, almost like someone looking over an old cover on a book. She said nothing for a long time. Her gentle sighs floated past every now and again, but for someone as jovial as she looked, she seemed strangely, almost uncharacteristically somber.

The Tinman had always preferred silence to conversation, but there were things wandering around just inside him waiting to be let out. For the first time he felt like making useless banter. After another ten minutes of silence, it became unbearable.

"I'm called Nimmie Amee." She said abruptly peering over her shoulder looking for something the Tinman couldn't decipher.

"I'm Tinman…Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Amee." He replied rather stiffly.

She chuckled lightly. "I always liked it when you said that. But really, I'm just Nimmie to my friends."

Tinman was more than lightly puzzled at her reply but seeing as how he couldn't think up a way to reply he changed the subject.

"You are here for the festival, you said?"

"Yeah, I'm a Quadling Gypsy. The caravan arrived in the Emerald City two days ago. I'm late. I had other things that were a little more important to attend to. So I'll probably have quite a bit of work ahead of me once I reach the city. My father will be sure to have lined up a good many things for me to do."

"What do you do exactly? If you don't mind me asking." Tinman said trying to be polite.

"I sing, I dance, I tell stories…I tell jokes. I'm an entertainer," her head lowered slightly, "little more than a clown." An awkward pause ensued.

"It's an honest living. I can bear to look at myself every morning and that's what counts." Nimmie continued quickly, tossing her long strawberry blonde braid.

"Sounds nice enough." Tinman said with a casual nod.

I wish I could do that.

"It is." Nimmie replied and turned as a furry head poked itself out of the window behind the driver's bench.

"And this, is my accomplice, I call her Jester." Nimmie said scooping up a small motley bundle of fur, colored orange, black, white, tan and gray. The kitten looked back at Tinman with it's golden, saucer round eyes and mewed an introductory greeting.

"You always did like cats. You said they were clean and quiet." Nimmie said abruptly.

"I did?"

Nimmie nodded, "You told me so."

"I did."

"Certainly."

"When?"

"Not recently."

The Tinman found this quirky wagon driver strangely charismatic and said with a chuckle, "How do you know that my opinion on the feline species hasn't changed since then."

Without batting an eyelash for pity Nimmie replied, "Because you're the Tinman, you never change." As you can imagine, stuff got pretty quiet for the rest of the trip, with only Jester's soothing purr disturbing the silence.