The Road Out of Oz Ain't Paved in Gold

The Road Out of Oz Ain't Paved in Gold is an Original Character-oriented fan fiction written by Jade Encrusted Bugs.

Summary
Quite literally written from the first-person perspective of Cora Chopper, daughter of the Tin Woodman from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This story details Cora's perspective on the events of Legacy Day, her trials and tribulations face through both friends and enemies, and how a certain someone's pledge impacted both her as well as those around her. If follows both the canon of the webisode as well as distinctly referencing certain details from Shannon Hale's Storybook of Legends, blending them both to tell a story in from her distinctive point of view.

Cast in order of narration and appearance

 * Cora Chopper
 * C.J. Wogglebug, son of H.M. Wogglebug, T.E. and owned (slightly amusing coincidential) by Bug.
 * Barley, sucessor of the Scarecrow.
 * Simba Corvade, son of the Cowardly Lion. Used with the permission of his lovely owner, Di~
 * Nikole Chopper, daughter of the Tin Woodman and Cora's adoptive sister. Her lovely owner, Max, has allowed me to use her with her permission~
 * Blanchard Lunaire, son of Pierrot, owned by me and mentioned without a name as the guyliner-wearing boy who nearly fainted.*
 * Victoria Testudo, daughter of the Tortoise, owned by me and mentioned namelessly as a cute plus-sized girl with green hair cut in the style of a bob.*

I
My father, ruler of the Winkies and Emperor of the West, means the world to me. Really, you have no idea. BUT – and pretending that witch girl didn't botch her pledge –  if it turned out I'd take his place instead of Niki? I don't think I'd have the heart to go through all that. I mean who wants to get chopped up in a million pieces and wind up as a hunk of metal? I mean no offense to Dad, but no other Ozian would wish that on their kid. I mean no offense to Dad, but no other Ozian would wish that on their kid. And what if I'm not spell-over-heels over that Munchkin guy (or girl) or whatever? I mean hex, I don't even like guys that way.

Yeah-yeah, don't get me started on the heart puns. Seriously dude. You came here, looking for a story instead of some musty old journal entry thing, and I'm like writing on about a bunch of crap that's bogging down your reading time. I know like isn't a comma now shuttup. Honestly I don't think anyone'll read this. Maybe in a thousand years some poor sap with nothing else to do will stumble on it and make a drinking game out of every bad usage of 2nd person narrative.

But I don't care about him. Or her. Non-binary? Dunno man. But really, let's just get on with the thing because I'm seriously starting to annoy myself.

II
So the morning of Legacy Day. Okay what is narrating. Have a colon because I'm bad at this intro stuff:

"Ah yes, how honored I am to finally display my preeminence!" said an over-sized tapeworm as he started trying on some blue swallow-tail coat. The other Ozian students were flooding the dungeons with our forerunners' outfits and stuff, and all that obnoxious termite could do was show off his dad's tacky clothes.

Okay fine, the dude has a name. A stupid name, but some parents are so stuck up they forget they probed their kid's namesake out where the sun don't shine: C.J. Wogglebug.

First bit? Stands for Colossally Jumbo-fied. Get it? He's a large-ass bug with a big ego. He doesn't get the T.E. bit til he graduates because like any Highly Magnified Wogglebug, he can't be Thoroughly Educated until he drags his feet across The System like the bloated ant he is.

Kay, let's move it:

Somewhere during all that blabbing he was all "Now, dearest Persephone, your precursor's attire seems quite a bit, ahem, quaint. How have you prepared yourself for such a momentous occasion?"

Sweet. Emerald. Ozma. How I hate it when he calls me that. But as insufferable of a douche he is, C.J. was right. The only clothes I had were my dad's old work garb from when he was still a Munchkin. The rest were all heirlooms: A tin funnel hat, two axes (one golden-handled, the other wood), the whistle he used to summon the Queen Of The Field Mice, and a diamond necklace-turned bracelets he modified after getting it from the Jackdaw's nest.

Not a whole lot, and he just had to point it out.

"Well, can't wear much when you turn to tin. Sides, Nikole and me got dresses. She has them back in her dorm." I slipped on one of the bracelets, and it kind of looked good over the tin one I wore now that I think back on it.

I thought it would shut him up, but he only dug himself deeper when he shook his head a like my answer wasn't good enough. "I see, I see. Now, which of you young ladies are to wear such, erm, humble garments?"

I swear, if his brains are big as the Scarecrow's are then I'm betting that head of his is full of hot air. But anyway, I kept it short and sweet: "We're sharing. It's a 50/50 chance."

"Oh, but is it conclusive that there is nothing that tips the scale against your odds? After all, do keep in mind of your, say, menial origins."

Some Munchkin kids looked over at us and I wanted to chop that sneer off his damn face.

Okay, context: I'm adopted. Same as sis, but she's a Winkie. I'm a Tottenhot. Flip around the t and h and you'll enter a realm of outdated pigeonholeing made by some feminist white dude who thought'd it'd be funny to write some unrepresented group like fun-loving imps at best and inferior pests at worst. Not even kidding.

Like, people who don't read the books don't know we exist. People who read passed the 7th don't want us to exist. And maybe for nonfiction-goers, it's kind of justified. And some people in the books, like a certain swollen Wogglebug's son, turn me into a pariah just because they put Baum on a pedestal thinking since he's dead that means he did nothing wrong in writing us a certain way.

Okay, the anvil's been dropped. Let's get things rolling:

"You know, I'm pretty good with an ax." I made sure to grip both handles when holding the rest of my dad's stuff. His gracious little smile was returned by the one-and-only-me and C.J.'s beady eyes widened in satisfying horror.

"Why, how uncivilized! For a having a father with such kind heart, you bear quite a few axes to grind."

I narrowed my eyes on the blade of the wooden-handled hatchet. "Ugh. No puns, please."

Maybe, just maybe he'd get the memo that I wanted nothing to do with him and his so-called educated jokes. But like any inflated maggot, he didn't.

"Now, Persephone-"

"It's Cora, you Colossal Ja-"

"HeeeEEEEE-Lookitmelookitme! I have a shiny!" shouted the happiest sack of hay I ever met when pointing at some golden, emerald-studded crown of his. To be honest, it looked real goofy with all that straw on his head. And (un)fortunately he saved C.J.'s life. Dude was one dig away from getting his exoskeleton smashed like a pumpkin carriage when it spoils after midnight.

Oh yeah, his name's Barley. Next Scarecrow of Oz and all that hocus-pocus. I wasn't surprised that the dude wasn't made by the last one. Like honestly he acts more like Jack Pumpkinhead than him. Wow look at that pumpkin redundancy let's move on.

But yeah. And the Almost Thoroughly Educated Bigot just had to pretend he wasn't being a prick as he marveled the thing:

"Such wondrous coronal regalia!" I doubted Barley knew what he meant, but it was the same crown the Scarecrow wore when made ruler of Oz. Not that he stayed king, but not everyone passed the first book.

Oblivious, he bought the flattery. "Thaaaankyou~" He bowed at us before that heavy hunk of metal fell off his bushy straw head. C.J. caught it quick.

"Now-now, fair mommet, do be more vigilant in that brainless state of mind of yours." The bloated bug's sympathy sounded all fake, but Barley got his crown back with an inattentive smile. Makes me cringe, how Barley goes on like he never heard a jab in his life.

"Soooooo, scarebro," I trailed. Seriously man, I think Simba's lingo rubbed off on me or something. "need help getting a tux? Or maybe another overcoat. Kind of hard wearing a flying monkey-suit over those duds, mm?"

Barley glanced down his blue button-up shirt and pants like he thought of a suit made of actual winged monkeys. "Uuuh, nah! My dad sent me a spiffy riding coat made by a tailor with nine lives. And a matching scarf! Wanna see?"

I shrugged. "Eh, should get going. Niki's waiting for our stuff."

Okay. So she had all the time in the world and me too. But I didn't want to stick around with that creepy-crawly watching us like a killer bee.

And of course, speak of the Wicked: "Very well then, I assure you both that we shall bask in our finery this evening." He tipped his head at Barley and saved an enchanting little scowl just for me. I just gripped my ax handles and shot him a raspberry.

Yawning, I uncurled some fingers to wave or something. Probably didn't look it, but yeah. "Kay. See ya Barley."

And so we parted and stuff, and somehow my writing got 20% less bad. Well actually not really. but let's get a move on:

So I got to my sister's dorm and it looked like her roomie left to get her parent's legacy outfit. Good thing too, because Great Oz I hate early mornings. Nik's emerald green eyes lit up when she saw Dad's stuff, but I knew the whole Legacy thing hit her nerves like they did me. Arranging it all on the middle of her bed, I just slumped on the edge right next to the pile.

"Saw C.J. again or are you still tired?"

"Yep."

"Hm?"

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Both."

Nikole pursed her lips. "Bleh. He just doesn't know a great sis when he sees one." Her smile came back and she ruffled my hair.

"Hey!" I reached to guard it playfully and red strands started sticking up in uneven places. Not a big deal, I just fixed it up later. A million giggles and a ticklefight later and we started sorting out the garb.

I handed her a bracelet as I showed off my own. "I think Dad didn't want us feeling bad over one of us not wearing his necklace." Niki nodded while grinning. Dad always worried about picking favorites on accident. We both kind of agree he does a wicked good job at being equal with us, though. No sister rivalries or all that jazz. We're pretty tight to be honest.

So the stuff was divided: I got the funnel hat since it fit better over my hair. Because I used to try to blow the damn thing as a kid half the time, Nikole got the whistle. The lumberjack stuff was split even, but honestly none of us wore it that night and we weren't going to march up the podium looking like that. I took my dress and she got hers, and when we said our goodbyes I went to sleep until my afternoon courses started up.

Maybe my counselor won't have me make up for my evening class. School ended early so we could prepare, and it's bad enough that I'm kind of supposed to be nocturnal.

III
We brought Dad's axes with us, but I got Niki to bring bug spray in case she got seated near that know-it-all of a tick. Baba Yaga caught us and confiscated the thing (and herded us like cattle at our seats), but at least C.J. wasn't near her by a long shot.

The blades were bound with leather for everyone else's sake. Or just Simba's. I mean, his dad wasn't the cowardly lion for nothing. My sis was spaced between Barley and the lion-dude in question. I just got sandwiched between the haysack and some guy I wish I don't remember.

I could feel his excitement. Like, almost literally. Dude was shaking and grinning and I was thinking I should either just tell him good luck or calm it down a spell. But I gotta say: His riding coat looked hella.

Instead we faced each other and smiled and stuff. Or I tried to, but honestly I was kind of nervous and my nighttime energy did nothing to help. Some minutes passed by and The Man droned his speech. Ceremony started, people signed pledges, blahblahblah, some dude in guyliner almost fainted on stage, more signing, yadayada okay yeah you get the point now lets get to the buildup:

"Who is she?" Barley whispered and pointed out some girl in kickass getup. Not just any girl in kickass getup, but Legacy Day drama aside? I still don't get the big deal with said girl's story.

"That Evil Queen kid from Snow White. Or will be, dunno."

He nodded, but  he had more to ask: "She has silver on her shoes, does she?"

Fun fact: Witches in Oz wear silver shoes. Some say it's red, but it kinda got lost in translation somehow. Guess I'll have to tell him that witches here aren't like the ones at home, but...

I caught a glimpse of them as she walked to the podium: "Yeah, sort of."

"That means she's a witch."

His voice was low. Almost didn't sound like the Barley I knew. It wasn't viscous or somesuch, just kind of scared and grave and all. Guess her not wearing white made him know she was evil, and we all know there are Wicked Witches in our story. Or think. I honestly don't know anymore. Just another reason why he needs to know not everything's color coded here.

Kay now, fables and gentle-tales. A little fast-forward because here's the bit where things gets heated:

“I am Raven Queen, and I’m going to write my own destiny. My Happily Ever After starts now!"

Okay, pause. I know I kind of spoiled it at the beginning. Don't even whine dude, seriously. I bet one day this whole thing'll be like some literary classic where the book foreword spoils the whole plot before you know it. Maybe that someday is now. Or some spineless insect will find my journal the next day and rip the stupid journal apart and I'll get to use Dad's ax on something worthwhile for once. But I don't care if you're C.J. or not, and if you are then you can seriously suck it. You really deserve it man. You have like no consideration for people and you're such a total prick and UGH.

But yeah. Let's just pretend that the text-bomb above was filler for when the mirror-shattering and Raven freezing us(? Okay I have no clue what happened but she was like "hold EVERYTHING" and then I dunno I'm bad with details). Now back to the scene:

Blinking. Pretty shocked. And I bet you I made the most out-of-character grin a Tin Woodman's daughter that isn't Niki could make. I heard some gasps here and there and booing from a bunch of princes and stuff because yeah, like anyone thinks a bunch of bluebloods will be hunky dory after all that.

Okay, I'm kind of a hypocrite. I mean by Oz standards I'm am a princess. But I'm no Glinda let alone the next Ozma. Like, nearly no one outside the place thinks some guy made of tin = Emperor of anything. And some people in Oz don't want me as a princess, and they can suck it like C.J. should. But now I'm dropping anvils again and you didn't come here to get a moral drilled down your throat:

"Wh-what? What did she just do?"

Remember the last bit where I said Barley didn't sound the same? He still doesn't here. I don't know why but it's just jarring when he's not all cheery and happy and stuff. Like when he's happy, he's happy. And when he's confused or sad, he's really confused or sad. Like not in a you-need-to-take-stuff-for-your-mood-swings way, it's just...

Okay moving on because I'm not good at all in this explaining stuff. I'm bogging you down and you know it:

So I turned to him, being all "Dude, just look. We can do whatever we want!"

Yeah, I was pretty happy about the thing. I still am kind of and I'm smiling some as I write. We didn't go poof or anything like the Headmaster said, and that's all I cared about right then.

His frown grew bigger.

"I, but, b-but I..." and he just kept mumbling "but" and "I" like a broken phonograph player. He just kept staring blankly, button eyes and all. I was waving my hands in front of him like it'd break him out of his trance.

"Barley? Scarebro? Dude. Barley!" I kept shouting over the ruckus all around. I swear the whole place was like a madhouse that night and I just shook his shoulders because this was just not like him.

"I-I, I don't wanna stay in the field! I just can't! Why did she do that!? I can't stay, I can't stay, I CAN'T stay!"

I'll never forget how broken he sounded. Just. Completely broken. And I know me getting it all down will never describe that feeling, but that's exactly what he sounded like. And if I knew he'd have said it that night I would have given him the biggest hug and got him out of there like I should have.

Cue gawking: "Wait, what?"

Yeah, I'm that person. I'm the idiot who can't tell when their friend's having a mental breakdown. I'm a big, fat, piece of flying monkey turd who didn't connect the dots when the picture was right in front of my face until that douchebag who sat next to me grabbed Barley and pulled him away.

Oh. Did I forget to say that was C.J.? Yeah, that's why I don't want to remember him. He's a leech with arms and drains everything he talks to.

So our friendly neighborhood hay-man was flailing and I was like "Hey!" and I tried chasing after the two but I lost them in the crowd. Commoners and royalty were flooding inside the building, and I just wanted to scream and cry and tell a bug off because everyone was yelling and excited and angry I'm just the worst friend ever.

And I could jot down the rest but I just don't feel like it. Really, everything else was a blur. I didn't see Barley for the rest of the night, not even at that stupid dance. Saw a cute girl there though, had a pudge to her and a pretty green bob. I wasn't in the mood and she kept to herself, so I didn't ask her to dance or nothing.

IV
So here I am, huddled under bed covers with a light on, trying not to piss off my roommate, rereading everything, crossing stuff off, and I'm still thinking over what in Ozma's name just happened. Everything passed Raven's not-pledge was just so unreal. I don't even remember where Niki or Simba went or even why I even felt happy then in the first place.

Maybe it was because it meant something to me? Or something? Like, if she didn't disappear, then maybe she doesn't have to be an Evil Queen and all that. Maybe I don't have to feel like I need to lose my own heart just to get from some closed-minded Ozians the respect I deserve.

Maybe I don't have to wonder if I'm going through some form of internalized hate just because I hate how the Authors That Be wrote about us.

I mean, it's not like I'd change who I am because of it, so that can't be it. And if anyone can flip the script, then that means we don't have to act like some outdated cliche, right? And nothing that people dictate has no power over me. No power over anyone.

Not even Barley.

Maybe he was afraid. Spur-of-the-moment and all that. I honestly feel bad for the guy, more now than I do ever. But I don't know how he came to be or just what his home life is like. His dad could be some creepy old pyro who lights him on fire, puts it out before he's a gonner, and stitches him back up for lulz and repeats the process over and over for all I know.

I don't want all that pressure. I don't want to choose between fame at a price and a simple life with a side serving of unfortunate implications, and Niki shouldn't either. I don't want Simba to be laughed at just because he's supposed to get jumpy over a few scares. And I don't want Barley to feel miserable because of all that.

Okay my hand is getting cramped. I'm not even tired and I want to forget all that happened. Maybe the status quo will return and I can just pretend I don't care about anything. I could just force myself not to think about the bigger questions and move on with life. Maybe I'll turn to tin. Maybe I'll live in the Tottenhot village where my father brought me when first abandoned.

But after tonight, I doubt anything'll be the same again.

Random Trivia

 * "Mommet" is slang for scarecrow in Sommerset, England, which in itself is another form of the word mammet. What that means: False god or idol. C.J. may or may not have used its double meaning as a means to jab at Barley without notice by subtly refering to how the original Scarecrow has lost his title as the ruler of Oz after the original book.
 * More to come later~

External link
The Road to Oz on Deviant art