FIC: What the Body Knows (Sally-Anne Perks)
Title: What the Body Knows
Character: Sally-Anne Perks
Prompt: in the room where women come and go
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1052
Summary: Sally-Anne is on a visit to the place where she thought only women came and went.
Author's Notes: Elusive mentions of sex. I don't have a beta, but I tried to go over it and smooth it out as much as I could.
Blue eyes that melted into diamonds when they cried--uncut, pure, and more dazzling than the ordinary façade--peered tentatively around the room; in the way that Sally-Anne had each foot slipped tightly into sandals, each hand draped queenly on chair arms, one thing was clear: with all the restraint her small body could muster (taken from the tips of her porcelain-painted toes and up to the ribbon that kept hair wrought of thunderstorms and determination from blurring her vision) she was trying remain in her seat.
One hand flipped impatiently in her lap, rolling the straps of her purse between the fingers like a security blanket. (Made of plastic and mass-produced, the sort of comfort no one benefited from, like smoking to relieve stress and only dying too soon to know true relaxation.)
There were the witches here, those who came with a friend whispering in their ear--something about how nothing was wrong, or that something was good. They held hands and chair arms, and smiled and flipped through the pages of the newest Witch Weekly they had picked up from the table. They passed their glances from the locked windows, over the young girl nibbling on her bottom lip, and back to their companion without thinking anything of being trapped, caged, kept in a body that knew nothing of the natural and everything of the fabricated.
Their eyes betrayed the secrets of bought laughter and magical beauty, tied up in potion bottles and exploding charms. They knew nothing of what bodies knew, of the way breath hitched and desire took control--of the way that knew possession and ownership and breathing wilderness and freedom and sweat--of the way that knew--
Sally-Anne drew breath from the outside, strained it through her body slowly, hesitantly, as it entered into foreign land where all there was left was magic and desire and fear. This was all there was to ordinary in a bundle of thunderstorms and waterfalls caged into the mortal magic of a young girl.
“Is it--is it hot in there? Will it hurt, do you think?” Sally-Anne tugged on her neckline, dainty fingers scratching against peach skin.
When the woman beside her chuckled, bosom filled to brim with laughter and overexerted with seven children, Sally-Anne felt air--river water, flying doves, serenity--and it dipped into her pores like rivulets filling tiny water wells. “No, dear. I’ve been here plenty of times and they won’t do a thing to you, though they haven’t seemed to find anything strong enough for me yet.” She patted her stomach and whispered, excitedly even, “Arthur and I just can’t help it, we needed another one.”
“Oh. But--” Sally-Anne gulped air-acid, methane, confinement-and warily looked to the one door at the end of the hall. “But, we--I--I don’t want… I’m really just here for curiosity’s sake.” She smiled weakly, stood on shaky feet that teased lightning and tangled her steps like tree roots, and made way for the outside--salvation--safety. She didn’t need to do it, it was just--
“Sally-Anne Perks.”
There was the faux friend, the hand stretched and dangling, bridges crossed from the old world to the new, engraving shaky images into Sally-Anne’s tiny palms where they were suspended on her hips to keep mountains from toppling over.
“You’ll be alright dear, just go in.” The woman with unruly red hair was the type of Celtic queens, and knew the way of protections and warmth. She exhaled strength and breathed in compassion, soothed wounds. “Go on, or you’ll end up like me.”
“Sally-Anne?”
Sally-Anne, crossing her limbs along her frame, took fawn steps toward the woman. Sally-Anne paid close attention to detail, the way her smile tilted toward the left and how her split ends broke at her ear, that the colour of the crossed wands along her chest were silver and blue. Soothing and warmth, yet Sally-Anne was shivering. “It’s not going to hurt, is it?”
Her smile tilted to the left when she said, “No, of course not. Why are you here?” Her clipboard floated in front of her--a quill scribbling along the page. It filled in how Sally-Anne looked and the way she shook, the way her feet tripped over themselves and how her hand trembled when she raised it to her face, brushing thunderous curls away.
“It’s personal.”
There was that weak smile again. Thin, unnatural, centipede feet and untrustworthy, it slid while she lead Sally-Anne along the hallway and into a room. “I need to be able to tell the healer why you’ve come here.”
Climbing into the robotic chair, the chains were plastic sliding beneath Sally-Anne when they squealed in a way you’d never hear in the countryside or beneath trees birthing fruit. In a small voice, shaking, full of tremors: “Well I--well, we really--we just wanted to be together. And, he’s a Muggle, you see. But I’d rather be sure that--well--” Sally-Anne’s hand rolled over her stomach and sheltered it with her purse, shaking. “We just don’t want anything to show for it. So if I could… I’m not ready to take care of-- I’d like some protection.”
And then there was the unnatural, the unkind, the way her eyes glistened with thoughts of Muggle needles and pink packages with little pills in them for each day of the month--and the way the clipboard tilted up when it decoded the rest. The way her hand, curled yet grasping nothing, covered her centipede smile. “I see. Your healer will be with you in only a few minutes.”
Pulling her wand from her purse, Sally-Anne examined it--gently, as though she knew it as well as some people. It showed life; it knew like the body did, though the mind could never work it out. She was about to bring it up, and spin it down, mumbling her favourite words and favourite spells that brought pictures of forests and rivers--
“I wouldn’t recommend that, it might mess up the process.” His wands were larger, crossed over and emblazoned, and his smile was more like chocolate than centipedes. “So I heard you would like some protection from pregnancy?”
Sally-Anne bit her tongue, and blood dribbled along her teeth. “You’re a--a man.”
It wasn't natural.
Character: Sally-Anne Perks
Prompt: in the room where women come and go
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1052
Summary: Sally-Anne is on a visit to the place where she thought only women came and went.
Author's Notes: Elusive mentions of sex. I don't have a beta, but I tried to go over it and smooth it out as much as I could.
Blue eyes that melted into diamonds when they cried--uncut, pure, and more dazzling than the ordinary façade--peered tentatively around the room; in the way that Sally-Anne had each foot slipped tightly into sandals, each hand draped queenly on chair arms, one thing was clear: with all the restraint her small body could muster (taken from the tips of her porcelain-painted toes and up to the ribbon that kept hair wrought of thunderstorms and determination from blurring her vision) she was trying remain in her seat.
One hand flipped impatiently in her lap, rolling the straps of her purse between the fingers like a security blanket. (Made of plastic and mass-produced, the sort of comfort no one benefited from, like smoking to relieve stress and only dying too soon to know true relaxation.)
There were the witches here, those who came with a friend whispering in their ear--something about how nothing was wrong, or that something was good. They held hands and chair arms, and smiled and flipped through the pages of the newest Witch Weekly they had picked up from the table. They passed their glances from the locked windows, over the young girl nibbling on her bottom lip, and back to their companion without thinking anything of being trapped, caged, kept in a body that knew nothing of the natural and everything of the fabricated.
Their eyes betrayed the secrets of bought laughter and magical beauty, tied up in potion bottles and exploding charms. They knew nothing of what bodies knew, of the way breath hitched and desire took control--of the way that knew possession and ownership and breathing wilderness and freedom and sweat--of the way that knew--
Sally-Anne drew breath from the outside, strained it through her body slowly, hesitantly, as it entered into foreign land where all there was left was magic and desire and fear. This was all there was to ordinary in a bundle of thunderstorms and waterfalls caged into the mortal magic of a young girl.
“Is it--is it hot in there? Will it hurt, do you think?” Sally-Anne tugged on her neckline, dainty fingers scratching against peach skin.
When the woman beside her chuckled, bosom filled to brim with laughter and overexerted with seven children, Sally-Anne felt air--river water, flying doves, serenity--and it dipped into her pores like rivulets filling tiny water wells. “No, dear. I’ve been here plenty of times and they won’t do a thing to you, though they haven’t seemed to find anything strong enough for me yet.” She patted her stomach and whispered, excitedly even, “Arthur and I just can’t help it, we needed another one.”
“Oh. But--” Sally-Anne gulped air-acid, methane, confinement-and warily looked to the one door at the end of the hall. “But, we--I--I don’t want… I’m really just here for curiosity’s sake.” She smiled weakly, stood on shaky feet that teased lightning and tangled her steps like tree roots, and made way for the outside--salvation--safety. She didn’t need to do it, it was just--
“Sally-Anne Perks.”
There was the faux friend, the hand stretched and dangling, bridges crossed from the old world to the new, engraving shaky images into Sally-Anne’s tiny palms where they were suspended on her hips to keep mountains from toppling over.
“You’ll be alright dear, just go in.” The woman with unruly red hair was the type of Celtic queens, and knew the way of protections and warmth. She exhaled strength and breathed in compassion, soothed wounds. “Go on, or you’ll end up like me.”
“Sally-Anne?”
Sally-Anne, crossing her limbs along her frame, took fawn steps toward the woman. Sally-Anne paid close attention to detail, the way her smile tilted toward the left and how her split ends broke at her ear, that the colour of the crossed wands along her chest were silver and blue. Soothing and warmth, yet Sally-Anne was shivering. “It’s not going to hurt, is it?”
Her smile tilted to the left when she said, “No, of course not. Why are you here?” Her clipboard floated in front of her--a quill scribbling along the page. It filled in how Sally-Anne looked and the way she shook, the way her feet tripped over themselves and how her hand trembled when she raised it to her face, brushing thunderous curls away.
“It’s personal.”
There was that weak smile again. Thin, unnatural, centipede feet and untrustworthy, it slid while she lead Sally-Anne along the hallway and into a room. “I need to be able to tell the healer why you’ve come here.”
Climbing into the robotic chair, the chains were plastic sliding beneath Sally-Anne when they squealed in a way you’d never hear in the countryside or beneath trees birthing fruit. In a small voice, shaking, full of tremors: “Well I--well, we really--we just wanted to be together. And, he’s a Muggle, you see. But I’d rather be sure that--well--” Sally-Anne’s hand rolled over her stomach and sheltered it with her purse, shaking. “We just don’t want anything to show for it. So if I could… I’m not ready to take care of-- I’d like some protection.”
And then there was the unnatural, the unkind, the way her eyes glistened with thoughts of Muggle needles and pink packages with little pills in them for each day of the month--and the way the clipboard tilted up when it decoded the rest. The way her hand, curled yet grasping nothing, covered her centipede smile. “I see. Your healer will be with you in only a few minutes.”
Pulling her wand from her purse, Sally-Anne examined it--gently, as though she knew it as well as some people. It showed life; it knew like the body did, though the mind could never work it out. She was about to bring it up, and spin it down, mumbling her favourite words and favourite spells that brought pictures of forests and rivers--
“I wouldn’t recommend that, it might mess up the process.” His wands were larger, crossed over and emblazoned, and his smile was more like chocolate than centipedes. “So I heard you would like some protection from pregnancy?”
Sally-Anne bit her tongue, and blood dribbled along her teeth. “You’re a--a man.”
It wasn't natural.