fat lady cooks
Done for dogdaysofsummer, inspired by the prompt for August 29th. Short and rather insulting to fat lady cooks.
Remus tries to recall the spell for turning a stupid falling boy into a bird, the spell he won a special class award for, and can’t. Oh, well. He’ll write a lovely eulogy instead. “Besides, only boring, ungraceful people ever fall from heights.”
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, the vast scope of knowledge acquired by science and reason, the swirl of the heavens and the arrangement of the galaxies in accordance with the Creator’s magnificent plan, has all come to this: Sirius is incautious, and likely to fall.
“Won’t.” he says, and blows a raspberry. Remus tries to recall the spell for turning a stupid falling boy into a bird, the spell he won a special class award for, and can’t. Oh, well. He’ll write a lovely eulogy instead. “Besides, only boring, ungraceful people ever fall from heights.”
“Such as ?”
“Librarians. Fat lady cooks. That old man on the train, this afternoon, the one who banged me in the knee with a suitcase. He’d fall like a lead marshmallow. Screaming all the way down, blighters ! Parsnips !” Sirius puffs out his chest and cheeks in an imitation of every overlarge soul he’s ever known. It’s rude, and he looks like a penguin. Remus unfolds the cover of his sketchbook and draws him strutting in the margin of a page.
“You’ve a horrible brain.” he says, smiling.
“Very.” Sirius flings himself onto his stomach, his elbows resting nearly on the edge of the cliff. Below them, the ground tapers off rapidly and drops into the sea. It’s a clear day, and the water’s brushing along the coast lovingly, stirring the salty pebbles against the rock like apples in a bushel-basket. They have come here to be alone, and to be together. “Can I see it, when you’re done ?”
Remus is not very good at drawing, he has come to this conclusion without any self-deprecating nonsense. He is better at other things. But he enjoys it, at least, and it amuses Sirius to have his escapades immortalized in pen and ink. Like a muggle comic book man, only smarter and more handsome, he says.Give us a cape now, Moony, there’s a duck. He shows Sirius the cartoons when he asks, but there are other things best left unseen in those pages. He shrugs.
“Sure.” He hands the sketchbook over, and Sirius laughs at himself and his fattened cheeks. Remus stretches out his hand to take it back, but Sirius pulls away, already flipping to the back. “Don’t, it’s not-”
And just like that, another secret falls into Sirius’ lap. He has collected so many already. I’m a werewolf. I like boys. I like you. There is a drawing in the back, unfinished, Sirius’ handsome face by the light of the fire. He is sleeping, his mouth parted ever so slightly; a crease between his eyebrows, dreaming of rabbits and butterbeer. “It’s not done.” Remus finishes, quietly. Sirius just sits and stares at himself, the gentle shadows, the fringe of hair drifting to his eyebrows.
“This is how you see me.” he says, softly as the brush of willow trees along a stream. “This is really how you see me.” There’s a moment of silence, and a gentle laugh. Remus leans forward and kisses him on the temple.
“Yes, stupid.” he says. “Of course it is.”
Remus tries to recall the spell for turning a stupid falling boy into a bird, the spell he won a special class award for, and can’t. Oh, well. He’ll write a lovely eulogy instead. “Besides, only boring, ungraceful people ever fall from heights.”
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, the vast scope of knowledge acquired by science and reason, the swirl of the heavens and the arrangement of the galaxies in accordance with the Creator’s magnificent plan, has all come to this: Sirius is incautious, and likely to fall.
“Won’t.” he says, and blows a raspberry. Remus tries to recall the spell for turning a stupid falling boy into a bird, the spell he won a special class award for, and can’t. Oh, well. He’ll write a lovely eulogy instead. “Besides, only boring, ungraceful people ever fall from heights.”
“Such as ?”
“Librarians. Fat lady cooks. That old man on the train, this afternoon, the one who banged me in the knee with a suitcase. He’d fall like a lead marshmallow. Screaming all the way down, blighters ! Parsnips !” Sirius puffs out his chest and cheeks in an imitation of every overlarge soul he’s ever known. It’s rude, and he looks like a penguin. Remus unfolds the cover of his sketchbook and draws him strutting in the margin of a page.
“You’ve a horrible brain.” he says, smiling.
“Very.” Sirius flings himself onto his stomach, his elbows resting nearly on the edge of the cliff. Below them, the ground tapers off rapidly and drops into the sea. It’s a clear day, and the water’s brushing along the coast lovingly, stirring the salty pebbles against the rock like apples in a bushel-basket. They have come here to be alone, and to be together. “Can I see it, when you’re done ?”
Remus is not very good at drawing, he has come to this conclusion without any self-deprecating nonsense. He is better at other things. But he enjoys it, at least, and it amuses Sirius to have his escapades immortalized in pen and ink. Like a muggle comic book man, only smarter and more handsome, he says.Give us a cape now, Moony, there’s a duck. He shows Sirius the cartoons when he asks, but there are other things best left unseen in those pages. He shrugs.
“Sure.” He hands the sketchbook over, and Sirius laughs at himself and his fattened cheeks. Remus stretches out his hand to take it back, but Sirius pulls away, already flipping to the back. “Don’t, it’s not-”
And just like that, another secret falls into Sirius’ lap. He has collected so many already. I’m a werewolf. I like boys. I like you. There is a drawing in the back, unfinished, Sirius’ handsome face by the light of the fire. He is sleeping, his mouth parted ever so slightly; a crease between his eyebrows, dreaming of rabbits and butterbeer. “It’s not done.” Remus finishes, quietly. Sirius just sits and stares at himself, the gentle shadows, the fringe of hair drifting to his eyebrows.
“This is how you see me.” he says, softly as the brush of willow trees along a stream. “This is really how you see me.” There’s a moment of silence, and a gentle laugh. Remus leans forward and kisses him on the temple.
“Yes, stupid.” he says. “Of course it is.”