Another Way of Being

by belasera

A look at the complication that is Saffron.

If you review, feel free to be as heartless as my heroine!

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"What’s yer name, girl?”

My name, huh? Why’s this man think he needs to name me, after cutting my lip so pretty with his own hand. Seems to me he’s named me already. Whore.

I spit my own blood out at him but I won’t spit out my name. Not the real one anyhow. Not the one my mother kissed me with.

He swings his hand again, but I’ve had enough of this play. Swiftly I bring my own hand up to block his, and say calmly, sweetly even…

“Our session has ended.”

He looks sharply at the hourglass, bottom heavy, and his entire demeanor changes. From a willful lord to that of a meek sad little man. His true self. His true name.

I dismiss him with the cool assurance of a woman who knows that domination cannot be bought and sold.

When he’s left, tail between his legs, the very air in the room seems to expand. It’s a relief to be sure, after it being so crowded with the man’s tension, his completely predictable issues and needs. I give a chilly smile in the mirror. My old companion sisters would be shocked to be sure. This dalliance goes against everything I was ever taught in that place. About beauty and respect, about the unifying bond of sex. Oh, I could just die laughing. All that pretty noise about whoring. Cause that’s what it is, and it don’t matter a good gorram what you name it.

Or what name you give to those that do it.

………………………………………………………………………………….

So call me Saffron, then. Like someone did for a minute once. Not that that matters now. Certainly I hold no special place in my bossom for my dear husband Malcom Reynolds. The man once left me in a trash can, not to mention…well, really it’s not worth mentioning. He’s nothing to me.

So maybe I’ve taken to hanging around spaceports, scanning the crowds for a familiar face. And maybe I’ve had a lot of clients lately that happen to be captains. And I suppose it’s not