#scar gets his lil parrot wings as a treat

[causticflower]

holding them gently in my hands

[thelastspeecher]

Avian Again

Yet another installment in the Phoenix Enchantment AU, something that I have sunk far too much time and effort into, given that I have zero (0) plans to turn it into a legit multichap.  This is basically the follow-up to this ficlet, in which Ford and Fiddleford find out who the phoenixes Prometheus and Pele really are.  This particular ficlet right here takes place the day after Angie and Stan have reverted to phoenix form again, and are still trying to get things arranged for themselves and Molly.  Enjoy.

              “Tate’s been dropped off at daycare,” Ford said, walking into the living room, holding a bag from the game store.  “So, we can figure out a method of communication that doesn’t involve hundreds of dollars’ worth of damage.”  Ford looked meaningfully at Stan.  Stan, who was on the seat of the armchair, ruffled his feathers and squawked.  “By the way, Stan, why aren’t you standing on the arms of the chair?  Or the back? Those seem like better locations to perch.”  Stan looked at Ford and lifted his wing, revealing Molly huddled close to him. “…You like sitting there because it’s more comfortable for Molly?”  Stan nodded. “Fair enough.”

              “Stop arguin’ with Stan and come over here,” Fiddleford said.  He was at the table with Angie, scanning a book on bird training.  Angie turned the page with her beak.  “Thank you, Banjey.”  Fiddleford scratched the crown of Angie’s head.  She trilled happily.  Ford walked to the table.  He frowned.

              “I thought Stan and Angie refused to be treated like pets.”

              “Yes, but I thought this book might have tips fer teachin’ birds how to talk. Since the phoenixes are sort of like parrots, the idea was that they might be able to talk like ‘em.” Fiddleford sighed.  “But it’s just sayin’ things that don’t work fer sentient birds like Stan ‘n Angie.”  Angie cawed at him.  “Yeah, if you could talk, ya prob’ly would’ve done it by now.”

              “I swear, it seems like you understand them,” Ford said, taking a seat next to Fiddleford.  Fiddleford shrugged.  

              “I’m good at readin’ bird body language.  And I’ve known my sister her whole life.”  Angie cooed.  Fiddleford smiled warmly at her.

              “Talking is out, but what about the other methods we discussed?” Ford asked. Angie walked over to a piece of paper, picked it up in her beak, and brought it over to Ford.  “Oh.  Thank you.” Angie ruffled her feathers happily. “You and Stan are clearly excited about being treated properly again.”  Stan let out a loud crow.

              “As you can see, the method with usin’ a pen ‘n paper didn’t work out too well,” Fiddleford said.  Ford squinted at the piece of paper.

              “I can make out…cricket, Molly, daisy, and some swears.  And is that part of the word ‘cinnamon’?”

              “Angie gave up ‘fore she could finish writin’ it, ‘cause Miss Molly needed to be fed. You can prob’ly guess who wrote what.”  

              “It’s quite obvious.”  Ford sighed. “But the penmanship is horrific.”

              “And it took ‘em ‘bout fifteen minutes per word.  In an emergency, writin’ words won’t work.  Did ya get the other thing we thought of?”

              “Yes.”  Ford took a Scrabble board out of his bag.  He placed it on the table.  Angie squawked loudly.  “Be patient.” As Fiddleford got the pieces out, Ford looked over at Stan.  “Stan’s enjoying television privileges.”

              “So’s Molly.  I set Molly on the table with Angie at first, but she wanted her dad.  Wouldn’t stop her adorable screamin’.”  Angie clacked her beak.  “I know her screeches ain’t adorable, I’m just bein’ nice.  Anyways, I brought her over to Stan, and right away she snuggled up next to him.  Stan tried to change the channel a lil bit ago, but she weren’t havin’ it.”

              “That explains why he’s watching Animal Planet instead of football.”

              “Here ya go, Angie,” Fiddleford said, dumping the bag of Scrabble pieces onto the table.  “Go ahead, tell us somethin’.”  Angie cocked her head at the tiles for a few seconds, thinking.  She nodded and began to pick them up with her beak.  

              “By the way, you never told me how the conversation with your parents went, after I broke the news about the enchantment being permanent,” Ford said to Fiddleford.  

              “It went all right.  Some more scoldin’ ‘bout not recognizin’ Stan ‘n Angie, questions about the setup fer the phoenixes, and when they should visit.”

              “Uh, visit?”

              “They’re insistin’ on it.  Angie and I were tryin’ to figure things out earlier.  Maybe we should throw a belated baby shower of sorts fer Molly, on the next full moon.  That way everyone can see Stan ‘n Angie ‘n Molly in human form.”  Angie squawked.  Fiddleford and Ford looked down.  Angie took a step away from her message.

              “‘Mating season’,” Ford read out loud.  He frowned at Angie.  “What are you getting at?”  Angie huffed. She nudged a few tiles around. “‘When’.  But without an H and the W is an upside-down M.”  Angie hissed at him.

              “It got the message across, Stanford, don’t be so judgmental,” Fiddleford scolded.  “She wants to know when the next matin’ season ‘ll be.”

              “Um, I’m not sure.  The bestiary said it starts in March, but didn’t explain whether it’s an annual occurrence.  The best way to determine when mating season will be is probably by keeping an eye on Stan.” Angie cocked her head.  “He lost his extravagant tail shortly after Molly was laid.  It takes a while to grow a tail that long and ostentatious.  When his tail starts getting larger, that will indicate another mating season approaching.  His tail is still rather short, so I doubt there will be one this coming March.”  Angie nodded.  She paused for a moment, then began to move the Scrabble tiles again.

              “So, is your entire family going to visit?” Ford asked Fiddleford. Fiddleford nodded.  “How many of them know the true situation?”

              ��All of ‘em.  Well, all my siblin’s and my parents.”  

              “Fantastic,” Ford muttered.  He rubbed at the scar on his hand.  “Your brothers will want me hanged, drawn, and quartered after what I put Angie and Molly through.”  Stan squawked.  “Yes, I put you through difficult things as well, Stanley.  But I think Lute would reserve most of his righteous fury for protecting his niece and younger sister.”  Stan cawed in agreement.  Angie nudged at Ford’s hand.  He looked down at her message.  “‘Molly ID’.” He frowned.  “What?”  Angie turned to Fiddleford.

              “Sorry, sis, I don’t know what yer gettin’ at, neither,” Fiddleford said. Angie rolled her eyes and moved a few more tiles.  “C…E…R…T…” Fiddleford read out loud.  “I don’t know what that means.”  Angie cawed loudly at him, frustrated.  “Angie, use the tiles.  We don’t speak bird.”  Angie looked down at her feet.  “I’m sorry. I know yer tryin’ yer best.  This can’t be easy fer ya.”

              “Here.”  Ford grabbed a handful of tiles and placed them in front of Angie.  She began to busily sort through them.  Ford and Fiddleford watched.  “B…I…R…T…H.  Birth?” Angie nodded eagerly.  “Birth cert- birth certificate?”  Angie hopped up and down.  Fiddleford chuckled.

              “Yer too dang adorable,” Fiddleford said.  Angie clacked her beak at him.  “Yer wonderin’ ‘bout Molly’s identification?  She hatched from an egg, she don’t have a birth certificate.  Or a social security number.”  Angie nudged three tiles together.  “‘Get’.  You want us to get identification for Molly?”  Angie nodded.

              “Why?” Ford asked.  Angie looked over at the tiles and huffed impatiently.  She flew away from the table.  “What’s going on?”  There was a clatter in the kitchen.  Ford began to get up, but Angie landed on the table again, a piece of paper in her beak. She dropped it in front of Fiddleford. Fiddleford frowned.

              “This is the flyer fer the open house at Tate’s preschool.”  Angie tapped the paper with one of her talons.  “Yer pointin’ at the word ‘school’?”  Angie nodded.  “…Oh.”  Fiddleford leaned back.  “You want Molly to go to school.”

              “But she’s a bird,” Ford said slowly.  Angie hissed.  “You can be angry with me if you want, that doesn’t change her species.”  Angie deflated and let out a small, defeated croak. “She can be homeschooled.  Between the four of us, she’d get an excellent education.”  Angie cooed softly.  Stan abruptly took flight from the armchair and landed next to Angie.  He nuzzled her.  A small tear traced its way down Angie’s face.  Ford looked at Fiddleford nervously.  “She’s crying.  I didn’t know she was that upset.  What- what do-”  Fiddleford reached forward and wiped the tear away.

              “Ya don’t want to homeschool Molly?” he asked gently.  Angie and Stan both shook their heads.  “Stanford’s right, y’know.  She’d learn a lot from us.”  Angie croaked.  Fiddleford sighed.  “I- I still can’t understand ya.”  Stan walked over to the Scrabble tiles and moved them around.  Angie glanced back at the armchair, where Molly was still crouched, her eyes glued to the television.  “‘Deserves better’,” Fiddleford said in a low tone, reading Stan’s message.

              “Molly deserves better than what?” Ford asked.  Stan moved a few more tiles.  “‘Bird’.  Oh. Oh, dear.”  Ford swallowed.  “Molly deserves better than to be a bird?”  Stan nodded. “You two want Molly to have more opportunities than a bird gets.”  Stan and Angie nodded silently.  “I- I don’t know how much we can control that.  So far, it seems like she’ll only be able to turn human when you do, during a full moon.  If that’s the case, I doubt she can go to school.”  Angie let out a loud, despairing screech.  Ford and Fiddleford winced at the noise.  Fiddleford stroked Angie’s back in a reassuring manner.

              “I know ya want yer baby to have a good life,” Fiddleford said.  “And we’ll do everything we can to help that happen. She’s our niece, after all.  We love her, too.  But I think- I think yer goin’ to have to accept that she might not get to do all the things ya want fer her.”  Stan croaked quietly at Angie.  She sighed and chirped a short response.  “I’m not sure what ya just said to each other.”  Angie ruffled her feathers.  “How about this?  We wait ‘fore we make any big decisions.  By the time Molly’s old enough to go to school, things might’ve changed.”  Stan and Angie nodded.  “I’m sorry that things ‘re so difficult fer-”  Stan cawed loudly.  “What?”  Stan pointed a talon at Angie’s “Molly ID” message.  “Yes, we’ll try to get some identification fer Miss Molly.”  Stan bobbed his head.  

              “I’m not sure how to go about doing that,” Ford mumbled.  Angie grabbed Ford’s wallet, which he had placed on the table. “Hey!”  She opened it and tugged a picture out with her beak.  “Angie, be careful!  That’s a picture of Tate, shortly after he was born.”  Angie cocked her head at him meaningfully.  “What?”  Angie pointed at the tiles reading “ID”, then at the picture of Tate.  “Tate’s identification?”

              “Tate’s identification wasn’t as simple as it could’ve been, since he wasn’t born in a hospital,” Fiddleford said.  “He was a home birth.”

              “You want us to claim Molly was a home birth, as well?” Ford asked.  Angie nodded.  “Oh.  That’s easy enough to do.”  Stan cawed. Angie frowned at her mate and hissed softly.  Stan merely chuckled in response.  “Wait, did Stan say something that was in poor taste?”  Angie nudged a tile with a Y on it.  “I assume that means yes.”  A loud screech began to emit from the armchair.  Stan squawked in distress and flew back to Molly.  Once she was comfortably nestled under Stan’s wing again, Molly became quiet.

              “That lil girl of yours is keepin’ ya on yer toes, huh?” Fiddleford said.  “Or should I say talons?”  Angie rolled her eyes.  “Are ya done usin’ the tiles?”  Angie sighed. She moved a few tiles around.  “‘Hard’.”  Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair.  “Yep, this is still pretty difficult.  It’s better ‘n nothin’, though.”  Angie shrugged.  “I think Ford said somethin’ the other day ‘bout workin’ on some way fer us to understand ya in bird form.  Verbally.” Angie’s eyes widened.  She chirped inquisitively at Ford.

              “I’m still in the brainstorming phase, unfortunately,” Ford said.  Angie moved some of the tiles.  “‘Watch’.  You want to watch me work?”  He waited patiently for Angie to respond.  “‘Bored’?”  Angie nodded. “I can imagine that being stuck in the nest with Molly 24/7 would be rather boring.  Particularly given that you were brooding her for so long without any outside form of intellectual stimulation.”  Stan crowed. Angie let out a burbling laugh.  “Was Stan insulting my manner of speech?” Angie nodded.

              “I don’t see why ya couldn’t sit in on some of Ford’s lab work,” Fiddleford said.  Angie ruffled her feathers eagerly.  “And maybe we can try to find some books or magazines to bring up to the attic. Somethin’ a bit more interestin’ ‘n the ropes ‘n mirrors we have up there right now.”  Angie looked at Stan and cawed.  “…I certainly hope that ya were just teasin’ Stan fer usin’ the bird toys.” Angie nodded, chuckling.  Stan squawked in dismay.

              “We recorded the three of you up until five days ago, Stanley,” Ford said.  “We know full well that you like to play with your own reflection in that mirror toy.”  Stan squawked again.

              “Aw, no need to be upset,” Fiddleford said.  “It weren’t like there was anything else fer ya to do.  It’s only worth teasin’ ya over if ya do it after gettin’ some activities what better suit humans.”  Stan was silent.  Angie sidled over to Fiddleford and chirped quietly at him, then laughed uproariously.

              “I wish I’d understood that,” Ford muttered.  “Apparently it was hilarious.”