flutter
Brooklyn had never been to a natural science museum, and he never would be again.
That was all Garland could think, grimacing, as Brooklyn pressed his entire front, forehead to toes, fingers splayed, against the glass of a large display case full of stuffed finches. Trying to get through to them. Trying to feel vibrations of life. Brooklyn moved suddenly, trying to catch that same flash of light a second time, that flash that looked like the slightest flip of a wing. Brooklyn did it again.
Garland shivered, trying to decide what to do. And then Brooklyn turned around and his face said the world was in shambles. This meant Armageddon.
Garland couldn't tell if it was a statement or promise.
Brooklyn watched the dead-bird-wings from the corner of his eyes, tilting his head so the light shifted, slowly. But they still weren't alive. He touched the glass like they could feel it. Softly, at first. Then he started banging on the display case, palms, then fists, because he knew how people did this, but he didn't know how people could DO this!
Garland held him, but Zeus began to spark, and it was more promise than statement after all.
a/n: For feather-duster, derived from life. I hope this means I'm back.