Summary: What if Max and the Flock had never gotten "the talk"? What is the outcome of an adolescence without an adult and knowledge of societal norms?
Chapter Two: Strange Behavior In the Morning
I yawned as I got up from my bed. Drowsily glancing at the mirror on the wall to my left, I caught sight of my messy straw-colored hair. It was like someone had haphazardly thrown a bird's nest onto my scalp. I yawned again, stretching, then throwing the blankets off of me. I padded down the hallway to wake up the members of my flock.
I watched into Gazzy and Iggy's room. I sighed when I got sight of Iggy's empty unmade bed. Opening up their blue curtains loudly to reveal a stream of shining morning sunlight right onto the bed adjacent to it, I received a pained groan from a tiny bundle of comforter that seemed to be curiously animate. I smiled, feeling quite awake. Lifting Iggy's covers and slamming them down onto his now neatly made bed, I walked over to the still, soundly bundled up Gasman. I promptly threw my torso onto his body, quickly unwrapping him clean of his blankets, much to his dismay.
He groaned, but still lay there, splayed on his bed messily, bare in his rocket pajamas, my arms over his torso. Grinning evilly, I lifted up his pajama shirt to expose his belly button. I blew up my cheeks with air, looking quite like a chipmunk hoarding away several mouthfuls of nuts, and then blew a loud spluttering raspberry into Gazzy's stomache—er abdomen?; tummy.
He burst in a fit of laughter hugging my head on impulse while trying to get me off of him.
"Okay, okay! I'm up, I'm up!!" the Gasman exclaimed laughing and squealing loudly.
"Well, great! Go wash up now and come down for breakfast. I smell bacon, don't you?"
"Whoo-hoo!!" he hooted. Man, that kid is full of energy. Speaking of his energy... suddenly a pungent smell filled the air.. the focal point? The GAS-man. Don't wonder why we call him that.
Wrinkling my nose in a nauseaus fit of disgust, I left shook my head, rolling my eyes, as I left his room.
I found myself standing in front of Fang's door. Haha, I know what you're thinking. I'm going to go into his and wake him up? Fat chance for that ever happening. He has not, in our entire lives, ever allowed me to see inside his room. Common belief among the flock members is that theres essentially nothing in there anyway (how typically Fang of him to guard nothing just for the sake of planting a burning curiosity into each of us). Jeebuz, I don't even know what color his walls are. Naturally, I'd expect them to be black, but having black walls is just too over-the-top.
Biting my lip, on a whim I thought I'd try and open his door. Hesitating for just a nano-second, I grabbed his doorknob and tur—ugh, how predictable for it to be locked.. Anyway, I rolled my eyes, (yet again. eye-rolling should totally be my signature), and quietly tapped his door once. I knew he'd hear me.
Iggy is generally always the first one up, at dawn, making breakfast, out of natural habit, but Fang's sort of unpredictable.
Some days he'll show up to breakfast with a tangled mess of hair, crusty eyes drooping and head nodding repeatedly, two hours late. Somedays he's up before me, and I'll find him setting the table for Iggy. Somedays he'll just march onto the bathroom line at the time I get the rest of the flock up.
This is what I mean by that I can't control him. Although I'd like to say we've got a routine going on, part of our routine is just adjusting to Fang. Fang will always be Fang... who is Fang... who does whatever he likes to. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mean this in a bad way—he is still the Fang who would risk his life to let the rest of the flock survive. He is still the Fang, so emotionally-secure, that'll sit next to me in the dead of the night and listen to me sob, or rant, or scream. It's just that.. I can't force him to get out of bed when he doesnt feel like it. I rolled my eyes again, and moved onto the room next to his.
Walking quietly into Angel and Nudge's room. I went over to Nudge and gently shook her shoulder.
"Up and At'em honey, its a new day. I think Iggy's making bacon," Nudge got up slowly, hugging her stuffed rhinoceros. At the word bacon she jumped up excitedly and put her slippers on. She moved outside in a trance-like state to the Girl's bathroom. I moved over to Angel and rubbed her back.. Angel was my baby—yes, a mind-reading baby, but she was still my baby—I had raised her since her feathers were a infantile pale yellow, since her entire torso was the size of my right hand. "C'mon baby, gotta get washed up. Remember to brush well," I said to her. By the time I was leaving her room she was rubbing the crust out of her eyes and hugging her dolly. I turned around for a second to stare at her sitting on her bed cross-legged. After she was done rubbing her eyes, she looked up at me and said sweetly, "Good Morning Max," smiling, well, angelically. (Theres a reason we have names like these guys, in case you haven't noticed yet).
I walked downstairs contentedly, hearing the sounds of the water flushing out of the tap of our bathroom sinks.
I sat on a stool in front of our kitchen counter.
"Whatsup Iggers? Whats on for the grub this morning?"
"'morning Max. We've got some bacon, eggs, toast, and orange juice. I was debating whether or not to get the cereal out, but man thats some high fructose corn syrup and aspartame." Iggy replied pleasantly, his mouth and cheeks grinning cheekily, but his blind eyes expressionless.
"Ugh.. GASMAN, HAVE YOU BEEN READING IGGY THE LABELS AGAIN?!?!" I screamed up the stairs as Nudge came down and immediately began talking. Angel followed shortly after her, dressed, but no sign of Gassy.
30 minutes later...
"..so like yeah, the poodle was like all pink and stuff, and dont get me wrong I LOVE pink but this was like so not her color, oh Like oh my god, where's Gassy? Maybe he fell back to sleep, I totally wanted to go back to sleep like 30 minutes ago, but then I felt hungry, so like I would never ever be able to go back to sleep hungry, I totally don't get how people do that. Oh my god, Iggy, this stuff is great, I totally want to cook so I can make food for myself whenever I want, but like I don't really want to, cause then I'd to have to like, you know, make it myself. Anyway, I'm like almost done, and Gazzy isn't here yet. He better get up, cause he said he'd play lacrosse with me today. Aren't those stick thingies really funny? I have to beat him though, like seriously. Oh my god, I found this magazine on the edge of the cliff yesterday, and it had this lady wearing the most gorgeous dress, like EVER, it was some selibreeeti magazine i think. I couldn't really read it, but I totally want a dress like that. I wish I was taller though. You know who'se really tall? This guy that I heard is like the best in lacrosse. His wife is like a supermodel too. I wonder if they feel really dumb when they walk like that, cause like, I would. But I really would love to wear those clothes, so like I'd totally like, do it anyway.."
Eh, thats the Nudge Channel: All Nudge, All the time. That girl definitely has the gift of gab.
Leaving my fork and knife neatly on my place setting on the kitchen counter, I went up to see what Gassy was up to while Nudge and Angel engaged in some type of guessing game—what could be so important that he'd skip FOOD?! This seemed serious.
I walked upstairs calmly, and entered his room, preparing to let out an insane scream to get him up.
"GAZZY!!" I bellowed from his doorframe. He jolted up immediately.
"I'm up, I'm up!!" He said fiercly, curiously exactly like how he had said it an hour ago, rubbing his eyes.
"Ohh, just like how you were up an hour ago?" I asked him skeptically, one hand on my hip.
"Naw, I really did go to the bathroom to wash up, but someone was in there, so I waited outside of the door for a really long time, and then I started to get tired so I came back in," Gazzy advocated earnestly.
"Well, then, it couldnt've been Iggy, since he was making breakfast. If it was Fang, he should be out by now. C'mon, hop to it, sport." I herded him out of his bed, and steered him, hands on his shoulders to the boys' bathroom. He groggily turned the doorknob.. Well, he almost turned it. It was locked.
That irritated me. Maybe someone accidentally left it locked from the inside. I let go of Gazzy's shoulders and frowned. I knocked on the door vapidly, and to my startling surprise, I heard a deep voice come from within: "s'Occupied."
"Fang?" I asked, confused. "How long have you been in there? Are you sick or something?" I asked him.
Of course not. We're genetically altered Avian-American hybrids. We don't get sick. That's like, a fact. As true as the wings on our back. I furrowed my eyebrows.
"What're you doing in there? Gazzy's gotta brush." There wasn't any response.
"Just use the Girl's bathroom, Gasman," I told the Gasman.
"Awwww, but why?! It's all pink and stuff!!" he protested.
"Suck it up soldier, go brush, your bacon is gonna get cold," I said, emphasizing the word bacon.
"Bacon?!" His eyes lit up as if it were Christmas time, and he had gotten the best present ever. These kids and their food, a relationship you'll never be able to understand if you're not a flock member.
He swiveled around and marched into the pink bathroom across the narrow hallway from the boys'. I stared at the door Fang was inside of for a second more, and then went back downstairs. Figuring out Fang isn't an easy task, and it's not exactly advised either.