Work Text:
- go for the pin! (28/05/14, Johannesburg) -
„Birgit!“ hisses her husband.
She sighs.
„Your children are tearing apart the sitting room!“
She shrugs, turns a page.
„Birgit!“
„Let them.“
„I will not have your monsters destroy our home.“
She sighs, upends the journal over her thigh. „They are art, Husband. Hardly monsters.“
„They are children, Wife, and they are misbehaving.“
„Then deal with them.“
Her husband growls, draws a hand down his face.
„Such elegant hands you have,“ she murmurs. „I should use them.“
„You will do no such thing,“ he spits. „You will control your 'art'. Now.“
She rolls her eyes, sets her reading on the side table, stands, and brushes past her husband on her way from her office.
He huffs at her back.
She strides to the door of the sitting room, leans against the frame.
The winged one, feathers glowing and flashing in the bright sun through the windows, helps the littler, boring one climb the back of the sofa.
A scattering of books and crayons, a pile of blocks, a multitude of plush animals, and two upended small chairs describe their path through the room.
The plain one slips, slides down to the cushions, giggling; the winged tumbles after him, wings flapping as he goes, laughing just as hard as his twin.
„Hermann, Bastien,“ she calls softly.
They freeze, attend her, eyes wide.
„Please clean up this room and play more quietly. You are upsetting your father.“
„Yes, Mother,“ they say and nod together.
„Synchrony!“ she gasps, heart jumping.
„Excuse me, Mother, What did you say?“
Birgit blinks quickly, arranges a smile. „Nothing important, Hermann: I was merely thinking aloud.“
He looks skeptical—damn her expressive face—but abandons his questioning.
The little one tips from the sofa onto the rug with a squeal.
„See to your brother, Hermann.“
„Yes, Mother.“
Birgit turns and races to her office for her notebook. „Synchronized behaviour! If it's not coincidence ... I must watch them more carefully.“ She grabs pen and paper and hurries back down the hall to find an observation point.