st_trinians | Fic: That Time Annabelle Had Wings, G

Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: G, all ages
Characters: Annabelle, Miss Fritton
Length: barely over 300 words
Genre: wingfic, gen
Notes: I was trying to come up with a prompt for the flashfic challenge that wasn't crack. ~~someone had to give Annabelle wings. I'm just sayin'~~

That Time Annabelle Had Wings
by ALC Punk!

"Well, they're certainly striking."

Auntie was taking this far too easily. Annabelle twitched and felt feathers flutter, and tried not to panic. It wasn't natural, they just couldn't be real, this was a dream! Obviously, Annabelle had gone through each of these options already, but she was seriously considering revisiting them as her aunt walked round her again, making soft cooing noises.

"I don't want them to be striking," she objected, turning to glare.

Really, one would think that waking up with wings was perfectly normal! Something one ought to warn prospective students about.

"With your hair and coloring, they are rather fetching. You could have ended up with something uncoordinated, like chartreuse." Her aunt noted before smiling. "Now, Annabelle, I'm sure if you ask Matron, she'll find you a list of care instructions."

"Instructions?" Alarmed, Annabelle glanced at one of the feathery things that were attached to her back. "You mean this has happened before?"

"Oh..." Her auntie waved a hand, as though dismissing the question, then gave a half answer. "Perhaps. Once. Or twice."

"How?" Really. Wings. There had to be some sort of explanation, especially if they were some sort of regular (irregular) occurrence. Annabelle narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Auntie."

It was the tone of voice that implied Annabelle might have some decent blackmail to hand already, and if her aunt didn't spill the details, said blackmail might be utilized.

Miss Fritton (to her students, one and all) huffed. Calling Annabelle's bluff at this time, wasn't really worth it. Not when the truth would probably surface, in the end. "Well. Let's just say it rather runs in the family."

"You mean my father--?" Now there was an unwelcome, not to mention preposterous, image. Annabelle shuddered, just picturing his sneering face and spindly legs dangling as he limped through the air on wings.

"No. Not him."

Annabelle deciphered that, then her eyes widened. "But, how do you hide them?"

It was the logical conclusion after all.

Her aunt shrugged her shoulders rather oddly, and a wing-tip fluttered in the air to one side, then was gone. "They fold down well, shall we say."

And leaving Annabelle in rather stunned silence, Miss Fritton took herself off to let Matron know that there was another peculiarity turning up in the Fritton line.