"Stan, Stan we really shouldn't be doing this," Stanford tried to tell his twin.

Stanley laughed, "Aw, c'mon poindexter, don't you wanna fly?"

Stanford pushed his glasses up and retorted, "Of course I do, but we're twelve.You heard Ma: we aren't ready. And we really shouldn't be trying to fly on the beach–the wind–"

"Will help!" Stan interjected. "All we gotta do is open our wings, flap a little, and fly!"

Stanford scuffed his shoe into the sand, "..What if someone sees?" He extended his left wings, revealing one of the smaller set he always hid below the larger ones. Being made fun of for his extra fingers was bad enough, and there weren't a lot of winged people in the area to begin with. Whenever anyone outside of the family found out about his extra wings, his extra abnormality, they always gawked. So he hid the smaller wings carefully.

His twin grinned, "We fly so high no one can see us! 'Sides, I keep tellin' ya–you're cool, not weird." He extended his wings, still not fully devoid of downy feathers of childhood. "Now, 'cmon!" He took off running and flapping. At first he made no progress, but eventually he managed to get a few feet off the ground.

Stanford just stood there and watched. He wanted too fly, he really did; but his sense of adventure had its limits.

Stanley had managed to gain a whole 20 feet in altitude, and was clumsily flying back to Stanford. "C'mon!"

"….I–…Alright!" And with that, Stanford opened his wings, normally so tense from being held close to his back. As he was going to try taking off, a gust of wind came up, almost knocking him over. While he was largely unaffected, the scream/yelp from Stanley announced that his twin was less lucky. "Stanley!" He raced over to where he had fallen.

Stan was cradling one of his arms, but he seemed okay other than a few scrapes and bruises. "Don't tell Ma," he said, wincing as he stood up.

"Sure thing–as long as you teach me how to fly," Stanford grinned.