Notes

DIRK: You'd think someone of your particular nature would be dead by now, yet here you are. Still breathing and being very much alive.

Your name had always been Dirk Strider, and it always will be, but what is your deal? Years ago, the day of your birth. Not many knew exactly how you had come to be, you're not even too sure yourself, but what is known is that you aren't exactly how you were then. You were born like most children, but you had very odd features to you. A baby boy born with white hair and something sticking out from your back. What? You had been born with what everyone had initially thought to be some disease that know one knew of yet. Perhaps that is what it could be described, but there was something else very wrong. Your feet... Goodness you had been born with the feet of a vulture, you were a freak. Something inside your parents died when you had been born. They had been so excited to have a son, but not this thing. You would never be a human being in their eyes, let alone their child. They left you as soon as they had the chance. They left you on the side of the rode, just past a farm of sorts. You were just a baby, yet they wanted nothing to do with you, but you didn't care. You don't even remember their pitiful faces.

You were found hours, if not a day or so, later. One of the men from the farm down the way had found you on his way back from the market place. He took you in, possibly because you were just a baby, but he hadn't seen any of your bird features due to you being swaddled in a blanket. He took you back to him home and introduced you to his family. How did you get your name, then? Your parents had planned on naming you Dirk far before you were born, and had the name sewn into your blanket, so that's how your name stuck. Anyhow, the farm family soon found out that you were no normal boy. They feared you at first, but soon realized they could raise you to entertain them. They cared for you like a normal child until you were near the age of 4. Their own children had started pulling at your wings and feathers, jabbing you with sharp items, doing everything they could to torture you. Fucking kids... You'd had enough of the little shits, even though they were all older than you. Something made you tear into them. It happened so fast, (Gore warning?) they didn't even know what hit them till there was blood all over the place. You mangled their arms, legs, and even killed one of the children by tearing into their stomach. Your feathers had been drenched in the thick red liquid, they would be dyed red until you had a good scrubbing.

They kept you chained up until you were 8 before they had sold you off to some other unfortunate family. These people were so much worse, yet you were used to it by then. They prodded you and jabbed your sides. They would pluck your feathers so you couldn't fly away, kept your leg chained so you couldn't run. You were trapped there until you were 15. What let you get away? You had killed so many of your animals in the past, but that was for a good reason, but they couldn't afford to keep you around anymore. They given you to people who wanted you to entertain them. Great, this would be the same exact thing, or so you thought. These people wanted you to perform for them. To fly like you were meant to with your large wings. The trainers taught you tricks to try and everyone treated you like a a human being for the first time. Of course they still saw you as a giant vulture at times, but that's what you were. You hadn't cared, though. You finally felt like you were free, well, as free as you could have been. There would be nowhere else for you to go since you weren't like others and there was basically no way to hide what you had. Shirts were uncomfortable, even with holes cut out for your wings, and of course you didn't even need shoes, so you kept to just wearing pants.

You had been doing this whole freak show performance thing for a good while now, and you were comfortable with most things, but you still never took too kindly to new people, but you weren't rude to them either. You were generally grumpy most of the time, but remained somewhat emotionless. You were dead inside due to your childhood, but that was changed and you couldn't ever imagine asking for more. You still kept up with the while tearing into prey thing, not because it was for the show, but because it was just your natural instinct. Life had become a routine, but you never thought it was boring. Though, it wasn't particularly anything to be overwhelmingly excited about until the day you met the Snakeman. He was endearing and, you won't lie, pretty attractive. He would become your best friend over time.

So now here we are. You haven't bathed in god knows how long and your white hair as well as your feathers were stained with the color of red. Not to mention you reeked of blood. You were messing around with a few things in your trailer until you heard a knock at your door. Oh no. You knew what time of the month it was and exactly who would be at your door. You attempted to duck and pretend you weren't there, but of course he knew you were. Damn, he must've saw you. You go over to the door hesitantly and opened it after he said that he knew you were there. God you hate baths. You lean on the door frame with a simple "Hello, Jake," as your only greetings.