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Dick thought his life at the circus was amazing .
He didn't think he could like anything more.
Even though he had grown up in the circus — and performed in it himself — it had never lost its magic. The clowns and the trapeze and Zitka and performing was the bestist thing EVER.
The circus was touring America for the next few months, and Dick was so excited! All these new things were so, so, so cool! It was a bit daunting at first, but his parents and the rest of the circus were helping each other through the tour.
Dick knew the circus was good.
Dick thought his word was ending.
He didn’t think he could like anything anymore.
His parents had just–
They were–
He was–
Dick didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Dick didn't know what he thought, but he definitely did not like this place.
It was dark and scary and very very cold. He missed the light of the circus, the cheeriness of the audience. The warmth of his parents.
His parents were cold now.
Dick bit back a sob; this empty room would surely echo his cries into something louder than even he could handle.
(It was so, so quiet here, a far cry from the noise of Zitka's comforting trumpets.)
Dick didn't like this place. He was a bit too scared to start thinking about why he was there.
Dick didn't know what to think; he was pretty sure he didn't like this though.
There were people taking him out of the room. They were dressed up like owls; it reminded him of the circus.
(The ornately decorated hallways did the opposite.)
Their grip wasn't gentle (like his mother's), but it wasn't hurting either. It gave him mixed feelings, especially because he hadn't had any contact with anyone for what felt like years to his constantly stimulated brain.
This thinking was hurting his brain a little; he didn't like it.
Dick couldn't think, but he knew for certain he did. not. like. it.
All he knew was hurt-hurt-agony- 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣.
Even as he writhed and screamed, the people would not leave. The things they stuck into his arms would not disengage and they kept replacing his blood with something that 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 . He couldn't feel the tears drip down his cheeks — he couldn't feel much of anything.
It hurt much too bad for any coherent thought.
He was beginning to feel like he couldn't like anything after this.
Dick (they called him Talon now, how weird was that?), thought this was scary.
He didn’t like how these people treated him.
This was not at all like the circus. He still trained, but it was different. The mean masked people ordered him around and the owl-looking people fought with him until he was tired.
(Well, Dick didn’t think he got tired anymore. It was hard to explain, but he felt like he should have been tired after all that.)
He hated it all, but he didn’t really know how to stop.
Dick thought this was scary.
He did not like this.
He didn’t, couldn’t think.
He didn’t, couldn’t like.
He was just cold.
Dick- Talon, he was Talon now, Thought he was doing good.
The head Owl (that’s what the mean people were called. They weren’t really that mean) hadn’t had him punished for a while because he was doing well with his training. They let him have a bath; he liked that a lot.
Di- Talon felt happy when he was praised for his achievements. He was still terrified when he messed up and got punished, but he didn’t really do that anymore. His time in the cold helped him with that.
Talon thought this might be good.
Talon might like this.
Talon ( Dick, he was Dick, please remember!) had been ordered to kill someone today. Talon thought that was bad.
Talon really really didn’t like doing it.
Talon had refused for a little bit, but after a quick trip in the cold, the task was done. It made Talon sick; black bile mixed with the sticky red on the floor.
Grandmaster praised Talon after, but it didn’t really make it better.
Talon thought this might be bad.
Talon didn’t really want to like it.
Talon definitely thought this was good! It had completed a big mission ( wait wait wait- you’re not a possession; 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 snap out of it, Dick!) and Grandmaster had given it big rewards!
Rewards like head scritches and a hot bath and a nice place to sit beside them that Talon really really liked!
The rewards put warm sparks in its chest that reminded it of…
Well, It didn’t really remember.
Nevertheless, Talon would forever strive to do whatever Grandmaster asked if it meant this!
Talon thought this was amazing.
Talon loved it.
Talon thought this was bad. Talon was bad.
Talon didn’t like anymore.
In a moment of weakness, It expressed how much it liked Grandmaster with its vocal cords (everyone knows it’s not allowed to use those!). Grandmaster got very angry at the idea of it liking things. According to Grandmaster, only people liked things.
Talon could accept that, as it was not a person; it was a Talon.
So, Talon would not like things. Easy.
It thought it was good.
It did not like it (just like it was supposed to).
Talon sat a lot.
Talon killed a lot.
Talon was rewarded a lot.
(Talon wasn’t cold a lot.)
Talon wasn’t happy.
But that’s because it wasn’t allowed to feel people emotions.
Talon thought this was fine.
Talon thought killing was good.
If it was allowed to like things, it was sure it would like it too.
Killing meant being able to go outside and stretch its limbs! Killing meant a job well done and getting yummy treats from Grandmaster! Killing meant it got to be cleaned with gentle hands and scalding water — it may be traitorous to think so, but that alone provided a warmth Grandmaster’s head scritches couldn’t compare to.
It had been killing for a long time, so long in fact, that it didn’t even remember what would happen if it didn't.
Talon knew killing was good.