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Donnie Dillinger - Twenty - Confused Bisexual - Raven Mutation
Blue eyes - Black Hair - Skinny Build - Passive Aggressive - Five Foot Eight Inches
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Waking up with wings was always going to be quite a shock for anyone not of the avian variety but for Donnie it was more of a melancholy drama in which he was more concerned about the lack of comfort rather than the mass mutation that plagued every living cell in his body.
Donnie was a trailer park boy, his bingo, 60 pack a day smoker mother wasnt exactly the eighth wonder of the world and his sister constantly bore down on him like a pneumatic drill about his lack of social happenings and how he wasnt "hitting it up at the club and getting girls", but then her lifestyle of three men a weekend didnt exactly appeal to her sibling, well some of the men did.
Donnie was always the one sat under the plastic fold out table, drawing or humming to himself from a young age whilst his mothers hair bleach fumes clogged the very lungs he used to live with. As can be expected it wasnt a glamorous lifestyle and most nights young Donnie found himself out on the streets very late at night, he never got in trouble he just seemed to wander and be in his own little world, dreaming of a better place as cliche as it sounds.
Now, as quiet and placid as Donnie seems he holds a vile tongue in his mouth, he is sharp witted and to those who see him as another one of societies asocial rejects he is quite a surprise when he opens that mouth. He knows how to use his body and mind, he was raised in an area high in crime and you had to adapt to survive as it were. Throughout school and the merciless beatings and bullying, baggy thrift shop clothes and average grades Donnie learnt that he had to fight back, I mean the pen is mightier than the sword right? Anyway, Donnie found himself out of the trailer park at eighteen, he managed to get a job at a garage to cover basic living bills and also picked up a few tricks of the trade up as well, especially with Cadillac engines.
When his twentieth birthday occurred he found himself out on the streets again, rugsack with all his belongings on his back, the rental agreement had fallen through and rent raised and yet again Donnie was out on his own late at night and that is when the most cliche, mutant beginning, cringey scene happened. As if by magic a van pulled up and two people emerged, roughed him up a bit and tossed him in the back like a sack of spuds. To their complete bemusement Donnie seemed to appreciate the change, sat in silence but seemed none the worse for his current situation, he actually questioned the driver of their destination at one point but it was more of an inaudible mumble and no one answered him.
Bang. Bright lights, white walls, all you would expect of a laboratory of some evil mastermind and here Donnie Dillinger was sat with wings poking out of his back, black feathers and skin spreading under his chin to his chest and coating his hands and up to his elbow, his eyes bright amber where once bright blue inhabited and black markings on his face, illuminating his already pale complexion.
He was sat on one of those medical chairs that always seems to come in that weird mint green colour staring intently at his fingers, bodies and figures moved around him and prodded and poked him.
Jesus, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing - intolerable vibrations in this place. Get out. The weasels were closing in. I could smell the ugly brutes
Experiment Ether, thats what they called him, his mutation could retract by the will of the mind and his strength and senses heightened during mutation to that of its DNA counterpart, the raven. Quick of tongue and merciless to the core yet holding some kind of sense and grace during all of the happenings. This was a beginning of something new, no more bleach fumes, no more beatings, just Donnie Dillinger, there he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.
__________________________________________________________________________
Waking up with wings was always going to be quite a shock for anyone not of the avian variety but for Donnie it was more of a melancholy drama in which he was more concerned about the lack of comfort rather than the mass mutation that plagued every living cell in his body.
Donnie was a trailer park boy, his bingo, 60 pack a day smoker mother wasnt exactly the eighth wonder of the world and his sister constantly bore down on him like a pneumatic drill about his lack of social happenings and how he wasnt "hitting it up at the club and getting girls", but then her lifestyle of three men a weekend didnt exactly appeal to her sibling, well some of the men did.
Donnie was always the one sat under the plastic fold out table, drawing or humming to himself from a young age whilst his mothers hair bleach fumes clogged the very lungs he used to live with. As can be expected it wasnt a glamorous lifestyle and most nights young Donnie found himself out on the streets very late at night, he never got in trouble he just seemed to wander and be in his own little world, dreaming of a better place as cliche as it sounds.
Now, as quiet and placid as Donnie seems he holds a vile tongue in his mouth, he is sharp witted and to those who see him as another one of societies asocial rejects he is quite a surprise when he opens that mouth. He knows how to use his body and mind, he was raised in an area high in crime and you had to adapt to survive as it were. Throughout school and the merciless beatings and bullying, baggy thrift shop clothes and average grades Donnie learnt that he had to fight back, I mean the pen is mightier than the sword right? Anyway, Donnie found himself out of the trailer park at eighteen, he managed to get a job at a garage to cover basic living bills and also picked up a few tricks of the trade up as well, especially with Cadillac engines.
When his twentieth birthday occurred he found himself out on the streets again, rugsack with all his belongings on his back, the rental agreement had fallen through and rent raised and yet again Donnie was out on his own late at night and that is when the most cliche, mutant beginning, cringey scene happened. As if by magic a van pulled up and two people emerged, roughed him up a bit and tossed him in the back like a sack of spuds. To their complete bemusement Donnie seemed to appreciate the change, sat in silence but seemed none the worse for his current situation, he actually questioned the driver of their destination at one point but it was more of an inaudible mumble and no one answered him.
Bang. Bright lights, white walls, all you would expect of a laboratory of some evil mastermind and here Donnie Dillinger was sat with wings poking out of his back, black feathers and skin spreading under his chin to his chest and coating his hands and up to his elbow, his eyes bright amber where once bright blue inhabited and black markings on his face, illuminating his already pale complexion.
He was sat on one of those medical chairs that always seems to come in that weird mint green colour staring intently at his fingers, bodies and figures moved around him and prodded and poked him.
Jesus, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing - intolerable vibrations in this place. Get out. The weasels were closing in. I could smell the ugly brutes
Experiment Ether, thats what they called him, his mutation could retract by the will of the mind and his strength and senses heightened during mutation to that of its DNA counterpart, the raven. Quick of tongue and merciless to the core yet holding some kind of sense and grace during all of the happenings. This was a beginning of something new, no more bleach fumes, no more beatings, just Donnie Dillinger, there he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.
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Imma stop now.
