Steven Dittman

“My story is a long one. Let me save us some time. I am the great-grandson of Dan the Lion. My father was a great son to that legend, from what I read. I can no longer remember him very well. I was young when he died, and I age about twice as long as regular humans. It is one of the gifts that Grandpa passed down to me. I also have claws, hence my nickname: Claws. Mine are more needle-knife size than cat size, though. Some townsfolk found me in the wreckage of my father’s house. They took me in as their own for a while, but I outlived them. I remember them better, but their names escape me. Being put into a coma, which furthermore slowed my aging until I woke, did not help anything. I had the intelligence of a mature teenager but was living in what would be recognized as and eleven-year-old’s body when my current parents picked me up from the orphanage that the hospital sent me to. Gorvin and Jill Stiff have been great mentors to me since I joined their family in the mid 1900’s. I had no siblings though, and friends were hard to come by, because they tended to be scared of my claws. You can bet that no bullies bugged me. The only people who cared enough to get to know me were my teachers, nurses, and other adults in my life. Doctors were a little scared of my unique physique, but some nice thick gloves kept the extendable bones inside my hands well enough. I did have a few encounters with people who got on my nerves, and this taught me that I had way more abilities than I thought that I did. If I became really angry, my ears grew a little longer, my eyes gleamed, and my muscles began to bulge. After the first of these encounters, I started to fear myself a little, and even had nightmares now and then about some giant green monster force feeding one of its own scales to me when I was a baby. I am not sure if there is any reality to it, but it would explain those outbursts. Today, I am a little over sixty-years-old (but not physically a day over thirty), and my adopted parents are now in their eighties. I work as a janitor at my old high school. It did not feel right to leave. I knew that there would always be kids who were looked down on for various reasons, and I liked to help them find friends and make sure they were not mistreated. That is where our story begins, another day at school. I was tending to my duties, just mopping the floor when I notice a particularly large and intimidating boy push one of his classmates flat on his face. The kid must have been a transfer student, because my presence normally ensures no messing around.

2 Robbie

“Ha, ha, Billy! No teacher to save you now. You corrected everything I said today. I just want to participate! What does it matter what I say, huh!” Whack! Smack! “Let this be a lesson buster. Robbie says what he want, and needs no punk to mess it up!” The brat was about to deliver another blow when Morgun interrupted.

3 Morgun

“Hey kid! Leave Billy alone!”

4 Robbie

“Stay out of it you stupid janitor! Clean the Gosh darn floors and keep off!”

5 Morgun

“You need to learn some respect Robbie.” He grabbed the brutish rebel by the arm and headed for the principle’s office. However, Robbie’s idea of compliance was gut punching his “captor.” “Ooof! Hrnn. That’s it kid!” Morgun drew his claws out in frustration and gave his opponent a couple harsh slashes. Suddenly Robbie became a fetal cry baby, and not without reason. He needed to be taken to the nursery immediately, and Morgun was brought to the principle to discuss his job. His options were to leave quietly and never be welcomed back, or to be fired and have a count of assault on his record, which would naturally taint his resume. Saddened as he was, Morgun opted for quiting.