He collected them. Feathered creatures of every age, color, gender.... all of these things. It made his collection more diverse. Some of his birds were rowdier, others were silent. Some of the others.... the prettier ones.... he would occasionally take to his bedroom. Although he rarely took the same bird twice in a week. His name was Edgar Von Struss, he had blonde hair cut in the latest fashion and always wore suit pants and a button up shirt. He was quiet unless angered, kind unless crossed but his birds... they were not people to him. He cared only for their bird halves, shining in their guilded cages but there was one he was fond of.... in a weird way. He beat her and used her and put her on display in the back where only he could see her. His tropical bird. But as any good collector did he loved to show off his gaggle. So he would hold dinners. It was at these dinners they would be complicated and if enough money was offered he would occasionally rent one or two to a good friend. Russ was the son of a lycan lord in the outer territories... he was forced to go with him to this posh dinner and he felt uncomfortable in his clothing. He hardly wore a shirt at home and being in this suit made his skin itch. He walked around the room looking uninterested at all the birds, he found his chair, his name written on a card and his lip curled back in a snarl, assigned seating. And so he sat, his chair directly facing the bird spoken of above.