Pale gold eyes stared themselves down in the mirror, unwavering. The randomly distributed patches of scales melding into his human skin, he could hide. The forked tongue could be talked down as an odd choice of fashion on the rare occasion that he couldn't just talk discreetly enough to hide it. As long as he was careful to never get too excited his fangs never dropped, so that wasn't an issue. The fact that his jaw could extend an extra few inches didn't matter, he never ate in view of people. Occasionally he wasn't able to move when it got too cold and that was a bit of an issue but it wasn't too much of a problem, he just didn't go out when it was cold. The fact that it took him about a week to digest one meal helped, normally he would get unfrozen before he even got hungry again. His eyes were an issue though. They just caused so many problems. He couldn't put contacts in, he had tried and it felt like he had put fire in his eyes instead. For some reason, they unsettled people. Maybe it was the slits for pupils, he mused, or perhaps the unnatural shade of gold. Whatever it was, something set people off when they saw them. He pondered the surface value but deep down he knew it was because they saw the eyes of a predator that they were scared.
The abandoned, deformed, half-breed child of a nāga and a human lived as discreetly as possible. Perhaps if people were not so afraid of him he might be a bit more sociable but as it was now, he hated being seen. He rarely left the small home he lived in, well, he called it a home. Most people would have turned up their nose at the prospect both literally and figuratively. A small corner of an unused subway system wasn't exactly the most befitting, or best smelling of homes but it suited him. There were plenty of rats to catch and eat, birds too. Occasionally he'd even get lucky and find a stray cat to devour. Water dripped down that he could collect and drink and it had never made him sick so it must have been clean.
The only times he went up were on the rare occasion that he needed something that wasn't provided by his claimed territory. On those occasions he'd wear the nice clothes he had found discarded, he'd even make the effort to wash himself. They were dark clothes, black pants with lots of pockets all over and a deep brown shirt with a picture of some sort of bird on it. He didn't bother to learn the names of birds, there were too many kinds. There was also a light jacket he would wear when it was cold but generally if it was cold he just suffered through the itching.
The most common cause for a trip up would be running out of the soothing cream that made the skin around his scaly patches stop itching. He had no idea what it was called but he could identify it by look alone. He had currency tucked away, he had found a lot of it one time and he didn't really like stealing from the store so when he could he paid for it but he was starting to run low on found money again so he would probably have to go back to stealing it soon. He didn't like that but he would deal with it.
With a soft sigh he set down the shard of mirror he had and stood. His normal clothes sagged around him, a threadbare white shirt that hung to his knees and a baggy pair of pants. The shirt wasn't quite white anymore, but it had been when he found it. Now the front was all covered in blood and dirt and the back was yellowed, presumably from dirt as well. His stomach growled and he decided it was time to find some food. He stood from his makeshift home, a worn down mattress covered in scraps of this and that he had found lying around and had seemed somewhat soft. He had a blanket to the side that he curled up underneath when he slept. He'd never been able to sleep uncovered, even his head had to be completely hidden for sleep to take him into is blissful hold.
Before leaving he looked back fondly at all his little objects, various trinkets he'd collected out of the garbage and other such places that now littered his home rather than the street. They were things no one else seemed to want, but to him they were amazing little wonders. He had no idea what most of them actually were but he loved them all just the same. They were his treasures. To prove just this he had carved his name into most of them. His name was the only word he actually knew how to spell or read. Nagendra, his mother had called him. She had said it came from his father but he didn't much care where it came from, a name was a name and nothing more. He had even carved his name into the entrance to his little alcove and around it. He didn't want any intruders so he thought maybe having his name there would ward off any unwanted guests. The animals around didn't pay any mind though and a human had never been down here. He shook these distracting thoughts and hopped down onto the remains on the tracks. He took one deep breath through his mouth, something delicious caught on his tongue and like that, he was on the hunt.
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