Sebastian Rothul District 9

I know that your powers of retention
Are as wet as a warthog's backside
But thick as you are, pay attention
My words are a matter of pride...

Sebastian. A name which can mean several things. Awe. Reverence. Dread. These words would hold special significance for this boy; If he knew what his name meant. Are you prepared to delve into the depths of his twisted mind? You may come to regret your decision.

My appearance? If you insist. To begin with, my build. I am muscular. The kind of muscles you develop from having nothing to do but improve yourself. There are many kinds of power, and I intend to have all of them. Knowledge, cunning, physical strength. They are naught but shortcuts to the goal. I am a street child, but one day I will be so much more. I am well-fed; I steal, I find, I trade for the best, and I keep it for myself. The peons in the pack that I run with would never understand. They have such a small view of grandeur.

What crowns my head is a shock of curly dark hair, a deep brown that is almost black, and yet, I feel that a Victor's crown would grace it ever so much more. A single scar runs vertically across my right eye, a pale reminder of the true cost of power. I have been told that my eyes, green as the grass, have a tendency to stare balefully in a very unnerving way. Above them, my brow is perpetually raised in annoyance. It comes with living with those so far beneath your stature; and I mean that both physically and metaphysically. I tower over the pack, standing at six foot three.


My lips find themselves contorted into a dismissive sneer more than anything else. My nostrils flare in disapproval whenever my ears hear what I do not wish to hear. At this moment I have nothing further to say about the way I have chosen to look, and yet, still you wander the caverns of my subconscious.

I'll be king undisputed
respected, saluted
And seen for the wonder I am
Yes my teeth and ambitions are bared
Be prepared!

Sebastian has had a rough life, and it has taken his intelligent psyche to many places. In a strange contradiction, he is ruthless yet guarded. His interests come first, and screw anyone else who gets in the way. He has a desire to not only be the best, but to do it the most undeserving way possible. He has no deep-rooted belief that he is doing right, and that those doing right are in fact in the wrong. Sebastian is perfectly capable and aware of the differences. And he prefers to walk the darker path.

I cannot find anything that surprises me anymore. The districts are nothing tubs full of the blood spilled in the arena. One day, the drains will scab over and all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their government appointed murders will rise up around them and drown them in a shallow blood soaked grave.

But not I.

For I know what it takes to navigate these depraved shores. I have lived a far worse life than any of the strutting peacocks in the capitol. I have what it takes to survive. Conniving, they called me. Ambitious I replied. People are naught but stepping stones, and love a simple distraction. If I had a love, I would say it is the pursuit of power. It is the only thing that fuels me, though in all honesty, I am not entirely sure where it will lead. I only know that it is the path that leads to greatness. There is a saying that some men are born great. Others achieve greatness, and still others have it thrust upon them. I intend to steal it. I am not going to wait around for it to find me.

I'm surrounded by idiots. Idiots! There will BE a king! *I* will be king!

The sordid past of the Rothul boy is best left alone, and he would be wroth to share it with anyone. The kids that he runs with know nothing beyond what he allows them to. He is smart, if a little ignorant. He can tell that none of the teens he lives with are on par with his smarts, except perhaps their self-appointed leader.

My entire life I've been an accessory to murder. Death and I are old friends, ever hand in hand with a macabre grasp. My father told me my mother was used by a peacekeeper, whether she willed it or not, I may never know. But that was enough for him to hate me. Neither him nor my mother had green eyes like I. I killed my mother when I was born. The doctor said she had a weak heart. My father said I did it to spite him. It was clear from day one that he did not want me, and eventually, I did not want him either.

When I was twelve, I started to understand what power was. Power is largely the ability to instill fear. The sickening look on everyone's faces at the reaping. The crying and the tearful farewells. The capitol was able to reduce fully grown men and women to whimpering wrecks with the calling of their children's names. It was then that I wanted to learn how to do the same.

My father was a supervisor in one of District Nine's factories, and when I was old enough to work myself, I saw first hand what those In a position on power are capable of. They tell you to jump, you jump, they tell you to work, you work. And then they reap all the benefits.

At the age of fifteen, I instilled fear into my father. I went into his room with a knife and held it against his throat while he slept. He woke, and in a fit of rage, dashed me into the wall, before holding me down and carving a line into my face. But it was too late. I had seen the look in his eyes, and it was on that day that I knew his hold over me was broken.

I am not afraid.

Much to my surprise, I did not get another chance to do such. The following week my father was killed in a factory accident; something about weak walkways and a cranial impact. Rather then wait around to be re-distributed, I packed a bag full of necessities and left.

Searching.


What I found was unexpected. A coalition of orphans living in an abandoned mansion. The place must have once been a capitolites summer house or something, now forgotten, tarnished and overgrown with weeds. Life there was simple enough. We take what we want, grow what we want and live how we want. Though, even living lawlessly as we were, some things were still frowned upon. Depending on who you are. Some people were allowed to get away with everything. Others, should they do the same, would find themselves disciplined. Banished.


I was cast out for some got it into their heads that I was plotting the murder of their golden boy. I had no designs on such, preferring to wallow in my dark imaginings, or make my way to the city square during game time to enjoy the misery of others. However, now I would. I would strangle the lot of them for throwing me out with the rest of the trash. There is a girl whom all the others defer to, and a trio of incompetents who are losing their grip on humanity. There are a few others, but they aren't even worth mentioning.

I promise myself two things. One day I will have my revenge on those prideful sycophants. And one day I will rise above all of the plebeian masses, and woe to those who stand in my way.

The future is littered with prizes
And though I'm the main addressee
The point that I must emphasize is
You won't get a sniff without me

FC Is Jason Momoa

Scar in the Lion King Plot