TYRANNUS HORUS REX, DISTRICT ONE

“THE PEOPLE OF THE WORLD HAVE TURNED THEIR BACKS AGAINST ME”
The corners of their eyes are all twisted up.

AGE . Same as Tarquin.
GENDER . I'm a boy.
DISTRICT . District One.
OCCUPATION . Troublemaker, but you can call me a Career.
SEXUALITY . Pansexual.
TALKING . NovaPastelGreen
DOING . Avalonites
DEEP THOUGHT . the blanks
HEARING . bad baby bad baby
OTHER . Sound Asleep

“YOUR EXISTENCE IS A CHRONIC DISEASE”
A repetition of pain.

If Tarquin and I are the four elements, then he's earth and water, I'm fire and air. He's everything that's substantial, and I'm just not. I'm all smoke and mirrors. Blow on me, I'll flicker out, flap your hands and I woosh away. Tarquin is everything unbendable, and I'm just hot air. Like so much nothing. Smoke and mirrors. Everyone has to have a reflection, and I'm his. I'm afraid to look in mirrors, because I'm afraid of what I'll see. What if there's nothing there? A mirror can't have a reflection, and he's always been the most present of the two of us. Everyone has a reflection as a basic rule. You don't have more than one, unless there's more than one mirror. But if you already are a living, breathing reflection, than what are you exactly? Certainly not real. It's okay though, as long as I know what Tarquin is like, I know what I look like. I'm him. We're the same in every defining feature, down to the crookedness of our teeth. It isn't even funny how many times I've been called Tarquin, not that I really mind. Tarquin and I are one and the same anyway.

I don't really think that there has ever been a time when we weren't together. I was born before him, one hour and fourty-three minutes. It didn't change anything, we're exact carbon copies. Even our hair style is similar, but why would I change it. I could shave myself bald and people would ask Tarquin why he shaved all his hair away. I do have an undercut, on the right side, where I started with a half hearted attempt to become a different boy, and then gave up halfway through. It's dark brown, and mostly left shaggy in comparison to Tarquin's carefully brushed locks. Mine is swept to the left, almost covering one eye until I run one long, spider like hand through it. It's dark brown with streaks of lighter brown slipping through it, bleached by the sun. It's grown so long now, that if I simply leave it, I can't see. I'm constantly running a hand through it and pulling it back. But it also makes an excellent hiding place.

Like fire and air, I am fluid. Yeah, I know, it doesn't make sense, but I am. I move across the ground with an eerie sense of grace, a hunter stalking an unknown prey. All languid movements that that make as much noise and disturbance as snow falling. Not always so silken and soft though. I'm like to a flame, all flitting movements, and Tarquin is the candle wax. The thing that keeps me grounded before i'm like to completely burn up. Moving on with that analogy, my candle stem is an innocence that becomes withered every single time I touch it. Everything I touch dies. My candle stem is my long legs, leading up to a toned abdomen and a thin waist. I am built for speed, unlike my older ignoramus of a brother. I stand at six feet tall, all long and gangly. That doesn't mean I don't train though, I'm a Rex. I am a career with a penchant for Katanas and hand to hand combat.

To be honest, I tend to spend most of my time climbing. My fingers are long and thin, excellent for gripping. It's as if I was made to be up in the air. I can't ever say what it is, but it's quiet and people don't ever think to look up. It's a good place to drop things from, to hear them make a thud or a splat on the ground. It does mean that my nails aren't the longest, and my hands are rough and callused. There's usually always an easy smirk painting my lips into an upward fashion, and dark, dark eyes in an almond shape. A sharp chin, and a careless nose that's been broken once or thrice. Being me, I get punched in the face a lot, I don't always duck.

What do you do when you're a pretty boy, other than accentuate those facts? Tight, form fitting clothes are easier to run around in anyway, so that's what I tend to get around in. Usually long sleeved items that hide old scars and bruises from training. There was a time when I didn't want people to know I trained so much, and that was habit left over from that. Nowadays I tend to also wear short sleeved items, or even no shirt at all because it pisses the girls off. I don't really know what their problems are. They are not innocents. I hate being the one to always have to point that out, but I can't stand the fact that people are always trying to hide who they really are behind smiles. Smiles that are clear as glass that someone slew a handful of mud at.

Then there is me. Oh darling, don't even hope for it, I lost my innocence a long time ago. My life is a string of one night stands, different substances, and meaningless kisses and whispers. I can play a girl or a guy as easily as I play the piano. Of course it took some practice at first, but so does everything else. I don't mind being known as a reckless boy who doesn't seem to care about his own image, because I suppose that is my image. I'm always getting into fights, coming home a mess, but it only ever serves to remind me that I, Tyrannus Rex, live.

I've never known how to classify myself, if I'm a Rex or not. At first I thought I was something Tarquin just dreamed up. I never really stood out much when I was younger. I made the mistake of being a healthy, normal kid. Okay, a healthy, normal kid with the tendency to bounce off the walls a little too often. Tarquin was born smart it seemed, I was born with a death wish. I wasn't ever bothered by much it seemed, as if I had no fear. I would climb the tallest of trees, and would only ever come down for Tarquin. I thought Tarquin was my lifeline, my anchor. There was no one who understood me better, sometimes I even thought that he could read my mind, the way he would look at me. In the night he would crawl into my bed, or I would crawl into his, because separation was painful for us. I began to think that I was simply a reflection of a boy.

I began to find it weird that no one else had what we had, a walking mirror image. I found it funny that Tarquin and I were a thing called twins, but no one else had one. I began to suspect that we were different. That I was different. That I was just imaginary. I've never really been able to let go of that idea, the sense that if I fell to the side I'd go on falling forever.

It made sense, Tarquin was always the sturdier one, I was always the whirlwind of anger and something else no one could ever pinpoint. I believed myself to be as insubstantial as the wind, and I felt it too, I thought I could float away. Oddly enough, I think I was okay with that analysis. It seemed fitting that I should be the devil on the shoulder, the puff of smoke that's bound to always go out. yet, I can never stop myself from trying to prove to others that I am alive. I never want them to stop seeing me because then I truly will go out and I don't really know what it's like out there. Maybe that is why I succumb to my odd little cruelties that I cannot bare to simply stop. A strange part of me finds too much joy in the misfortune of other's. A flood of warmth squirms it's way through me to see other's tears. I am the monster, here.

It's not a delight, more like an obsession. How do they work? what makes them tick? They seem so different than I, but we are of the same flesh and blood. The only person I really feel that applies to is Tarquin, and he is my tether. I realized the other day that without him I'd be like to fall off the edge of the world. But I am not dependent on him, no matter what it might look like. I have been known to disappear for days on end, but I always come back. He is like the trail of bread crumbs that lead me back. That's what it must be because I've been told that my sense of direction is terrible. I can't will myself to life when I'm not sure if it even exists, but there's enough sanity in me to know that I'm lucky enough to have someone who can pretend it does.

I've searched for life in all the wrong places, because wherever I go, it always seems dead. Once, tripping out on something or other, I was so afraid. I thought that whenever anyone left a room they immediately were swirled up into the vortex, and disappeared. When they walked back in, they reappeared. Which got me thinking, what if everyone isn't real, and I'm the only real thing here. What if I'm not even real. Nothing matters see, because everything is a great big lie. The Hunger Games have never been real, yet I train. For what, you ask? I cannot say. They ask me why I am so cruel, and I laugh in their faces because they don't exist and I don't have to answer to them. The only thing that lets me know I am truly here at all is the sight of my own blood.

I guess that's sort of why I'll always wear pants. But I only do it where they can't see it, along the inside of my thigh, or where they don't think to look, if they even thunk at all. I can't help the fascination, or the sense of relief that always comes after. If I'm bleeding I know I am alive, and that's why it is worth being sore for me. Maybe that's why I am so good at training too. So many of us, when we step into that training center are afraid of being hurt. I step in knowing that nothing is actually real, I don't exist, therefore pain is irreverent. I've never fully understood the idea of being afraid for your life anyway. I mean, what is so precious about life anyway? I've been told from a young age the best ways to kill a person as if I was being taught how to weave a basket. The sanctity for human life is non-existent, so why should I care about what happens to me. Maybe death is who they fear, but I can't bring myself to fear him either, you see, I have that problem that teenagers have where they believe themselves to be indestructible.

It's quite possible that I am. I've got numerous scars from all my tousles, you should really see them. Once I was scuffling with another boy somewhere, not the center because it wasn't one of those types of scuffles, and he managed to stab me in the thigh. What a lovely pirouette that made of the fight. One second we were wrestling, the next he had a knife and I didn't. There is a bit of an ugly scar there still, but it's never really bothered me. I was more annoyed by how long it took for it to heal. Curiously enough, Tiger was very angry when he found me. I don't know if someone told him where I was or what, but I think that was the first time I ever saw him truly angry, except for that one time I stapled all of his underwear to the ceiling. I'm never certain if that was a dream or what, his obvious anger at my leg. Mostly I was just in pain for that whole experience, you can't expect me to remember. I don't think he was mad at me either. That was a new thing.

I know there was a time when I got along rather well with all my siblings, but it must have been a very long time ago, before training. I think training started about two minutes after I slipped out of the womb, so it was never a very substantial relationship. Call it what you will, a chain, a noose, we come from the same blood, and no matter how many there are of us, apparently we are blood brothers and sisters. I quite prefer the companionship of Tarquin to anyone else, but if I simply must, then I prefer either Leo or Willow. Even if half the time she is trying to tell me that I'm reading her diary, I am, or show me up, I don't care. As for Leo, sometimes I think he is one of the only ones who can keep up with me intellectually.

I feel like I'm selling myself too much by calling myself an intellectual. I can't stand books, can't concentrate enough for them, and sciences don't interest me. What I have is something else, a different kind of smart. I know what makes people scream, the most painful and deadly places to hit, how to track in the woods, and how to sneak up on someone without being seen. Maybe I'm not as smart as the rest of them but I'm smarter than most, if you get my meaning. I ruin it with the fury I hold. A deep, rooted anger that won't seem to go away, no matter what I do I'm stuck with it. I'll fall into it's hold so easily and when I relieve myself of it, I've done something bad. I guess that's why I've always gotten into so many fights as well. I can't really stand most people. I used to fear it, that rage that'd steal me, but now I embrace it. The only person I've never really hurt is Tarquin, in turn he's really the only one who can calm me.

He and I were born a year after Leo, and nine and a half months before Willow. That's where we fit into the family. We're third oldest, and supposed to be leaders to our siblings, but I don't really know how. My father says I'm a disappointment. Says that I am too much of a child. I can't help that I am who I am, and he always conveniently forgets that I have half of his genes. There was a time when I would sweat and bleed for him, to gain his love and approval, but it never seemed to work, and I let that flame die rather quickly. I've been told that I am less than human, a monster because of the insane cruelty I hold. I see it more as an art form, a way to release my flames in little bouts. No one has ever seriously been hurt either, they should look at it as extra training. It should make their reactions quicker.

My days are spent waking up later than I should just to annoy Tarquin, and going to the training center later than everyone else. Of course that means, I stay later too. Then I go out, and I never come back until the wee hours of the morning. Scrub, rinse, and repeat. Of course, there are spaces in between to pull my pranks, for example, the time I took all of Vertigo's bras and but them on every marble statue around the house, including the ones outside. Sometimes I don't do anything, in one of those moods, and I simply sit by Tarquin all day to make myself feel better. Then he gets annoyed because I'm brooding at him. I yell at Tarquin too, but he's the only one I feel bad about ever. The only one I ever really feel guilt over. getting mad at Quin is like getting mad at a puppy, impossible. I don't think it's possible to get mad at a half of your entire self anyway. Besides, without him, I'd be lost. he's my compass.

I sometimes think about how I might be without him, and something within me stirs. Call it fear, loneliness, whatever. I would be less than human without my twin brother. Sometimes I fear that I already am, less than human, I mean. I fear that I have become just what my parents set out to create, a thoughtless killer. I could kill, i know I could. I don't have hopes and dreames like Willow or Leo. I have nothing, and no one but him. If he went away, I'd be left to free fall. I'd become what I always knew I could, what everyone has always known. I would become a monster without Tarquin there to reign me in. But I am not a monster, I am not. I do horrible things, but I hate it when they call me that, behind my back, as if I can't hear them. It doesn't matter anyway, as long as I have Tarquin.

“I'M NOT A MONSTER”
If even you throw me away I will die.

“NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, LET'S GO FOREVER"
When we’re sad, when we’re happy, let’s go till the end.

ANYTHING ELSE ?

His katana is named 'Lost' after his virginity.

OUT OF CHARACTER .

FACE CLAIM .
HUGH VIDLER • TYRANNUS HORUS REX

OTHER CHARACTERS ?
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I, ELEGANT .
Am very sorry.



CODEWORD . odair