ERASMUS SATURN, DISTRICT THREE

[gamemaker kelsier]

Name: ERASMUS SATURN, CODE NAME: JET STAR
Age: EIGHTEEN
Gender: MALE
District/Area: DISTRICT 3
Appearance:

Personality:

Jet Star, is a really a shooting star. He travels so fast that it looks like he'll reach his final destination before most. That can be worrying, but he pushes that idea to the back of his mind. (He finds that he can deal with a lot of problems that way). He seems like a very big man on the outside, all swagger and easy grins. On the inside, he feels inadequate, like the whole world will come toppling down any second and it will be his fault. He's got a hero complex, he just wants to protect everyone, if they want protection or no. He doesn't know what to call this other than duty, but it's probably more like familial love for this makeshift family.

Still, no matter what feelings of warmth he harbours towards his team mates, he doesn't show this. Growing up in an orphanage gives you a fortitude you never knew was possible. To the rest, it might look like Jet Star is just there because he gets to maim and hurt, and this is an idea he likes to advertise. The colder, more brutal he seems, the less people will try to get near him, and the less they can abandon him later. See, he'll always have these feelings of being slightly inadequate, like no matter what he does for the group it won't even matter. They could pack up and leave on him anyway. He's so afraid that he doesn't often know how to deal with these situations. Of course he's a charmer, he can work a crowd, but one on one interactions? Not so much.

So of course the only outcome was for Saturn to seek more of the crowds love. He wants to be a hero, like in the stories. He wants to rise up and be the beacon that his District needs for this revolution. Of course, he has this odd little respect for Cyanide, and would never really want to step on his toes. It's like a dog rolling over and submitting to it's pack leader. Of course he'll still argue with him, badger him, but when it comes down to it, Saturn will respect him. Don't tell anyone, but although he's only a year older than him, Cy is wise and has maybe sort of become a father figure to Saturn. He'll latch on to whoever will respect him back, and without fear. Cyanide is important to Saturn, and if the revolution is important to him, he will do as he is asked.

Still, there is that piece of him that's all fire and rage, slowly escaping with each encounter his fist makes with a face. But once the rage leave, more doubles inside him, and soon he'll just be all anger and nothing else anymore. It comes out in spurts and makes him say mean and nasty things that he'll regret later. He likes to feel the crunch of bone under his fist, because that means feeling something, and being an important factor in other people's world. And maybe he's just a kid, but with the few encounters he's had with Housten, he's developed something inside the pit of his stomach that arms up at the thought of her. Call it what you like, but call it love in his vicinity and he'll deny it. He's not built for that kind of thing. Besides, people can leave, especially in this business, and he doesn't think he can deal with that. Better just not try at all rather than fail.

[/size][/blockquote]History:

"Jet Star’s personal motto, and the word he uses most often when advising Cyanide on a plan of action is, simply, “Go.” His rocket-ship approach to every situation is often useful, because he’s a fearless fighter who’ll guaranteed be at the front-and-center of every raid and standoff against Korse’s draculoids (his personal nickname for the parasitic Peacekeepers). Saturn grew up in an orphanage near the edge of the District, abandoned by wanderer parents who dreamt of parenthood but couldn’t deal with it when it came. And the boy knows all this; it made him a fighter in his last home, always fierce to prove that he wasn’t some plaything to be cast aside when he became too trivial. Jet Star is highly valued by all the Killjoys, especially Dr. Death Defying, who he helps bring the wounded out of the heat of battle after raids that he himself has been a mercenary in. However, his rash behaviour sometimes does more bad than it does good, and can lead to heated arguments and foul words between him and Cyanide, whose main aim is to sustain a secret war, without any of the heroism that Saturn craves."

[/size][/blockquote]Codeword: OH DEAR
Comments/Other:

THIS BOY IS IN ONYX'S THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF PLOT.

[gamemaker kelsier]

“I'M TALKING LOUD NOT SAYING MUCH”
You shoot me down, but I get up.

AGE . Eighteen.
GENDER . Male.
DISTRICT . Three.
OCCUPATION . In life I've always been a Mercenary.
SEXUALITY . Heterosexual.
TALKING . Yellow Light bkg
DOING . Bathhouse red
DEEP THOUGHT . other sky
HEARING . Kompt
OTHER . (Flag Green)

“I'M BULLETPROOF, NOTHING TO LOSE”
Fire away, fire away.

When his feet hit the ground in a steady beat, the pavement remembered it so fiercely that shards of pain flicked through the granite. His mouth was set in a grim line of determination, his fists pumping at his sides with such force the air moved to dodge them. Somewhere behind him, voices bloomed into the night air, scattering pollenous noise in every direction. "We know you're out there, you...you...GUY! We will find you!" In response, he smirked and slowed down to a light jog, the cross in his ear jangling along with his steps. If they thought they could catch him, he'd better give them a good time at least. It was more fun to play with them first, and then get away anyway. Around him, the night wind sang it's way through the crowded street. Not with people of course, it was too late at night for that. Just garbage and ghosts.

Alright, possibly a few people here and there, but nothing like the usual business of the day. He barely had to dodge anyone, and if he simply lifted up the hood of his black hoodie, he wouldn't blend as easy as he liked. They'd know him for his stance in this lot. He was too tall for the old beggar women with the crooked backs from hard lives. He was too thickset for the scrawny young boys that ran midnight errands for a few pennies. So all that was left to him was to stand and fight the five men that were after him, or to run. I want to feel my fist smash against their stupid noses. He knew though, what Cyanide had told him to do. He was to keep them running while Housten played with their files. He'd never understood the whole thing about files or getting information that way. A good knife to the thigh usually gives me what I want to know. That, or taking a finger. It was an annoying mess to cleanup, sure, but effective.

It wasn't Saturn's rodeo though, so it meant running, and no breaking any knee caps. As he rounded the next corner, he felt his sneaker loosen, and with an annoyed sigh, came to a halt in the middle of the road, in plain site. Bending down, he tied his shoe, lithe fingers delicately pulling the laces tight. He took his time, listening or footsteps in the night. He began to wonder if he'd lost them that easily, and considered going back so he could find them again. Stupid Draculoids can't even catch one guy? Raising an eyebrow, he smirked at the ground, and stood up in one fluid motion. An idea springing to his mind, he sped off again, moving from zero to thirty in hardly any time. This time, he didn't allow his feet to yell where he was. It felt like flying, lightly stepping on the grey stone beneath him instead of grounding himself with every step. His body worked effortlessly, he could barely feel the way his lungs contracted, and the air battling to invade his lungs. He was a well oiled machine, and it seemed only right after his years of maintenance.

He rounded another corner, leading the men and women into a circle, wondering if they'd realize. If they understood, they could catch me easily. If they understood and made it so there were no more places to run, no getaways by roof or sewer, they could catch him. Not without a fight, of course. Like a match never lit, he felt anticipation build inside. This might be the best part about it. Knowing that his life was on the line, and if he wanted it, he could give it away without hesitation. Not even for the stupid cause, or for the Killjoys. He could give it away because no one would give a damn if he came back or not. I'm only important because they need me to fight for them. Saturn knew that from the day he joined up all that long while ago. It was the rule he had set for the others too. 2. We aren't friends. We are soldiers. Well, one of the rules. The rest go as follows:

[/i][/color]
2. We aren't friends. We are soldiers. (None of that touchy, feely crap)
3. No questions. (You don't get to know me.)[/ul][/blockquote][/color]
All that was wrapped up in the unspoken fourth rule, don't pretend to give a damn about me. It had been an unspoken rule since Saturn was born and dumped into the orphanage. The way he saw it, was if his own parents didn't even want him, then who in their right mind would? He didn't want any fake friends or family. He didn't want anyone to act like he was important to them, not when he knew that he wasn't. Who'd care for a guy like me? The only one who watched after Saturn was Death herself, and that was only because she was waiting to claim him. He'd always been on his own, and it's what he liked. Even at the boy's orphanage he was dropped at, no one cared. It was a careers orphanage, to raise the perfect weapon for the games. What other use is an abandoned kid in such a big district, hey? His only use was to train and then die.

He recalled the grey uniform of the big house that was more like a prison. How they all had those stupid timetables to follow, how every now and then a boy would leave and never come back. Presumably adopted, or something maybe worse. Once you turned nineteen, you were useless and were thrown out. A lot of things had happened to Saturn, and he'd caused things in turn in that big old place. He had the scars to prove it. If you didn't accidentally kill another boy, you did badly. Doing badly meant some form of punishment. That could be cleaning, or a couple kisses from a nine-tailed cat. The fist time he'd felt the whip on his back was when he was five, and the Warden told him that his parents had been wanderers hwho dropped him and ran. They were either dead or avoxed by now, he'd never find him. I wasn't even worth their effort. In response, he'd lashed out, nails scraping across the man's cheek. He'd made himself a target that day. He didn't care.

When he was younger, he dreamed of finding his mom and dad, how sorry they'd be. he assumed they'd probably just not been able to take care of him, something had come up. Of course it had. They'd come for him, as soon as they could. He'd gotten into so many fights with the other boys. He'd proudly say that his parents were rebels, or maybe they worked for the Capitol. He'd make up stories about their whereabouts and the other kids would get jealous and hit him. Of course I'd hit back. He had a good network of scars criss-crossing his back and thighs now. The way he saw it, it'd been worth it, defending his parents. Luckily, he'd left that stupidity far behind with age. His mother and father didn't care. They had left a note, explaining how much they wanted him, but they didn't think they could give him a good life. A good life would have them there, being there, raising me. I wouldn't have cared about anything else. They can go die.

He could hear annoyed shouts of recognition int he distance as they realized where he was leading them. Only two laps in, good on them. Wheeling, he turned on his heel and began running in the other direction, to chase the men who would be running around to catch him. He'd split them up, too easily. Fighting them would be easier this way. Maybe I said I wouldn't, but a tiger can't change his stripes. Cyanide must have known that. If he'd wanted a runner, a mercenary was a bad choice. Maybe he'd pay for it with a shouting match later, but for now it would be fun. That was what was worth living for, the now. Right now, his breathe was leaving him faster than he could take it in, and right now he was staring into the face of a woman a little older than him, she was holding a taser.

Not giving her time to register his sudden appearance, he jumped forward, and gripped her wrist, until she let go of the taser. With his other hand, he gripped her throat and pushed with all his force, effectively throwing her to the floor. Don't hesitate. He almost heard her head knock against the concrete, and when he moved his hand away, she stayed put. Stepping over her in one fluid motion, he reached down to grab the electric weapon, and moved on, not even looking back. Don't pity the enemy. There would be more where she came from, if he stopped to check her pulse he would be captured easily. Compassion was for those that cared. Saturn wasn't just beyond caring, I am merciless. Genders didn't matter, they were all equal in his mind. Anyone who got in his way would be attacked.

He'd always been on his own, even in the orphanage. When people touched him, there wasn't ever any love in that touch. It was always rough, pushing, shoving, pulling. He hated it, feeling their skin against his, he'd never liked touching. There wasn't anybody to show me that touching didn't have to hurt. Once another boy had given him a hug and he'd mistook it for a an attack and freaked, hitting him until he was black and blue. Well that sure sent a message. No one tried anything after that. The way he saw it, was if he could avoid it, if he could remain cold and far away, then they couldn't hurt him like that. Not physically. The other way. Being touched in a comforting way felt like someone pouring water on his flame. It stops my breath. It terrified him.

Rounding a corner, he grabbed the hood of the figure that was waiting for him to come the opposite way. With a quick movement, he shoved the taser into the man's cheek and pushed the button. The guy fell back against Saturn's tall physique, and instead of laying him down gently, he let him fall to the ground with a thud. Flipping the taser in his hand appreciatively, he tucked it into the back pocket of his trademark skinnies with a grin. I call it a grin. Sure, there was the occasional smirk, the self-gratifying smile, but nothing was special there. Every painting had it's mona, and his was a classic grin. It wasn't ever really there for anything but show. He had grins and smirks falling out of his sleeves, there were so many. A smile, now that was a rare thing. Not something that just anyone would get the pleasure of seeing, however. A smile like that had to be saved, and kept hidden, lest anyone think him softer than he was or ever would be.

Saturn was good, yeah. He was good because if he got captured, he knew that'd be it for him. He could feel it in his lungs, a certainty with every step he took. There was not anyone out there who he could trust to come save him. How could they expect me to trust them? Ever since Saturn could remember, someone had been abandoning him every chance they got. First his parents, then all the boys in the orphanage, and finally the orphanage it's self. He couldn't count on anyone, if he was miles out, lost in the middle of the country, no one would go and look for him because they just don't care. That's what gave him that edge, the psychotic look to his gaze. It's what gave him his code name: Jet Star. He was travelling so fast that he was burning up in this atmosphere, and no one is going to save me. No one could grab hold of him, no one had a grip because he wouldn't let them even try. Don't touch me! He couldn't.

He'd only taken down two of his pursuers, there would be more. There would always be more, no matter how fast he ran from them. They had his scent now, they had seen his face. That was okay though, that was the way he like it. He wanted everyone to know his name, to be able to point him out and say, "See that guy? He's my hero." For all his pushing away, for all his running out of anyone's spectrum, he'd always be the type of kid who stared into the candy shop window longingly. He would always want what he couldn't have, because that was who he was. He'd wreck it for himself before he could have it, oh of course. I just want to be relevant. Just to be somebody's something. After all those years as just a kid in an orphanage, nothing special, he wanted to be someone's one out of many. Something he'd never own up to, or deny, of course. It was just a stupid dream after all.

He drew his fist back, and brought it with force through the use of physics into the face of a young man who was apparently trying to use gravity to his advantage. He felt the blood on his knuckles, could almost taste it in the air. He'd broken something there, that was always fun. Cyanide would probably notice how raw his knuckles were though, so that could be a problem. Of course, my knuckles are usually raw. Some people get surprised, that when they punch someone else, they experience pain too. Saturn had been learning how to throw a good punch since he learned to walk. Pain was an everyday experience for him, there had never been a day without it. The idea of a painless day was completely foreign, because pain was a feeling that was felt, and no one had ever offered to kiss Saturn's wounds. No one had been in there tuck him in at night, and he could whine and complain about it, but it wouldn't change a damn thing.

His life growing up was all back hands, and a fragile comradeship between him and his 'brothers'. All the young boys were Scum. All the older boys were Hyung. It was an old title of respect that the Warden used to use for his own brother, and their father used before them, and so on. At first, it was just something the boys used to yell at each other in the yard, it was a game. You were scum, or you were the hyung, like cops and robbers. Saturn, there for most of his young life, was a hyung at the age of five. Messing with him meant scratched cheeks, or a broken finger. Nobody knew where he came from, or who, for that matter. He was a mystery, and an angry little one. Growing up under strict rules did nothing to calm that anger.

An elbow came up just then, sort of out of the blue really. One minute he was running along, lost in thought, the next moment, there was an elbow. To dodge it, he had to duck. The half of him that decided to duck did so, unfortunately, the other half of him that wanted to get as far away from the elbow as possible, tried to slide backwards. As a result, he slid underneath instead, and reacting quickly, threw out his leg in a turn that would sweep the opponent off his or her feet. There was a satisfying thud accompanied with a woosh of the sudden loss of air in the enemy's lungs. Rolling, he stood up and kicked the figure in the side for good measure. Something about this last one had thrown him off. I'm too distracted. It's a problem. Haunted by the ghosts of memories past, or some shit.

Suddenly, he wasn't so much in the fighting mood. Normally, where he would have made sure to get every last one Draculoid rushing around his streets, he was finding it all a bit....shallow and pedantic. He could lead them around a bit more, yeah. That was usually a good laugh, but he felt a sudden mood breach his stability. If you could call it that. Saturn hadn't been stable since the day he gained a stream of conscience and he realized his mama was never going to come and get him. His father didn't give a shit, and if he was going to learn anything about being a man, it wouldn't be from him. With a sigh, he took a seat, right there on the body he'd just taken down to wait for the rest of the Dracs to show.

Lazily, he spread out and yawned, the night growing old around him, not having been all that young when he started this whole thing. They'd have to be done by now, maybe even long done. Notice how no one's even come to collect me? When he was done, Cyanide knew he would return, just like he always would. Probably. There was always maybe a pretty good chance that he wouldn't. Cyanide always trusted that he would. Saturn's joinng of the group had been less than conventional, and it had been a few years back, when he was fourteen, or fifteen something like that. He'd decided to leave the orphanage a bit early, and ran right into the middle of a fight. He'd been on the Killjoys' side ever since then. They hadn't really bothered to ask where the blood-stained kid with the manic expression came from.

He let his black hood fall back, to reveal raven locks with a streak of red. Thick and wiry, it cascaded over his right eye like a waterfall of blood. On both sides, it was shaved, so no one would be able to grab him to easily. His eyes, glowing out from under that hair, reflected his smile, dark as night, and filled with such an intensity that it was terrifying. Outlined in dark kohl, it only made him more menacing. Then came the lips sitting above an angled jaw line, and a long swan-like neck. Those lips, unless smirking almost seemed too relaxed, like that's how he wanted them to look. There was where he waited for the rest of them to come, a prince on a throne of bodies. He waited in silence, not having brought anything to distract him. He read, yeah, but not much. He mostly just liked to sit quietly, and these little pockets of silence were always cherished. Here he was, a silent star, shooting through the atmosphere, not even a keepsake to his name. He had no one, and nothing. He was indestructible in this moment, distant shouting in the background. The only thing they gave him, was a name.

Saturn's first name, the one no one knows, was given to him by his mother and father. They left him in the most stereotypical way possible, swaddled in an old blanket with a note tucked into the folds on an orphanage door step. Erasmus Saturn. Nobody knew where such a weird name came from, especially in a Distict occupied by guns and noises. One day he was in the sad little library the place boasted, and he looked up what Erasmus meant. \e-ras-mus, er(a)-smus\ as a boy's name is of Latin and Greek origin, and the meaning of Erasmus is "to love, worthy of love." He dropped Erasmus then, and stuck to Saturn.

That careful smirk back in place, he watched as they rounded the corner and got closer and closer. Making no move to stand, Saturn enjoyed the looks of outrage when they saw what he was sitting on. Only then did he slowly get to his feet, voice drawling out into the night, filled with as much bravado as he could muster, "Finally come to play, have you? Well then, let's go, shall we?"[/color][/size]

ANYTHING ELSE ?

OUT OF CHARACTER .

FACE CLAIM .

JUNIOR ROYAL • ERASMUS SATURN

OTHER CHARACTERS ?

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I, ELEGANT .

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CODEWORD . odair[/blockquote][/justify]

[gamemaker kelsier]

wow done I guess sooorryyy

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

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