officially joined shadowclan teehee as of 12.1.24 @balletomania ★ name ideas ─ solivagant [to wander alone] - aubade [a love song at dawn], sonder [realization of personal story]: soli ★ identity ─ amab, straight [duh] ★ idea dump ─ closed off and succinct introvert who doesn't talk a lot but thinks through most conversations in his head ─ likes taking solitary walks during the night just to see the way the territory looks underneath the moonlight ─ very proper and british, but not actually proper... very casual and nonchalant, but its more so a lack of excitement than anything ─ enjoys talking to himself more than to others ─ romantic at heart, even if he doesn't show it ─ very sentimental ─ loves the dawn more than any other time of day ─ socially awkward to a fault ─ has a special place he retreats to when tired or simply wanting to hide from the world ─ super duper theatre kid in secret: "im batman" ─ ballet dancer? perhaps? :0 ─ goes blind in both eyes some day so uses impeccable hearing to dance <3 ─ labels: nyctophile, insomniac, balletomane, poetophile, wayfarer, nomad https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/30102099/comments/#comments-277636020 (sign-up)
୨୧ . darling amphitheatre in the dark ꒱ ── ๑ ֹ ₊ ۟ The closeted night wears a veil of wispy moonlight. Stars, sprinkled like fine dust, softly accents the royal purple. A spotlight in the dark; a singular moonbeam pooling onto the smooth, reflective surface of a stone. A solo performer floats from the shadowy forest and into the brilliant light. Soli flicks his slender tail, head tilted skyward as he approaches his stage. Gently, delicately, he steps onto the platform and rises up, up, up into the moon's cool, solitary embrace. Eyes closed, breathing slowed. This is his Roman Empire; his beloved arena where he stands emboldened by his adoring audience. Delicate silence comforts his reverie and a soft smile graces the tom's dark face. ❝Let us begin, my darling stars,❞ Solivagantaubade says into the fullness of the empty woods. Vivid blue eyes open and a sleek black coat shines with the dimness of a thousand silver droplets. A quick breath and then he's off. Ballet is an artwork. An effortless choreographer that requires everything of its dancer. And Soli performs it well. He surges and sways, twirling, whirling, spinning, leaping — graceful as a swan swimming in moonlit waters — in the crisp air. There is no divide between his body and the fluidity of the midnight expanse he calls his own. For an eternity he dances; it's his own personal aubade to twilight and to wandering and to sleeplessness and to beauty. Here, in his amphitheatre of darkness, Solivagantaubade finds his peace.
