Solo [Job] The Canvas of Stage

[Haneht]

1st Summer, 518AV

For as long as Haneht remembered, dancing had seemed to come to him as naturally as Syna and Leth rose and fell. Semhu, with its acrobatics and martial arts, had been his main study in his early childhood - the glistening golden gates to the world of dance he so adored - and there in his first theatre, he fell so deeply in love.

Stories have always held great personal meaning to him. His parents had never been the affectionate, nurturing sort, and outside of his lessons and practices, there hadn’t been much to look forward to. Strangers intimidated him most occasions, and the appeal of mixing with the other children his age had never come to him. As a quiet, yet overly imaginative child, he sought comfort in the realms of his own mind, and they helped shape his image of the rest of the world and more behind the high walls of his family home. Nighttime as a toddler had been a fun, sacred affair that he shared with his sisters, avid storytellers who recounted lovely pieces of literature and poetry.

Tales of romance mostly, but stories nonetheless.

At some point, there existed an unspoken dream of being a Storyteller, but he’d been far too quiet and shy a child, and poor with words, with very little confidence in his voice. On such occasions, the child relied on facial expressions and gestures to convey his intentions. He always had been an expressive one - just not quite vocally as a child. So when he discovered the artisanal language of dance, he was immediately enamoured. The ability to spin tales into existence on a stage, with the accompaniment of melody from voice, amazed the young Eypharian. It had been a truly inspiring sight, and thus ignited his passion for dance. Semhu had been his primary love, for a period of time, but as he matured and his knowledge expanded, he gradually found that there was much more to dancing beyond the tiny world of Semhu, each with stories of their own from different cultures and places. Then he travelled beyond Ahnatep, past the blazing golden sands of Eyktol, and came across many others who shared his passion. Witnessed new forms that intrigued him and broadened his views, deepened his love and appreciation. All unique and enchanting to watch, and he knew he had to learn as many as he could. Knew that dance was in his blood, that it made his soul and entire being feel alive. So being a creature of instinct, he pursued his passion.

And now, soon to be 19 Summers old and all too eager to make a name for himself, Haneht was in Lhavit, dancing for their crowds at the Ethereal Opera House. Summer had fallen, and there was much to be done. Dance rehearsals stretched past many a bell, and they spun and leapt until their legs trembled and bodies ached. As a male dancer, the Eypharian youth made up the handful of his sex in the Ethereal Ballet, and though neither the best nor the worst, was one of the more notable members with his exotic, gilded features and multiple toned arms. Pressure was great. It always was, but Haneht thrived. Lived for the pain and pleasure it brought him, for the life it brought to his very soul. The boy reveled in the attention on stage where, years ago he could only dream of such boldness, the audacity to stand before thousands of strangers and watchful eyes, performing for them and at mercy of their judgement. It’s an addictive feeling he would never relinquish, not even for the world.

[Haneht]

1st Summer, 518AV

Back against the cool, polished stone grounds, Haneht cast his eyes upwards, at the ceiling, traversing from one intricate mural to another. In the cooling corridors of the Ethereal Opera House where upcoming productions were rehearsed, the dancers of the Ethereal Ballet lingered, at present on a break that most were spending by chatting and gossiping with each other, or lazing about on and against the stone structures. Sleeping between rehearsals was greatly advised against, unless one was willing to bear with the heaviness it brought about and the stiff tightness their muscles were more than likely to possess once they awoke. Not that most of them truly cared, frankly. He, as per usual, remained by his lonesome, lost in a distant dream world filled with things that only ever seemed to make sense to his difficult mind.

He wasn’t anti-social, no, that was a word that most could hardly associate with the sunny Eypharian. However, a drifting mind and mercurial mannerisms made it difficult for many to handle him for long, and Haneht did at times like being alone, to lose himself in a sea of perplexing thoughts and notions that no one really seemed to understand.

A nudge on his foot jolted him out of his trance, and his neck craned to allow a better view of the person by his legs. A noirette with sweet caramel skin and a toned physique not unlike his own, dark ashy eyes apathetic and regarding him in the same manner they always did. “Deina,” he acknowledged, rolling onto his side lazily. The outcast of the group, if one didn’t count Haneht. A tough woman with a nasty bark and bite. Deina had frightened most but Haneht away with her scathing remarks and constant attitude, that for some reason had never bothered one of the youngest in the troupe. They weren’t quite friends, but there was the occasional banter and playful pestering, the latter mostly from him. Tolerated, was an apt description for how both saw each other. There was little the brunette knew of her—knew of everyone, to be very honest—aside from the fact that Deina was a powerful dancer, strong and regal with a great presence on stage that seemed unlikely for someone so small. Be she small, she is fierce, he mused. “You ought to smile more, you know?” The disdained look she gave him said she thought otherwise. “Fair enough, they give you wrinkles. Crow’s feet and the lot. I’m sure you’ve no need for more,” he added mischievously, swiftly ducking as a towel came hurtling his way, sailing past his head and flopping onto the ground behind. “Petch you, I’m gorgeous. Now get up. I need a stretching partner,” his groans of protest amounted to naught, against Deina’s cold, dead heart.

“We’re due to start again in ten chimes. You, ought to work on your pirouette and these arms,” she nudged at one of his lower arms sprawled across the floor with her foot. “They still flap around a lot.” A huff. How would she like to have to juggle six arms herself? Even the Eypharian found it a little taxing at times, having to divide his attention between eight limbs and his facial expressions. At least he didn’t have murder in his eyes every time he set foot on stage. Reluctantly, the boy forced himself to his feet, shambling after his senior with a pout.

[Haneht]

1st Summer, 518AV

It came as no surprise that, as they stretched and warmed themselves up for another gruelling round of rehearsals, Haneht’s mind began drifting. Again. Multi-tasking, it seemed, was quite natural for the young man with six arms.

Sometimes, he wondered where he might’ve ended up had his family not pushed him to dance the moment he expressed a semblance of interest in it. His own mother, beautiful diva she was, had been entrenched in the arts from birth and raised to entertain and please. His father, a hungry man who sought prestige, who was raised like most of their kind to expect the best of only themselves, and anything and anyone of relevance. His people are a prideful race, descendants of Alvina and man, above mere mortals and yet mortal themselves with a bloodline that had to be kept pure through meticulous and obsessive intervention. An elitist race clinging desperately to pride, to their divine heritage that diluted and they drifted further from with every passing generation. He and his siblings were no different, indoctrinated and arrogant people who would be expected to contribute in any way possible to the Eypharian glory, and continue the line. It had only been the unnecessary; preventable death of their mother, that humbled them.

If things had been different, if he had been given a choice, would Haneht have found his way to the performing arts regardless? Or would he have become a thespian, a connoisseur of the arts, but never an artist himself? Likely, he would’ve been engaged now, to another Gilded young lady, married even, if his parents decided to push him into marriage as soon as he entered manhood.

With the way he’d been as a child, submissive and obedient and all to eager to please, he likely would’ve accepted it. Marriage was more often than not a tool to them. Love could come later, or never.

A light slap resounded in the air.

“Ow! What was that for?” He hissed, rubbing at the back of his head where Deina had landed a firm smack to. “That was for drifting off. Now move,” she urged, nudging him forwards with a sharp elbow towards the rehearsal area.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you?” The cheeky remark earned him a light kick on the arse that nearly sent him tumbling over the stone tiles. “Oh, yes Deina, harder.” Snickered the boy, and the senior dancer gave an exasperated sigh, murmuring a string of curses beneath her breath. Getting a rile out of people was such fun!

Another round of rehearsals went by much too slowly. Haneht had been doing this, been doing ballet for two years, but by the gods did his feet ache. Semhu had never required such tight shoes and bindings, never required that he wear that strange belt male ballet dancers had to. It had been a little firmer, a little more masculine, and vigorous in a different sense.

“Higher!” Someone snapped crossly, and Haneht’s right leg was begrudgingly lifted higher than it already was. Back taught and chin held high, he willed himself to look ahead and glare at the wall, rather than the head dancer who seemed to have a thing for making his life miserable.

The Eypharian was by no means stiff, no sane dancer or athletic person should be in his opinion, but even he had to admit that doing splits standing up and holding it in tight, pinchy shoes proved tiring and painful even for him. This was his first year as part of the corps, the two years prior had been his apprenticeship period (he absolutely refused to use the word understudy), where he studied and learned under the more skilful troupe members from the very basics of ballet. Forced himself to learn as quickly as he could, because no way was he going to spend the rest of his life among commoners. Even is ballet wasn’t his exact passion. Haneht loved dancing as a whole, but ballet was so stiff and restrained, so subtle and mild, and it would be far too boring to simply stick to it for the rest of his life. Too predictable and stagnating.

No, Haneht was going to master a multitude of forms and dances. A conqueror come to lay siege over various domains one by one. He could picture it already, his name written in beautiful script on posters and banners, lines of people waiting to see him perform, to experience just him. A master of the arts, perfection, and finally he could have something for himself that he could be proud of. Something he could, without a moment's hesitation, ascertain was his.

"Pay attention!"

...This would be his most challenging conquest yet.