Original Application
Jul. 26th, 2009 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sword_and_shoes NAME: Ten Rainyday
JOURNAL:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
tenrainyday
AIM OR MSN: AIM= oscshadow MSN= willowfencer@msn.com
E-MAIL: osc.shadow@theosc.net
CHARACTER NAME: Fakir
FANDOM: Princess Tutu
AGE: 15
GRADE: Freshman
HISTORY: The son of the Prime Minister of France and one of the most prolific ballerinas of her time, Fakir was raised from the start in schools for the performing arts, and while he had tried his hand at theatrics and miming and circus acts and the like, his first love was ballet. From that point on, he was sent to a boarding school for ballet dancers in France, where he studied classical ballet the remainder of his primary and middle school careers. He's not that great in science (with the exception of anatomy and physiology and kinesics) or maths, but that never really mattered to him: he studied ballet, he was a ballet dancer, and he had little need for anything that did not make him better at ballet. Once he graduated middle school, he expected to continue in France through high school as well, but this was not to be; news came the day after his graduation that his parents had been killed in a train wreck, and that the next of kin to whom he was to be sent lived in America, of all places.
Fakir's greatest weakness (or strength, depending on how one looks at it) is his loyalty to his friends. In particular was the incident where, when a rather close friend of his was threatened by outsiders to his school, he took up the sword above the school's gates and beat away the attackers in an attempt to protect his friend. Rather unfortunately, while he defeated three of them, the fourth knew better than to tangle unarmed with a boy with a sword, so he drew out a pistol and shot both children: his friend once, in the back of the head, and he five times in the chest. Only by divine providence by some controlling outer force did the two of them survive. Fakir was left with a great scar across his chest as a memento; his friend was not so lucky. Rendered unable to feel emotions due to the damage to his brain from the gunshot, he was an essentially defenseless invalid. Fakir took it upon himself to try to help his friend keep himself and not turn into a shell, so using the same sword he had used to defend his friend, he killed him, not able to bear seeing him become less and less of a human day by day. In order to prevent such events from happening again, he kept the sword and began to learn how to use is properly.
Now, to try to forget this act, he dances. How he will cope with this in America, at a commoner's school, he is not quite sure, but he will make sure there is dance. It is his only escape, to both remember and forget his beloved friend.
Personality:In classes, Fakir generally does not pay too much attention to whatever the subject is unless it somehow relates to ballet; in this vein, biology is boring while physiology is not, language classes are boring unless they are French, and acrobatics in gym class are boring because of their simplicity when compared to some of the better techniques in his one true love. He spends his time in the gymnasium, being the only space in the school that has a wood floor even half-suitable for dancing. Due to not having anyone able to play the piano for him, and the lack of said piano in the gym, he has taken to dancing to pre-recorded music, regardless of how it irritates him so to not have a live musician. The notes are much more lively and warm when they are played with gentle fingers and not electronic speakers.
Outside of his time in class and at the gymnasium, Fakir is generally a loner if there's nobody on his “protect this person” list at the time. He appreciates a nice walk, an engaging book, and good food, and is hard-pressed to be found with any of the “peppy” types; they're too loud and obnoxious. Given the choice of someone abrasive and being alone, it should be obvious which he'd choose.
Fakir still wears the uniform from his last school to classes: white slacks, white shoes, and a blue jacket with white stripes just behind the cuffs and down the front buttons, with a fancy ascot that sports a white and yellow brooch.
trengths: Loyalty to friends, ballet technique, traditional French fencing.
Weaknesses: Loyalty to friends, guilt about having had to kill his friend, inability to perform any dance style that is more than one step removed from classical ballet.
FIRST PERSON: I'd like a partner to practice pas de deux with, most appreciatedly one with classical ballet experience, but modern or jazz experience will do. I am willing to teach a partner in order to further my own practice; it is dreadfully dull just being a solisté with nobody to partner. I'd also very much like a pianist to play for practices; there is nothing worse than trying to flow through notes filtered through metal speakers. I am looking into starting a ballet club, so anyone interested in such a club, please let me know so that I can present numbers of those who would participate. Please do not respond unless interested. Good day.
THIRD PERSON:
“Just who do you think you are, boy?” snarled the teacher. “You some kind of high-class royalty or something? You do what I say, you hear me, boy?”
Fakir wasn't actually paying attention, to tell the truth. He was running through the petite allegro from Les Sylphides's second act in his head. Was it saute, chasse, pas de bourreis, pirouette, sissone, or was it something different? He could not quite remember. Afterwards he'd have to look it up. That the teacher had asked him to answer a question was somewhat disregarded, if he had even noticed it at all. He looked up from his notebook, which was scrawled with crude drawings of the choreography he was remembering, up to meet the gaze of the teacher.
He sighed. “You needn't raise your voice. In fact, I should think you would know better than to raise your voice to someone like me. For your information, yes, I am, as you put it, 'high-class royalty,' or something of the sort. Kindly speak to me the proper way, commoner, or I shall see to it that--” he said, but was suddenly cut off by the teacher raising his open hand up to his ear and swinging it sharply toward Fakir's face.
It was over before it started. The enraged teacher knelt doubled over in front of Fakir's desk, Fakir standing slightly in front of him, a stiff yardstick in his hand. From what could be gathered from the students after class, the teacher had reached up to hit the boy, the boy had seized a yardstick from the nearby supply desk, and had struck the teacher across the solar plexus with it while simultaneously coming up out of his chair. The teacher's hand didn't even get close to striking the boy.
Thereafter, he was never bothered in history class again by that teacher. As it should be; common folk like him should know better than to think ill of nobility.
JOURNAL:
tenrainyday AIM OR MSN: AIM= oscshadow MSN= willowfencer@msn.com
E-MAIL: osc.shadow@theosc.net
CHARACTER NAME: Fakir
FANDOM: Princess Tutu
AGE: 15
GRADE: Freshman
HISTORY: The son of the Prime Minister of France and one of the most prolific ballerinas of her time, Fakir was raised from the start in schools for the performing arts, and while he had tried his hand at theatrics and miming and circus acts and the like, his first love was ballet. From that point on, he was sent to a boarding school for ballet dancers in France, where he studied classical ballet the remainder of his primary and middle school careers. He's not that great in science (with the exception of anatomy and physiology and kinesics) or maths, but that never really mattered to him: he studied ballet, he was a ballet dancer, and he had little need for anything that did not make him better at ballet. Once he graduated middle school, he expected to continue in France through high school as well, but this was not to be; news came the day after his graduation that his parents had been killed in a train wreck, and that the next of kin to whom he was to be sent lived in America, of all places.
Fakir's greatest weakness (or strength, depending on how one looks at it) is his loyalty to his friends. In particular was the incident where, when a rather close friend of his was threatened by outsiders to his school, he took up the sword above the school's gates and beat away the attackers in an attempt to protect his friend. Rather unfortunately, while he defeated three of them, the fourth knew better than to tangle unarmed with a boy with a sword, so he drew out a pistol and shot both children: his friend once, in the back of the head, and he five times in the chest. Only by divine providence by some controlling outer force did the two of them survive. Fakir was left with a great scar across his chest as a memento; his friend was not so lucky. Rendered unable to feel emotions due to the damage to his brain from the gunshot, he was an essentially defenseless invalid. Fakir took it upon himself to try to help his friend keep himself and not turn into a shell, so using the same sword he had used to defend his friend, he killed him, not able to bear seeing him become less and less of a human day by day. In order to prevent such events from happening again, he kept the sword and began to learn how to use is properly.
Now, to try to forget this act, he dances. How he will cope with this in America, at a commoner's school, he is not quite sure, but he will make sure there is dance. It is his only escape, to both remember and forget his beloved friend.
Personality:In classes, Fakir generally does not pay too much attention to whatever the subject is unless it somehow relates to ballet; in this vein, biology is boring while physiology is not, language classes are boring unless they are French, and acrobatics in gym class are boring because of their simplicity when compared to some of the better techniques in his one true love. He spends his time in the gymnasium, being the only space in the school that has a wood floor even half-suitable for dancing. Due to not having anyone able to play the piano for him, and the lack of said piano in the gym, he has taken to dancing to pre-recorded music, regardless of how it irritates him so to not have a live musician. The notes are much more lively and warm when they are played with gentle fingers and not electronic speakers.
Outside of his time in class and at the gymnasium, Fakir is generally a loner if there's nobody on his “protect this person” list at the time. He appreciates a nice walk, an engaging book, and good food, and is hard-pressed to be found with any of the “peppy” types; they're too loud and obnoxious. Given the choice of someone abrasive and being alone, it should be obvious which he'd choose.
Fakir still wears the uniform from his last school to classes: white slacks, white shoes, and a blue jacket with white stripes just behind the cuffs and down the front buttons, with a fancy ascot that sports a white and yellow brooch.
trengths: Loyalty to friends, ballet technique, traditional French fencing.
Weaknesses: Loyalty to friends, guilt about having had to kill his friend, inability to perform any dance style that is more than one step removed from classical ballet.
FIRST PERSON: I'd like a partner to practice pas de deux with, most appreciatedly one with classical ballet experience, but modern or jazz experience will do. I am willing to teach a partner in order to further my own practice; it is dreadfully dull just being a solisté with nobody to partner. I'd also very much like a pianist to play for practices; there is nothing worse than trying to flow through notes filtered through metal speakers. I am looking into starting a ballet club, so anyone interested in such a club, please let me know so that I can present numbers of those who would participate. Please do not respond unless interested. Good day.
THIRD PERSON:
“Just who do you think you are, boy?” snarled the teacher. “You some kind of high-class royalty or something? You do what I say, you hear me, boy?”
Fakir wasn't actually paying attention, to tell the truth. He was running through the petite allegro from Les Sylphides's second act in his head. Was it saute, chasse, pas de bourreis, pirouette, sissone, or was it something different? He could not quite remember. Afterwards he'd have to look it up. That the teacher had asked him to answer a question was somewhat disregarded, if he had even noticed it at all. He looked up from his notebook, which was scrawled with crude drawings of the choreography he was remembering, up to meet the gaze of the teacher.
He sighed. “You needn't raise your voice. In fact, I should think you would know better than to raise your voice to someone like me. For your information, yes, I am, as you put it, 'high-class royalty,' or something of the sort. Kindly speak to me the proper way, commoner, or I shall see to it that--” he said, but was suddenly cut off by the teacher raising his open hand up to his ear and swinging it sharply toward Fakir's face.
It was over before it started. The enraged teacher knelt doubled over in front of Fakir's desk, Fakir standing slightly in front of him, a stiff yardstick in his hand. From what could be gathered from the students after class, the teacher had reached up to hit the boy, the boy had seized a yardstick from the nearby supply desk, and had struck the teacher across the solar plexus with it while simultaneously coming up out of his chair. The teacher's hand didn't even get close to striking the boy.
Thereafter, he was never bothered in history class again by that teacher. As it should be; common folk like him should know better than to think ill of nobility.
