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Description

   www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRYigi…

Here, above,

    cracks in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight.

    The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.

    It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,

    and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.

    He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,

    feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,

    of a temperature impossible to record in thermometers.



                         But when the Man-Moth

    pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,

    the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges

    from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks

    and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.

    He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,

    proving the sky quite useless for protection.

    He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.



                         Up the façades,

    his shadow dragging like a photographer’s cloth behind him

    he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage

    to push his small head through that round clean opening

    and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.

    (Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)

    But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although

    he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.



                         Then he returns

    to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,

    he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains

    fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.

    The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way

    and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,

    without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.

    He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.



                         Each night he must

    be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.

    Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie

    his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,

    for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,

    runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease

    he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep

    his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.



                         If you catch him,

    hold up a flashlight to his eye. It’s all dark pupil,

    an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens

    as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids

    one tear, his only possession, like the bee’s sting, slips.

    Slyly he palms it, and if you’re not paying attention

    he’ll swallow it. However, if you watch, he’ll hand it over,

    cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.
                -Moth Man by Elizabeth Bishop

Chara design concept!!! I was given the info for a chara that it had to be a pickpocketer on a subway and I kind of went crazy with it
I based the pick pocketer on Moth Man
Then the other charas are the others on the subway
Old lady pillbug, old cop Mantis, chill teenage Dragonfly, sunday lady Trantula and rebelious graffitti Deer Tick

So ye
Hope you like! <3

Description

   www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRYigi…

Here, above,

    cracks in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight.

    The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.

    It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,

    and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.

    He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,

    feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,

    of a temperature impossible to record in thermometers.



                         But when the Man-Moth

    pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,

    the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges

    from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks

    and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.

    He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,

    proving the sky quite useless for protection.

    He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.



                         Up the façades,

    his shadow dragging like a photographer’s cloth behind him

    he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage

    to push his small head through that round clean opening

    and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.

    (Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)

    But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although

    he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.



                         Then he returns

    to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,

    he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains

    fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.

    The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way

    and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,

    without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.

    He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.



                         Each night he must

    be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.

    Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie

    his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,

    for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,

    runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease

    he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep

    his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.



                         If you catch him,

    hold up a flashlight to his eye. It’s all dark pupil,

    an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens

    as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids

    one tear, his only possession, like the bee’s sting, slips.

    Slyly he palms it, and if you’re not paying attention

    he’ll swallow it. However, if you watch, he’ll hand it over,

    cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.
                -Moth Man by Elizabeth Bishop

Chara design concept!!! I was given the info for a chara that it had to be a pickpocketer on a subway and I kind of went crazy with it
I based the pick pocketer on Moth Man
Then the other charas are the others on the subway
Old lady pillbug, old cop Mantis, chill teenage Dragonfly, sunday lady Trantula and rebelious graffitti Deer Tick

So ye
Hope you like! <3