Victor Nikiforov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
genice) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-04-14 08:35 pm
genice) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-04-14 08:35 pm
Entry tags:
( closed ) | take your pain
who: victor & ellie
what: victor gives a demo about figure skating.
when: the morning following their text message chain.
where: riverview central community center ice rink.
warnings: none, other than perhaps language!
He's going to need to commission his own boots when he has the funds for it. There was at least one serviceable pair of skates in his size he'd found, after trying on more than his fair share (try every pair); they don't fit to the shape of his foot, and while he's dealt with breaking in new boots on the Eluvio, those hadn't even had the grace to tag along when he and Yuuri and Makkachin (and even their wayward dustbunny Konpeito) had ended up walking through the portal onto this moon. Still, they'll do, because they need to make-do. Lacing up and stepping onto the ice feels as natural as it always does. He's early by half an hour, having run and stretched after walking Makkachin that morning, checking for any responses to his request out into the ether of the moon's internet looking for people qualified to teach.
He's not one of them. He's learned that much in the last four months or so, if the eight months prior hadn't already hammered aspects of that home. Working with someone already on an internationally competitive level had meant learning a different set of skills, and a different way of trying to communicate (lectures being his natural tendency after a career spent under Yakov's guidance, usually delivered at the top of Yakov's lungs).
So he's on the ice to limber up, moving through parts of his choreography to a song he never skated, loosening up until he steps back off the ice, noting again his lack of even skate guards to place on his blades. He shakes his head, smiling in amusement at himself. There's nothing that truly makes this life normal, but he's doing what he can to adapt yet again. As the zamboni stand-in smooths out the ice, he watches, mind elsewhere, the hour of their appointed meeting approaching.
He lifts a hand to his face, index finger resting against his lips. He's just realised he should have asked for a name.
"Oh."
Moments when enthusiasm for his sport overrode common sense or a sense of manners. The sheepishness he feels doesn't last for long, shrugged off with a toss of his head, but he notes its presence. Need to do better than that, Victor.
Ellie's as likely to find him on the ice before the break for the zamboni stand-in as she is to find him standing at the side of the rink, the only figure currently present that morning. It takes the guess work out of who she's meeting, if she's concerned. For his part, Victor's considering if he likes the silence more than the canned music that tends to play over the speakers when the rink's full of casual skaters enjoying their circles on ice. (He does. The silence but by the sound of blades on ice is a music all on its own in his ears.)
"Should have asked for a name," he says at last, addressing an audience of air.
what: victor gives a demo about figure skating.
when: the morning following their text message chain.
where: riverview central community center ice rink.
warnings: none, other than perhaps language!
He's going to need to commission his own boots when he has the funds for it. There was at least one serviceable pair of skates in his size he'd found, after trying on more than his fair share (try every pair); they don't fit to the shape of his foot, and while he's dealt with breaking in new boots on the Eluvio, those hadn't even had the grace to tag along when he and Yuuri and Makkachin (and even their wayward dustbunny Konpeito) had ended up walking through the portal onto this moon. Still, they'll do, because they need to make-do. Lacing up and stepping onto the ice feels as natural as it always does. He's early by half an hour, having run and stretched after walking Makkachin that morning, checking for any responses to his request out into the ether of the moon's internet looking for people qualified to teach.
He's not one of them. He's learned that much in the last four months or so, if the eight months prior hadn't already hammered aspects of that home. Working with someone already on an internationally competitive level had meant learning a different set of skills, and a different way of trying to communicate (lectures being his natural tendency after a career spent under Yakov's guidance, usually delivered at the top of Yakov's lungs).
So he's on the ice to limber up, moving through parts of his choreography to a song he never skated, loosening up until he steps back off the ice, noting again his lack of even skate guards to place on his blades. He shakes his head, smiling in amusement at himself. There's nothing that truly makes this life normal, but he's doing what he can to adapt yet again. As the zamboni stand-in smooths out the ice, he watches, mind elsewhere, the hour of their appointed meeting approaching.
He lifts a hand to his face, index finger resting against his lips. He's just realised he should have asked for a name.
"Oh."
Moments when enthusiasm for his sport overrode common sense or a sense of manners. The sheepishness he feels doesn't last for long, shrugged off with a toss of his head, but he notes its presence. Need to do better than that, Victor.
Ellie's as likely to find him on the ice before the break for the zamboni stand-in as she is to find him standing at the side of the rink, the only figure currently present that morning. It takes the guess work out of who she's meeting, if she's concerned. For his part, Victor's considering if he likes the silence more than the canned music that tends to play over the speakers when the rink's full of casual skaters enjoying their circles on ice. (He does. The silence but by the sound of blades on ice is a music all on its own in his ears.)
"Should have asked for a name," he says at last, addressing an audience of air.