It's exactly what Viktor would say. It's uncannily like what Viktor would say. (Always here, always with them, even when he isn't.) But there's something missing from it, and Yuri doesn't know if he can explain it properly...but he has to try. So after a long moment of silence, he lifts his head and fixes his gaze on a point somewhere over and behind Katsudon's left shoulder.
'When I was little, everyone always told us stories about what it was like in the old days. Before I was born. When things were falling apart.' Layer upon layer of others' memories, until they're as much as part of you as your own skin. 'When the ice was bad because you couldn't keep the rink cold enough for it to set properly. Or you had to resurface the ice by hand because there wasn't enough money to run the machines -- or you didn't have machines, or you had them but they didn't work and there wasn't enough money to fix them. When our people went to Europe or America because they had the best rinks, the strongest coaches, the endorsements, the sponsors, anything you wanted. Everything we didn't have.'
Viktor knows. Viktor had grown up with it, taken his first steps on the ice in those hard years. Carved out a name for himself by sheer force and drive and talent, as his country struggled to find itself in a world that had changed so much in such a short time. And though Viktor himself would never say such a thing -- probably doesn't even think of such a thing consciously any longer, knowing him -- there's no denying that his legacy at home is so bright that it casts a very, very long shadow. One that hasn't quite reached across the thousands of miles separating St. Petersburg and Hasetsu, even now.
(In every comment and critique and point deduction, the silent refrain: If Viktor Nikiforov could succeed under such conditions, what excuse does Yuri Plisetsky have for falling short?)
'It's better now, but people still remember.' Yakov. Lilia. Viktor. And me. 'So I can't forget it.' His face hardens. 'And I have to show them -- show everyone -- that I haven't forgotten it.'
He doesn't even know if he's making sense anymore. The tea is starting to kick in, and he takes another long swallow just to feel the hazy warmth in his blood.
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'When I was little, everyone always told us stories about what it was like in the old days. Before I was born. When things were falling apart.' Layer upon layer of others' memories, until they're as much as part of you as your own skin. 'When the ice was bad because you couldn't keep the rink cold enough for it to set properly. Or you had to resurface the ice by hand because there wasn't enough money to run the machines -- or you didn't have machines, or you had them but they didn't work and there wasn't enough money to fix them. When our people went to Europe or America because they had the best rinks, the strongest coaches, the endorsements, the sponsors, anything you wanted. Everything we didn't have.'
Viktor knows. Viktor had grown up with it, taken his first steps on the ice in those hard years. Carved out a name for himself by sheer force and drive and talent, as his country struggled to find itself in a world that had changed so much in such a short time. And though Viktor himself would never say such a thing -- probably doesn't even think of such a thing consciously any longer, knowing him -- there's no denying that his legacy at home is so bright that it casts a very, very long shadow. One that hasn't quite reached across the thousands of miles separating St. Petersburg and Hasetsu, even now.
(In every comment and critique and point deduction, the silent refrain: If Viktor Nikiforov could succeed under such conditions, what excuse does Yuri Plisetsky have for falling short?)
'It's better now, but people still remember.' Yakov. Lilia. Viktor. And me. 'So I can't forget it.' His face hardens. 'And I have to show them -- show everyone -- that I haven't forgotten it.'
He doesn't even know if he's making sense anymore. The tea is starting to kick in, and he takes another long swallow just to feel the hazy warmth in his blood.