Katsudon has three quads. JJ has four. The triple flip, next on his mental list, strikes clean and true. To beat them, I can't make any mistakes!
A flick of a toe pick, and the quad toe loop is secure, and the audience's cheers rise to near-deafening volume. From strength to beauty, and now he has a moment to really show off what he's capable of doing: up comes his left leg from behind, and he feels the agonising stretch the length of his entire body, the strain and pull in his hip ligaments, as he reaches back with his right hand to catch the blade. Left arm extended, right leg straight and true, beauty and strength in perfect form -- how many senior men's skaters would dare to attempt a cross-grab one-hand Biellmann like his? How many could pull it off?
...ah, but he'd done it in Canada, too, hadn't he? And there, just as he feels part of his strength start to falter, a prickle of familiar anger ignites under his skin. I don't want to lose like that again.
(A fine program for him there, sharp and clean and glorious. Even Yakov hadn't nagged at him too much in the kiss-and-cry, and why should he have? It would have been only fitting for him to take gold in his senior debut, and carry his triumph home to Moscow to repeat it there. But then -- oh, then, to see the final scores come in, and the terrible crushing weight in his chest on the podium, and next to him (no, above him, looking down on him) the smug, self-satisfied grin on that asshole Canadian's face --
"Let's climb the podium together again at the Rostelecom Cup...Little Yuri.")
-- that shithead!
Nothing like rage to power you through a quad salchow and triple toe loop in quick succession, and Lilia might reproach him for his wavering arm position on the landing but Yuri is beyond feeling pain, beyond thinking, beyond thought. The triple loop and double toe loop come as a matter of course, and the burning in his legs is wonderful, sublime, fire in his veins, as he builds up speed with crossovers to segue into the last combination.
(watch me, all of you! this is what you have to beat!)
Yesterday, he'd fallen on the triple axel. Today, he strikes it like a force of nature, so light-headed from adrenaline (and lack of oxygen) that he almost doesn't notice when he carries it into the loop and the triple salchow. He feels like he could dissolve into the final spins, vanishing into thin air as the music soars to a racing climax, with only a triumphant echo to mark where he'd been.
It's a rude awakening to be thrust back into your frail mortal body after a performance like that, and Yuri crashes hard. His knees hit the ice, his vision grey at the edges, and there isn't enough air in the entire arena to fill his lungs properly. His breath tastes metallic, that dangerous sign that his heart is struggling to keep up with the demands his body has put on it. The last of the katsudon pirozhok in his stomach stays where it is, barely.
But he's done, and somehow he manages to stagger to his feet and grope his way over to the kiss-and-cry, to where Lilia is waiting for him. But where's...oh, right, Yakov would be with Katsudon.
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A flick of a toe pick, and the quad toe loop is secure, and the audience's cheers rise to near-deafening volume. From strength to beauty, and now he has a moment to really show off what he's capable of doing: up comes his left leg from behind, and he feels the agonising stretch the length of his entire body, the strain and pull in his hip ligaments, as he reaches back with his right hand to catch the blade. Left arm extended, right leg straight and true, beauty and strength in perfect form -- how many senior men's skaters would dare to attempt a cross-grab one-hand Biellmann like his? How many could pull it off?
...ah, but he'd done it in Canada, too, hadn't he? And there, just as he feels part of his strength start to falter, a prickle of familiar anger ignites under his skin. I don't want to lose like that again.
(A fine program for him there, sharp and clean and glorious. Even Yakov hadn't nagged at him too much in the kiss-and-cry, and why should he have? It would have been only fitting for him to take gold in his senior debut, and carry his triumph home to Moscow to repeat it there. But then -- oh, then, to see the final scores come in, and the terrible crushing weight in his chest on the podium, and next to him (no, above him, looking down on him) the smug, self-satisfied grin on that asshole Canadian's face --
-- that shithead!
Nothing like rage to power you through a quad salchow and triple toe loop in quick succession, and Lilia might reproach him for his wavering arm position on the landing but Yuri is beyond feeling pain, beyond thinking, beyond thought. The triple loop and double toe loop come as a matter of course, and the burning in his legs is wonderful, sublime, fire in his veins, as he builds up speed with crossovers to segue into the last combination.
(watch me, all of you! this is what you have to beat!)
Yesterday, he'd fallen on the triple axel. Today, he strikes it like a force of nature, so light-headed from adrenaline (and lack of oxygen) that he almost doesn't notice when he carries it into the loop and the triple salchow. He feels like he could dissolve into the final spins, vanishing into thin air as the music soars to a racing climax, with only a triumphant echo to mark where he'd been.
It's a rude awakening to be thrust back into your frail mortal body after a performance like that, and Yuri crashes hard. His knees hit the ice, his vision grey at the edges, and there isn't enough air in the entire arena to fill his lungs properly. His breath tastes metallic, that dangerous sign that his heart is struggling to keep up with the demands his body has put on it. The last of the katsudon pirozhok in his stomach stays where it is, barely.
But he's done, and somehow he manages to stagger to his feet and grope his way over to the kiss-and-cry, to where Lilia is waiting for him. But where's...oh, right, Yakov would be with Katsudon.
Katsudon's next.