And Yuri snorts a half-laugh at that, caught somewhere between his own amusement and a still-glowing delight that his grandfather's handiwork has an appreciative audience.
'Your accent seriously sucks,' he says cheerfully, with no hint of a sneer anywhere in it. Because really, Katsudon's Russian has weird bits of vowels mushed into places where vowels shouldn't exist. With a Muscovite's pride in his own language, how can he stand here and let that slide? If Katsudon's going to truly appreciate what he's eating, he should at least be able to say it right.
'Listen to me now.' He points to the half-eaten pirozhok in Katsudon's hands. 'Pi-ro-zhok,' he says slowly, voice lilting up slightly as he lays the stress on the middle syllable with its flattened vowel. He then points to the bag, turning his finger in a small circle to indicate the whole of its contents. 'Pi-rozh-ki,' he declares, again with the lilt that slurs into the consonants before hardening on the final syllable. He holds up a warning finger, but the genuine smile hasn't left his face. 'Don't forget it, Katsudon.'
It would be easier if he could write it out to show the difference, but translating simple Cyrillic into whatever crazy script Katsudon uses is absolutely beyond him. He'll probably have to settle for hearing it said like pi-ro-sho-ku and pi-ro-shu-ki -- for now. As long as Katsudon looks this happy to be eating it, Yuri won't mind too much.
(Tonight, he'll message Yuuko to get the actual recipe. Once his exhibition skate is over and the sponsors are off his back, the moment he's free of Yakov's grip, he'll be off to the markets without so much as a backwards glance. He already knows that he and his grandfather will be doing a lot of cooking in the day or two they'll have together before he has to leave again.)
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'Your accent seriously sucks,' he says cheerfully, with no hint of a sneer anywhere in it. Because really, Katsudon's Russian has weird bits of vowels mushed into places where vowels shouldn't exist. With a Muscovite's pride in his own language, how can he stand here and let that slide? If Katsudon's going to truly appreciate what he's eating, he should at least be able to say it right.
'Listen to me now.' He points to the half-eaten pirozhok in Katsudon's hands. 'Pi-ro-zhok,' he says slowly, voice lilting up slightly as he lays the stress on the middle syllable with its flattened vowel. He then points to the bag, turning his finger in a small circle to indicate the whole of its contents. 'Pi-rozh-ki,' he declares, again with the lilt that slurs into the consonants before hardening on the final syllable. He holds up a warning finger, but the genuine smile hasn't left his face. 'Don't forget it, Katsudon.'
It would be easier if he could write it out to show the difference, but translating simple Cyrillic into whatever crazy script Katsudon uses is absolutely beyond him. He'll probably have to settle for hearing it said like pi-ro-sho-ku and pi-ro-shu-ki -- for now. As long as Katsudon looks this happy to be eating it, Yuri won't mind too much.
(Tonight, he'll message Yuuko to get the actual recipe. Once his exhibition skate is over and the sponsors are off his back, the moment he's free of Yakov's grip, he'll be off to the markets without so much as a backwards glance. He already knows that he and his grandfather will be doing a lot of cooking in the day or two they'll have together before he has to leave again.)