It's still hard to picture Yuri having a guardian figure. They all have them, but not everyone's parents or family come to competitions. The cost of flying, feeding, and putting into a hotel one skater, their coach, and all of their gear was a high enough cost already, before you added in extra flights, rooms, and food, but it was even harder to imagine with Yurip. Always set apart, even so young, and never seen with more than Yakov and Lilia.
Further back than even that, the first time Yurio had made a dent into this year, was defying Yakov entirely to go to Japan. It's hard to imagine someone who caused this kind of reluctant deference. The way it looked and felt entirely different than the trained way he referred to Lilia, or her training. It was hard to picture what kind of person Yurio went home with, and who managed to handle all of the loud, swearing, hungry, brilliant on the ice, sometimes violent bundle of him at home in Moscow.
What kind of person was his Grandfather? Was he just like Yurio?
Someone who was asking about him, had watched him ... and sent him a casual Good Luck (that couldn't much truly be meant, could it, for what they all wanted)? There's a small kind of nod, looking somewhere between his bowl, and the bar, and sort of to the side around, more than at, Yurio. "Yeah. That makes sense."
He got that. No one planned for the bar. This impossible place. That didn't stop existing even for logic. Most everyone knew nothing of it. He'd had to wit until after dinner to even tell Victor about, given his own family didn't know about it, and the last thing he needed was them thinking, even more, might be wrong with his head. "I guess ..." He was still searching for something that matched. It felt the way trying to figure out words for the press did.
Too much light. Too many eyes. No answers. " ... tell him I said thank you, whenever it seems best?" He could do polite. Or at least attempt, before another question strings along. "Will he come to Barcelona?"
Even if what's really poised on the edge of the cliff face is that question twisted, Did he make it to the Gala in Moscow?
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It's still hard to picture Yuri having a guardian figure. They all have them, but not everyone's parents or family come to competitions. The cost of flying, feeding, and putting into a hotel one skater, their coach, and all of their gear was a high enough cost already, before you added in extra flights, rooms, and food, but it was even harder to imagine with Yurip. Always set apart, even so young, and never seen with more than Yakov and Lilia.
Further back than even that, the first time Yurio had made a dent into this year, was defying Yakov entirely to go to Japan. It's hard to imagine someone who caused this kind of reluctant deference. The way it looked and felt entirely different than the trained way he referred to Lilia, or her training. It was hard to picture what kind of person Yurio went home with, and who managed to handle all of the loud, swearing, hungry, brilliant on the ice, sometimes violent bundle of him at home in Moscow.
What kind of person was his Grandfather? Was he just like Yurio?
Someone who was asking about him, had watched him ... and sent him a casual Good Luck (that couldn't much truly be meant, could it, for what they all wanted)? There's a small kind of nod, looking somewhere between his bowl, and the bar, and sort of to the side around, more than at, Yurio. "Yeah. That makes sense."
He got that. No one planned for the bar. This impossible place. That didn't stop existing even for logic. Most everyone knew nothing of it. He'd had to wit until after dinner to even tell Victor about, given his own family didn't know about it, and the last thing he needed was them thinking, even more, might be wrong with his head. "I guess ..." He was still searching for something that matched. It felt the way trying to figure out words for the press did.
Too much light. Too many eyes. No answers. " ... tell him I said thank you, whenever it seems best?"
He could do polite. Or at least attempt, before another question strings along. "Will he come to Barcelona?"
Even if what's really poised on the edge of the cliff face is that question twisted, Did he make it to the Gala in Moscow?