Flanked by Yakov and Lilia, Yuri steps into the hotel lobby with the air of a young prince from a doomed regime on the long walk to his execution. Unbeknownst to him, he turns the heads of more than a few people as he passes by -- and even Mila and Georgi blink in surprise to see how their rink mate, usually a slouching sullen teenager glaring at the world from beneath the hood of a sweatshirt or team jacket, has transformed (for the time being) into a poised and serious young man, all clean lines and strict posture from his hours under Lilia's tutelage. But that look of resigned martyrdom in his eyes makes him seem a little too serious, and it leads Mila to step forward, tossing her wrap over one shoulder so she can brush a stray strand of hair out of Yuri's face.
'These things are always terrible,' she says, smiling down at him. 'But you'll be more fun to be around than Georgi, so stick with me, okay?'
'Quit messing up my hair, Baba,' Yuri grumbles, jerking his head away slightly, as Georgi lets out a disgruntled rumble of his own and seems on the point of saying something in protest.
'That's enough, all of you.' It's a reprimand for form's sake, rather than one with any of Yakov's usual force behind it. 'We'll be expected in the main banquet room shortly.'
'Yuri, it would be good of you to escort Mila into the room.' Lilia takes a moment to adjust the neckline of Mila's dress, and with her other hand she guides Yuri over so that Yuri can take Mila's arm. 'Be gracious, but if anyone makes either of you uncomfortable, excuse yourselves politely and come find me.' Not a warning she would like to give, but Mila is eighteen and Yuri is fifteen, and she and Yakov are as much chaperones as coaches at a reception such as this.
Yuri is acutely aware that he must look at least a little bit ridiculous, escorting a woman who is visibly taller than he is even when she isn't wearing heels. But it's only Mila, and she's more fun to be around than Georgi (though that isn't exactly some epic triumph, because Georgi), so whatever, he can do this. 'Fine,' is all he says, and Mila tightens her arm in a brief squeeze against his as they set off for the banquet room.
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'These things are always terrible,' she says, smiling down at him. 'But you'll be more fun to be around than Georgi, so stick with me, okay?'
'Quit messing up my hair, Baba,' Yuri grumbles, jerking his head away slightly, as Georgi lets out a disgruntled rumble of his own and seems on the point of saying something in protest.
'That's enough, all of you.' It's a reprimand for form's sake, rather than one with any of Yakov's usual force behind it. 'We'll be expected in the main banquet room shortly.'
'Yuri, it would be good of you to escort Mila into the room.' Lilia takes a moment to adjust the neckline of Mila's dress, and with her other hand she guides Yuri over so that Yuri can take Mila's arm. 'Be gracious, but if anyone makes either of you uncomfortable, excuse yourselves politely and come find me.' Not a warning she would like to give, but Mila is eighteen and Yuri is fifteen, and she and Yakov are as much chaperones as coaches at a reception such as this.
Yuri is acutely aware that he must look at least a little bit ridiculous, escorting a woman who is visibly taller than he is even when she isn't wearing heels. But it's only Mila, and she's more fun to be around than Georgi (though that isn't exactly some epic triumph, because Georgi), so whatever, he can do this. 'Fine,' is all he says, and Mila tightens her arm in a brief squeeze against his as they set off for the banquet room.