For Yuri, the post-program interviews...could have been worse. There's no getting around that initial fall, but his recovery in the second half seems to have redeemed him slightly in the eyes of the press. But considering how vehemently he'd shot his mouth off yesterday about being the top Russian figure skater, their line of questioning about his opinions on his performance (read: his fuck-up) still rubs like sandpaper on an open blister. At least he'd managed to come up with a professional-sounding response that even Yakov really can't criticise: I think that the anticipation and excitement of skating here in my hometown affected my performance at first in the short program. But I will give all I have, for my city and my country, during my performance tomorrow in the free skate.
(Lilia, thankfully, had got that stupid cat-ear headband off of him before the vultures caught up with them. Some of his fans would probably empty their bank accounts in a heartbeat for the chance to buy it for themselves, but she can burn it for all he cares.)
By the time he's finished with his second song and dance of the day, the final scores are up, and that prick JJ's personal best has shoved him down into an ignominious third place. Not much for him to do now but go back to the hotel. He should probably eat something, if only so he can take a painkiller to deal with the residual throbbing in his sore hip, but the thought of food of any kind is a little sickening. And Yakov doesn't make his stomach feel any better as he says, as the three of them head down the corridor to the main backstage area and the exits, 'Don't eat too many pirozhki tomorrow, all right?'
'Yeah, yeah,' Yuri mutters. Whether or not he has any pirozhki to eat at all really depends on one person, and he's not feeling quite so optimistic as Yakov seems to be about the chance that his grandfather will be able to make it to the second day of the tournament. If he's really not well, I don't want him here. He doesn't need to be in more pain because of me.
It would be a slow, gradual slide into the black downward spiral that's starting to form in his mind -- except that there's a strange sort of commotion going on right ahead of them, a familiar voice raised in what sounds like half of an argument, and it makes Yuri (and his coaches) come to a halt. Because for some reason, Viktor Nikiforov and his skater are up in each other's faces, almost toe to toe in the middle of the public space, and all of the happiness and elation of their moment in the kiss-and-cry seems to have vanished entirely.
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(Lilia, thankfully, had got that stupid cat-ear headband off of him before the vultures caught up with them. Some of his fans would probably empty their bank accounts in a heartbeat for the chance to buy it for themselves, but she can burn it for all he cares.)
By the time he's finished with his second song and dance of the day, the final scores are up, and that prick JJ's personal best has shoved him down into an ignominious third place. Not much for him to do now but go back to the hotel. He should probably eat something, if only so he can take a painkiller to deal with the residual throbbing in his sore hip, but the thought of food of any kind is a little sickening. And Yakov doesn't make his stomach feel any better as he says, as the three of them head down the corridor to the main backstage area and the exits, 'Don't eat too many pirozhki tomorrow, all right?'
'Yeah, yeah,' Yuri mutters. Whether or not he has any pirozhki to eat at all really depends on one person, and he's not feeling quite so optimistic as Yakov seems to be about the chance that his grandfather will be able to make it to the second day of the tournament. If he's really not well, I don't want him here. He doesn't need to be in more pain because of me.
It would be a slow, gradual slide into the black downward spiral that's starting to form in his mind -- except that there's a strange sort of commotion going on right ahead of them, a familiar voice raised in what sounds like half of an argument, and it makes Yuri (and his coaches) come to a halt. Because for some reason, Viktor Nikiforov and his skater are up in each other's faces, almost toe to toe in the middle of the public space, and all of the happiness and elation of their moment in the kiss-and-cry seems to have vanished entirely.