Moscow: Rostelecom Cup, GPF Qualifer Short Program (1.08)

[yuri_plisetsky]

The Rostelecom Cup is the last event of the 2014 ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating series. In the men's figure skating division, two competitors -- Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan and Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland -- have secured their places in the Grand Prix Final. The remaining four slots will be determined by the final standings of the six skaters competing in Moscow, based on their scores in previous ISU Grand Prix events:

- Michele Crispino (Italy): 3rd Place, NHK Trophy
- Yuuri Katsuki (Japan): 2nd Place, Cup of China
- Seung-gil Lee (Republic of Korea): 2nd Place, NHK Trophy
- Jean-Jacques Leroy (Canada): 1st Place, Skate Canada
- Emil Nekola (Czech Republic): 3rd Place, Skate Canada
- Yuri Plisetsky (Russian Federation): 2nd Place, Skate Canada

As the competitors arrive in Moscow, two particular skaters are the focus of much press and fan speculation. Fifteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky is making his senior debut in his first major competitive event in his home country, after a strong showing at Skate Canada in Kelowna, British Columbia. At the same time, Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki has arrived in Moscow with his coach, the long-reigning world champion Viktor Nikiforov, and based on his remarkable performance at the Cup of China in Shanghai...

...but all of this is only to be expected from the official press coverage.



On the ground, the reality is a little more complicated than that.

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[yuri_plisetsky]

To Yuri, caught up in the whirl of the moment, this short program is starting off on an even worse foot than he'd experienced at the Onsen on Ice competition. There, he'd been so lacking in anything but his knowledge of the basic steps and movements that he'd had to pour all of his concentration into the technical aspects to have any hope of finishing without collapsing. Here, now, he has months of dedicated coaching and countless hours of on- and off-ice conditioning under his belt, and a much stronger sense of how he knows it should be...and yet he still feels like he's clinging to the piece by the very tips of his fingers, digging in his nails just to keep from losing control entirely.

Shit! I'm not feeling agape at all. The sweet, clear voice of the boy soprano, singing of faithfulness and love and devotion, seems to be mocking him from on high, taunting him with the exact thing that he can't find in himself. I'm so pissed off I could puke!

(And whose fault is it? Even his anger is a flailing, grasping thing, mindlessly lashing out yet somehow knowing exactly where to strike to deal glancing blows to all of his weaknesses. Moscow. His grandfather. Viktor Nikiforov. And -- )

The triple axel is the first jump of his short program, and he's learned that it works best to think of it as something like a springboard, a vault that launches him straight into the heart of the piece. The takeoff here is clean and well-timed, but too much of his rage seeps into the rotations to keep the necessary equilibrium, and instead of the solid landing he's done a hundred times before his blade slips out from under him, sending him crashing to the ice.

The burst of pain on impact zings up the nerves in Yuri's hips and back, blotting out everything else for a nauseating fraction of a second. Yet no figure skater is a stranger to the aftermath of a missed jump, and he knows how to break the fall, how to stop it from completely knocking him cold. Even as he uses the momentum of the crash to roll onto his side, he's taking stock of muscles, bones, ligaments -- nothing broken, nothing sprained, get up, don't stop, keep going -- and shoving himself back to his feet.

Fuck! I haven't missed that triple axel once all year, and now --

Yet somehow, it's the pain from the fall that helps to save him, pulling him out of his mind and back into his body. There's no room for extraneous thoughts when your hip and leg feel like one big exposed nerve. Yet at the same time, it's familiar. It makes him concentrate. For months, he's been running through pain, dancing through pain, skating through pain...and he has been learning how to let his strength and beauty shine through regardless. This time won't be any different.

For the first time since he'd stepped out onto the ice, he can see the path opening up before him.

[theglassheart]

"Oh ... uh ..." No matter how absolutely normal and expected, even dreaded but unavoidable, interviews after performances are, Yuri still finds himself blinking owlishly trying to remember how to put words together. Somehow in a way that doesn't show that he still feels lighter than a feather, and like he might drop, and like he hasn't really said less than two sentences worth of words since stepping off the ice.

When he'd like nothing better really than to find a way out of this without questions, and to get a chance to watch the next two performances through ramping nerves, but with Victor at his side. He can't remember when or where or how Victor over-excitable, over-exuberance became normal, became preferable, comfortable even, but he'd rather have to only be jostled by it.

"I'm going to try my best?" Yuri tried not to cringe a little at the lilted end of a question there like he wasn't sure.

Even when he'd done it in China. Both skates had bested his numbers in from the Championship in Japan. By around twelve points for each one. Even falling apart on Victor before and crashing into the ice during his free skate hadn't kept it from being a new personal best for the latter of the same caliber in counting, too.

He'd just managed it, too. Maybe not ten more points. But beaten it, was still beaten it. Still a new personal best. Still over 100. On the first day. Whether either of the next skaters managed to shift him down, that wouldn't leave, and with the sudden flicker of remembering Victor, the fringe of silver hair brushing his boot, while Victor kissed it, Yuri tried again, firmer even if it came out a lot more rapidly. "Yes."

And, then. "Yes, tomorrow--" And maybe there's a partial glance toward Victor, before it's back to the camera light, and reflective cold circle lens, and the offending microphone. "--I'll continue to show Russia the power of my love."

[fivetimechamp]

He's so high it feels like he's never going to come down again. The flashes are going off again, and reporters are calling out, but it's all for Yuri: he's in the center of each photo, he's the one they're directing questions to, and Victor has no idea how it happened that he loves this even more than when it was for him, but that's how it is.

He loves it. Yuri deserves it, and more. Yuri broke his own personal best, again, and he's looking better than Victor's ever seen him. He's in his best form yet, lean and strong and certain, and the blush on his cheeks right now as the reporters clamor for his attention is the best public relations move he could have asked for. Yuri's fans love his humility, his awkwardness, his shy demeanor. The brightening flush high on his cheekbones lends a degree of credibility to his determination that someone like Jacques-whoever will never have. Yuri may not have gotten here on spectacular talent, but his story of hard work and failure and dragging himself up from the bottom resonates with more people than he knows, and they love him for it.

As they should. As everyone should.

He's never been content to be out of the spotlight before, but he could stand here at Yuri's side, bursting with pride and watching with rapt attention for hours. Even when Yuri glances over at him ––

( don't worry, I'm going to show my love to the whole of Russia )

–– he doesn't jump in, only waits with an expression of near-smug vindication.

(He'd known it was possible all along. Yuri has always had this in him.)

He might be itching to haul Yuri off to some quiet corner, but he can wait, let Yuri have this moment in the sun, stand here at his side, just behind his shoulder, and try to stay afloat this feeling of perfect happiness. Did Yakov ever feel this way about him, standing here listening while Victor answered questions? If he did, he never let on.

Victor's not sure anyone in the whole universe has ever felt quite the way he feels about Yuri, or in this moment. It's washing him out like a crashing wave, buoying him up, going straight to his head like the purest of vodka. First.




And just wait until tomorrow.

[yuri_plisetsky]

The next element is the flying sit spin, and there's no wavering on this one; Yuri hits it straight on. It's a chance to pull himself in tightly, to take stock of everything, one last checkpoint before the second half of the program is upon him. The spin is low and tight, and even with the irregular throbbing in his hip it feels right.

(It's better than it was in Hasetsu. He's better than he was in Hasetsu.)

I've been pouring blood, sweat, and tears into this since that humiliation. Working himself to the bone under Yakov and Lilia's instruction, ending his practice days more often than not by soaking his bruised, bloodied feet and ankles in Lilia's bathtub, face buried in a towel to stifle any little sounds of pain that might slip out of his mouth, any involuntary tears that might leak from the corners of his eyes. One fall on the ice can't compare to months of that. So why should he let that one fall stop him in his tracks, if day after day of hard work never stopped him before?

Before he knows it he's out of the spin, into the lead up to the second-half jumps. Why should he feel like this is the end? It's only the beginning. Fifteen years old and skating against men with years of experience in the senior division, already with one silver medal to his name -- and why shouldn't he be able to hold his own here as well? I just lack overall experience, that's all. And that's the thought that carries him into the light, chasing steps across the ice and the graceful whirls that build up to his jump combination. Driving forward into the quad salchow (his jump, always his) and through to the triple toe loop, with all of Lilia's double tours en l'air under his belt to polish his height and flow, and this time the landing is strong and true.

But it's still not the end, as the soprano voice soars above him, calling him on, that search for the unconditional love that won't elude him forever. The audience's cheers have barely died away when the final jump is upon him. Quad toe loop, with the power of Yakov's strict conditioning regimen to give him this burst of strength, and the crowd sounds even more delighted than before.

Only the step sequence and the spins left. He'll give it all he has until the very end.

[theglassheart]

Yuri's manages to half-stumble, half-flounder it through two or three more questions before it happens. The rush of success still warm in his chest gathering a sibling in the fast fading endorphins that are leaving his muscles and bones throbbing everywhere. Making him wish this part was done already, and he could lean on a wall and just drink some water, while Victor was the only person this close, or talking this persistently at him. (Victor who would keep talking, but not be a problem if he just didn't answer for a few long breaths. Or more.)

Still, he tries. Something light here. Something definitive there. A warbled gratitude for those implied to be watching for him and cheering on, an anything but warbled gratitude for any reference that he qualifies back to the relation of Victor. The unwavering support and focus of what they were doing with these programs. The way he has to try not to let his gaze linger too long to the side, even when he can feel Victor just off from his shoulder. Not close enough to bump into without meaning to, but not far enough that it's forgettable.

But it happens all the same. You could almost time it to every single one of the after Kiss n' Cry on the spot interview.

A roar of applause comes from the audience, washing over where they are, overshadowing whatever had come after the light laugh of the man talking to him, when Yuri had looked out to see what had caused it. Except that it's already over, whatever the move or jump was, and Yurio is a far away shape on the other side of the ice. A small and soft, but gleaming, blur to his vision in the bright floodlights against the massive, all but endless, white ice, but even at that Yuri can see that he's chasing the thing he'd been missing earlier.

Trying to grasp it with his fingertips. The missing thing, and what was left of this performance. It's much cleaner, if not graceful, and demanding perfection, if not unconditional. It looks hard in a way Yuri knows it shouldn't, but he's familiar to the feeling of all too well. Yurio isn't giving up out there, and it shows. Strongly. The refusal to give in to whatever it was that had hamstrung him through his beginning.

But it's all Yuri has time to see or think before that voice is talking more loudly at him, again, trying to maintain a high lit and innocent, but demanding, question, and Yuri looks back with a blink, only catching the last few words while his vision shifts from focusing far to near. "Sorry. What?"

"I was asking--" The reporter starts again, and Yuri is dragged back into the undertow and the closer faces and brighter, more immediate lights and clamoring voices, that want answers he still feels he has to spend far too long putting together than makes any reasonable sense for how good his English actually is. Each question dominating into the next and the next. While Victor remains disquietingly quiet at the corner from him, more thn Victor ever has. Making this feel at least as much, if not more, like he's still on stage.

And he is. One for performance, and one for commentary.

Even as Yurio skates, and even as the music comes to an end, with loud cheering.

Yuri isn't certain when he ended up with a towel in his hand, but he rubs it against his neck and chin, more as an absent tic than in the need to brush anything off of his skin just now, as someone frames a question as to him having surprised them all, his coach included, at the end of China's Free Skate and should all his fans be expecting more of that tomorrow, the smile of reporter just as indicative of the question under it as the words, which leaves him with a mumbled Uh...., whether that's about Victor's flip and their plans or not having them for tomorrow, or Victor kissing him, before a rumble turns everyone's head. To a side and then up.

Yurio and his coach and trainer appearing on the high screens in preparation for the next score reveal.

When had two minutes felt so long and so short? (Aside from only, what felt like seconds ago, when he was out there himself.)

[fivetimechamp]

At each of these competitions, he's backed off a little further, let Yuri do a little more of the talking, and it's paid off. Yuri will never be a naturally comfortable public speaker, but he's doing exactly what he ought to do: answering concisely and clearly, attempting a little levity, acknowledging the difficulties he's faced and the challenges yet to come. He's nervous, and exhausted, but even when he glances sidelong as if to make sure Victor is still there beside him (as he always is, always will be), he doesn't falter.

Nothing distracts him aside from the crowd reactions to Yurio's short program, the Agape Victor had created as a way of reminding himself what his duties were, when his heart lay so far away from everything he knew he should be, ought to do. Even when Yuri glances that way, he doesn't, stays focused on this moment and this interview.

(It's been made clear to him that their interest and support aren't welcome, momentary excitement in the kiss and cry aside. If Yurio would prefer to cut Victor out of Agape and out of his life altogether, it's a wish Victor can respect.)

The reporters won't be distracted, however, and soon enough Yuri is back to chatting with them, as Victor maintains a carefully bland expression of satisfaction. (After Yuri's dismay that morning in Shanghai, he has no desire to give the media any more fodder than he already has.

At least, not since he regained his sanity after his joy at Yuri's most recent perfect performance.)

[yuri_plisetsky]

It might be too late in the program to gather up all of the threads of the story he'd meant to tell, but here at the end, Yuri can push himself through the steps and spins by drawing on that sentiment he'd articulated so hesitantly all those months ago: Even if it's not perfect, even if it hurts, he feels better for trying. He won't give into despair or regret, because this is all for something bigger than himself, so much more important than these scant few minutes under the flash and glare of lights and cameras. And although he feels like that last combination spin is threatening to fray his nerves at the edges -- damn it, it shouldn't be this tough, not now -- he can pull himself through with his own power, into the rising spirals, reaching for the peace and joy that he alone can represent here in the city of his birth.

(As he strikes the final pose and the high, clear music fades away, the sensation of the cooling sweat on his face invokes the thinnest of memories, the fine mist of a freezing-cold waterfall somewhere more than a thousand miles away.)

Crude muscle memory often takes over in these immediate ending moments, when the higher thought processes are still somewhere else and post-performance fatigue is on the point of commandering everything above the brain stem. Drop the pose, partial turn, acknowledge the crowd. Start moving again before your joints lock up; avoid whatever's landed on the rink surface so you don't break your kneecaps tripping over a wrapped flower or a random plush object. And usually, all of this is enough -- except that one of Yuri's fans has an aim that should qualify her for her country's Olympic marksmanship team, because the cat-eared headband that she tosses out onto the ice lands squarely on Yuri's head, giving him a pair of pointy white ears that couldn't match his Agape costume better if they'd been part of the ensemble all along.

Bad enough that the crowd's cheering gives way to the kinds of fevered squeals that had greeted him at Sheremetyevo. Still worse that the final skater on deck to see all of it in real time is Jean-Jacques Leroy. And when he greets Yuri at the gate with loud applause, a sweeping bow, and a drippingly faux-polite 'Oh, ladies first', Yuri has to dig deep into his dignity to fight the urge to emasculate the asshole Canadian on the spot with a toepick to the groin. I forgot there was someone even more annoying than those two...JJ!

Yet he still has the judges' verdict to come, and so he storms off to get his skate guards and jacket. For whatever reason, Yakov doesn't start in on the lecture the second they're in the kiss-and-cry. But when Yuri plops down to sit in the most inelegant pose he can come up with on short notice -- leaning back, arms tucked behind his head, feet propped on the table, knees up and spread wide, giving the main camera a prime view of his crotch -- his coach has to at least make the effort to enforce decorum, where the microphones won't pick up.

('Sit up straight,' Yakov snaps. 'I'm stretching,' Yuri snaps back, not entirely a lie.)

As the scores come up, it's hard to say whether the 98.09 or the 2nd place designation is more irritating. Because the first day of the Rostelecom Cup isn't over for him just yet. Right outside the rink's main entrance are the press and the sponsors and the skating federation, all circling like sharks who've scented his blood in the water. He'll have to make it through tonight alive before he can face whatever awaits him tomorrow.

[theglassheart]

One of the instantly relieving things about Yurio and his coaches appearing up on the jumbotron is that it's basically the whistle that means he can be done here. Unless a specific reporter decides to follow him and pursue a specific line of questioning, it'll be time for Yurio and his coaches to come over here, and stand in front of the cameras and microphones, being subjected to the same round of questions as befitting his skate just finished.

The score, like the surprisingly strong end to his skate, isn't all that terrible. Even if Yurio looks like he could burn a hole through the space in front of him just by staring at it. While sitting there in what looks like he picked or planned for the most rebellious way possible. The cute white cat ears he'd left perched on top of his head both detracting from the belligerence of the image and making him look even younger in it.

Yuri does stare at the number for what feels like a long moment -- possibly feels more than is, because the reports around him become a buzzing murmur of at least half of what is buzzing in his own head. That Yuri is still the holding the first place score.

(The other half is a quiet swallow at the memory of the weekend before this one,
what had happened when he'd stayed in first at the end of the Free Skate day.)

His eyes drift for a moment to the tall purple-clad figure of Jean-Jacques Leroy on the ice, talking to his coaches. A hazy memory of whatever, still not understood, conversation he'd tried to have with Yuri or Victor before Yuri went out mixing with the knowledge the Canadian had pulled gold in Skate Canada, taking first place in both his short and free skate.

That this performance would or could shift all of it again.