Chekov, Pavel Andreievich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
candothat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2013-10-23 03:51 pm
candothat) wrote in poly_chromatic2013-10-23 03:51 pm
Entry tags:
action // video
ACTION;
[Chekov may have woken up with a cluster of sullen, chatty balloons that look like they belong at a misery-themed party shadowing him, but he's not about to let a nonlethal thing like that prevent him from going about his day as usual. They follow him during his morning jog (he takes care to avoid the pockets of strangeness that have been popping up, as there is only so much weirdness that he likes in his life at any given moment) and to the City Solutions Laboratory. They trail him to the labs that have been taken over by Starfleet (he doesn't linger there) and to the hospital where he visits friends who were injured in the recent attacks, glowering, as ominous and dark as any potentially hostile region of space.
Their constant looming and unimpressed--disappointed, even--glares are a minor annoyance. It's the sounds they make that chip away at Chekov's usual patience and good humor. There's some incoherent grumbling and groaning, but some phrases are perfectly, humiliatingly, horribly clear.
Ty ubil ikh.
Failure.
Too young.
Bespoleznyy.
Too slow.
Pomnyu tvoyu mat'.
Slishkom medlenno.
Their deaths were your fault.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
You'll never succeed.
You killed her.
Slishkom molod.
Useless.
Vam ne udalos'.
You abandoned your family.
Vam nikogda ne udastsya.
Remember your mother.
Vy ubili yeye.
He tries not to listen to them (and of course they're bilingual, this is the City--why wouldn't he be told off in two languages?). Those who encounter him may find ignoring the grim balloons difficult. They're loud.]
VIDEO;
[Judging by the view--the back of Chekov's head--this is not an intentional recording. He's sitting at Lucy's baby grand, tense, posture hinting at anger. The talking balloons are still hovering over him like a raincloud, chatting away. There are fewer than there were earlier, but the remaining faces seem eager to make up for this by being exceptionally strident.]
Vy ubili yeye.
Failure.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
Slishkom medlenno.
You killed her.
Their deaths were your fault.
Bespoleznyy.
Useless.
[They've been at it all day and Chekov doesn't want to hear it anymore. In an effort to drown them out, he launches into what must be the angriest and most aggressive interpretation of Rachmaninov's Prelude in C sharp minor of all time. He's not great--out of practice rather than untrained--and it only takes about a minute and a half before the balloons, which have only grown louder to combat the piano, reduce the boy to discordant keysmashing.
He gives up after a particularly enthusiastic plunk of the keys and mumbles something at the balloons. The network device doesn't pick his words up, but it's safe to assume that he didn't say anything pleasant to the specters.]
Failure.
Slishkom molod.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
You'll never succeed.
[Maybe an angry rendition of something by Balakirev will be more effective. Watchers won't get to find out; the video ends abruptly.]
[ooc: Russian brought to you by Google.]
[Chekov may have woken up with a cluster of sullen, chatty balloons that look like they belong at a misery-themed party shadowing him, but he's not about to let a nonlethal thing like that prevent him from going about his day as usual. They follow him during his morning jog (he takes care to avoid the pockets of strangeness that have been popping up, as there is only so much weirdness that he likes in his life at any given moment) and to the City Solutions Laboratory. They trail him to the labs that have been taken over by Starfleet (he doesn't linger there) and to the hospital where he visits friends who were injured in the recent attacks, glowering, as ominous and dark as any potentially hostile region of space.
Their constant looming and unimpressed--disappointed, even--glares are a minor annoyance. It's the sounds they make that chip away at Chekov's usual patience and good humor. There's some incoherent grumbling and groaning, but some phrases are perfectly, humiliatingly, horribly clear.
Ty ubil ikh.
Failure.
Too young.
Bespoleznyy.
Too slow.
Pomnyu tvoyu mat'.
Slishkom medlenno.
Their deaths were your fault.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
You'll never succeed.
You killed her.
Slishkom molod.
Useless.
Vam ne udalos'.
You abandoned your family.
Vam nikogda ne udastsya.
Remember your mother.
Vy ubili yeye.
He tries not to listen to them (and of course they're bilingual, this is the City--why wouldn't he be told off in two languages?). Those who encounter him may find ignoring the grim balloons difficult. They're loud.]
VIDEO;
[Judging by the view--the back of Chekov's head--this is not an intentional recording. He's sitting at Lucy's baby grand, tense, posture hinting at anger. The talking balloons are still hovering over him like a raincloud, chatting away. There are fewer than there were earlier, but the remaining faces seem eager to make up for this by being exceptionally strident.]
Vy ubili yeye.
Failure.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
Slishkom medlenno.
You killed her.
Their deaths were your fault.
Bespoleznyy.
Useless.
[They've been at it all day and Chekov doesn't want to hear it anymore. In an effort to drown them out, he launches into what must be the angriest and most aggressive interpretation of Rachmaninov's Prelude in C sharp minor of all time. He's not great--out of practice rather than untrained--and it only takes about a minute and a half before the balloons, which have only grown louder to combat the piano, reduce the boy to discordant keysmashing.
He gives up after a particularly enthusiastic plunk of the keys and mumbles something at the balloons. The network device doesn't pick his words up, but it's safe to assume that he didn't say anything pleasant to the specters.]
Failure.
Slishkom molod.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
You'll never succeed.
[Maybe an angry rendition of something by Balakirev will be more effective. Watchers won't get to find out; the video ends abruptly.]
[ooc: Russian brought to you by Google.]
starfleet comm frequency » video
starfleet comm frequency » video
starfleet comm frequency » video
No, sir.
starfleet comm frequency » video
Pack a few things, you're staying with us tonight. We're better company than some dreary balloons.
[ To put it lightly, You don't look safe there. ]
starfleet comm frequency » video
starfleet comm frequency » video
starfleet comm frequency » video
Thank you. I will be there shortly?
starfleet comm frequency » video
[ Genuinely pleased Pavel's on his way and not intent on moping around ghostly balloons and their less than enthused mumblings, Jim pokes his head in the fridge. Now what on earth do they actually have, uh ... ]
Orrr maybe I'll order out.
[ There's only one balloon of Jim's own floating around, drifting in the background like it's unsure about getting closer. The captain himself doesn't seem to be bothered by it. ]
starfleet comm frequency » video
I would appreciate that. Not to disparage the contents of your kitchen, of course.
[He doesn't comment on the balloon. Maybe he'll get to hear what it says once he gets there--which will be soon.]
starfleet comm frequency » video
[ When hopefully the Chinese order has arrived. ]
action...?
He knocks on the apartment door, messenger bag and balloons of misery in two. The glum balloons probably gave him away long before he reached the door. They're are about a dozen of them, all still chatting, saying the same things they've been saying all day.]
action!
Hey, come in, park wherever you want. You brought the party with you, huh?
action!
Priorities.]
Unfortunately. [He nods to Jim's arm.] Is this from the monsters?
no subject
[ In a different kind of horror-movie way that he isn't going to descend into because needles. He claps him on the back, steering him inside and away from those lingering balloons and their mouthy leader. He does a stellar job in blanking them, along with his own which quickly floats over as if drawn by the strength of Pavel's: You're responsible for their deaths, they died in the middle of falling out of warp ...
Jim dunks some fries in plum sauce, munching away where he sits over his knees. ]
I was worried about you, so was Sulu. What did you get up to when the zombies were everywhere?
no subject
[Pavel's balloons only seem to get louder now that Jim's has joined in. As if in direct reply, they get stuck on two phrases: Their deaths were your fault and Vy ubili yeye.
Chekov has had limited contact with Chinese food, so he opts for trying everything. It's better than butchering the works of ancient Russian composers on his girlfriend's piano.]
I was fine, mostly. They chased me into the forest on the first day and I learned that they cannot climb trees. After that, I helped where possible, and then there was the hospital after a monster attempted to eat Lucy.
no subject
[ Not that Leonard has much choice, but still. He would. ]
... Attempted. Did she come out of that okay?
no subject
[Any comparison to Scotty is a compliment. Quietly and discretely, one of the balloons deflates and vanishes. It's complaining friends do a fine job of masking its departure.]
She lived. A monster had her by the neck before I could do anything; she nearly bled out.
no subject
no subject
[It was not a glorious battle.]
no subject
[ Munching ... ]
Sulu had to save me, he was dramatic as hell with a sword. Doubt I'll be living that down any time soon.
no subject
[The balloons, which have been kind enough to switch their phrases up for the most part, get stuck on ty ubil ikh. Pavel ignores them aggressively, going so far as to force a smile.]
Did he claim to be d'Artagnan or challenge monsters to a duel?
no subject
[ Grinning, Jim chuckles and slides a foil packet of fries Pavel's way. ]