Chekov, Pavel Andreievich (
candothat) wrote in
poly_chromatic2013-10-23 03:51 pm
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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.]
voice | private;
[Ah ha. Ha. Not really a joke.]
voice | private;
I'd imagine it can be a great distraction. Like flying, for me.
voice | private;
voice | private;
voice | private;
voice | private;
You're one of the most brilliant people I know. You've done so much and I'd hate to see you so upset.
voice | private;
I have also been responsible for deaths.
I will only be upset for today, I promise.
voice | private;
voice | private;
[These are questions Pavel typically wouldn't ask of anyone, not even Ginny.]
voice | private;
[She doesn't know the details or the circumstances for him. All she has are her own memories of the battles she's fought and she lost friends and family at her side but she also saved a few lives, too. And they saved hers. It isn't always one or the other.]
voice | private;
Ginny... how often do you talk about these thoughts with friends?
voice | private;
I'm not very good at talking.
voice | private;
Neither am I. I prefer distractions.
voice | private;
[She doesn't want you to feel like she does, Pavel. :( ]
You don't deserve this, Pavel.
voice | private;
No more than you.
voice | private;
voice | private;
He's proud, yes. Lonely, but proud.
Your family is the same? Proud of you?
voice | private;
I think so. My brothers always did so much more. [Head Boy, Prefects, captain of the Quidditch team, successful businessmen.] But I've been a good student, done my best. No one can ever fault us for doing our best.
voice | private;
The last of seven... it would be hard to outdo all six of your brothers. Maybe I was fortunate to be born an only child.
[And, a more personal question that he asks with some hesitance:] Are you proud of yourself?
voice | private;
We're not talking about me. Am I your distraction now? That's not fair.
[She's proud of herself, sure. She's done a lot, survived a lot, accomplished some great things. She's good with a wand and on a broom. She's been a good daughter. But she's failed a lot, too.
But she knows it's a hard question to ask, so she won't brush it off, either.]
But... yeah. I am. I ought to be.
voice | private;
[Ginny's too smart for this hey-let's-talk-about-you game. He can't help but smile a little, as serious as the conversation is.]
Good. I don't know all of your achievements, but I feel you should be proud. [He pauses, but decides that, in all fairness, he ought to offer an answer of his own.] I'm also proud. Not of everything, but of many things.
voice | private;
[CHEERING UP IS GO.]
voice | private;
And Pavel is usually hesitant to list out the things he's proud of because he has been accused on many occasions of being too proud, but he could use the ego boost.]
Don't think that I am bragging, but I was the youngest human cadet in Starfleet Academy history and am the youngest ranking officer ever. [A record that will be beaten later on, but let's not poke holes in his ego.] Also, at sixteen, I was the youngest cadet to win the academy's annual marathon. I'm very proud of that. And I have saved the captain's life twice and Sulu's once.
[No, wait, he's sure there's more. Let him think for a moment. Saving the Enterprise as a whole on a few occasions doesn't really count, since those are ultimately group efforts...]
That is it, mostly. I would say that I am proud to be intelligent, but that is not an accomplishment so much as fortunate genetics. Oh--I'm proud that many people I admire consider me a friend, also. That reflects well on me.
And you?
voice | private;
Why would I think that's bragging? I asked you myself. You've done well, don't ever forget that. And we're lucky to have a friend like you, the honour's all ours.
[She doesn't know this is the way to counteract the curse, but this is the way to be a good friend, plain and simple.]
I'm glad that I'm one of the best fliers in my family, almost as good as Charlie, definitely one of the best at school. [But she's never been humble about that.] And I'm bloody good at my spellwork, I wouldn't have survived all that I have if I wasn't. I'm not half-bad at class, either, but what Weasleys lack in money, we make up for in everything else and people can't say a thing against us about it.
I'm the most proud of my family.
voice | private;
[He's so pleased that Ginny likes being his friend, which is probably lame since he didn't doubt that they were friends. It's the dumb balloons (which are very, very quiet right now).]
All of these are reasonable things to be proud of. I know that you're the best at flying and spells that I know. [Not that he knows a ton of witches, okay, but he has known a few, so.] Ah... don't tell Hikaru that I think someone other than him is the best at flying. He may take that as an insult to his piloting skills.
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