( he's tired. in the back of his head there's a burbling of white noise that sounds like shrieks and screams and splurting fluids and dying. ther's a fire that crackles and devours, even though most recently he'd been by the sea, watching as the waters settled, the monster trying to dissolve them all beaten back until it consumed itself. an ouroboros of sorts, he thinks, and then wonders when he last thought about the snake that swallowed its own tail.
his hand rests against the side of one stone lion, grateful for its steadiness. he doesn't remember at what point where he felt pulled to this place; or how he made it from the beach back through the suburbs heading north, toward the city. he hadn't found a bus. maybe he'd ridden the lion, somehow; he stands on the sidewalk leaning against a stone shoulder, idly tracing his fingers over scars in the stone. one of the lion's ears has been chipped, permanently; improbably enough, the lion purrs in a great impossible rumble, sitting down as Yuri fails to move forward. the bag Yuri had picked up again at some point slid down with a thud, resting at the back of his legs. mine, he thinks tiredly, and he doesn't fight it for once.
he wants a shower. ten showers. he wants a bed. his bed. he wants a phone charger and an outlet and to know his friends are all okay. he wants to talk to his Grandpa. he wants to not have to move.
he ignores that last part, not trapped in or in a shitty swamp or in a poorly lit house buried under dust and death and its own weighted history. he's not poisoned, though he's a little singed and a hell of a lot of sore. he's not bleeding (much) past incidental small injuries, nicks and cuts. he's sweat and dirt streaked, sand-dust coating his dress shirt and the 1960's suit slacks that'd mostly come through intact. his abused leopard print sneakers jut out of the bottom.
when he thinks he sees Anya in the middle distance, he squints, half clamouring up on the lion to get a better view after asking it to stand. the lion cranes its neck to look up at him, and Yuri keeps his balance on stone shoulders, shielding his eyes. he's relieved once he's stop being disbelieving, the intensity of the emotion sweeping in a singular joy as he lights up, smiling, wanting to laugh in spite of being exhausted.
cupping his hands around his mouth and drawing air in his lungs, he shouts: )
Nasteeeeenkaaaaaaaaaaaa!
( then he's leaping down, racing her way, lion shaking its massive stone head and trotting along in his wake, his pack politely picked up and carried in its mouth. )
action | 8/24, homecoming (without the dance)
his hand rests against the side of one stone lion, grateful for its steadiness. he doesn't remember at what point where he felt pulled to this place; or how he made it from the beach back through the suburbs heading north, toward the city. he hadn't found a bus. maybe he'd ridden the lion, somehow; he stands on the sidewalk leaning against a stone shoulder, idly tracing his fingers over scars in the stone. one of the lion's ears has been chipped, permanently; improbably enough, the lion purrs in a great impossible rumble, sitting down as Yuri fails to move forward. the bag Yuri had picked up again at some point slid down with a thud, resting at the back of his legs. mine, he thinks tiredly, and he doesn't fight it for once.
he wants a shower. ten showers. he wants a bed. his bed. he wants a phone charger and an outlet and to know his friends are all okay. he wants to talk to his Grandpa. he wants to not have to move.
he ignores that last part, not trapped in or in a shitty swamp or in a poorly lit house buried under dust and death and its own weighted history. he's not poisoned, though he's a little singed and a hell of a lot of sore. he's not bleeding (much) past incidental small injuries, nicks and cuts. he's sweat and dirt streaked, sand-dust coating his dress shirt and the 1960's suit slacks that'd mostly come through intact. his abused leopard print sneakers jut out of the bottom.
when he thinks he sees Anya in the middle distance, he squints, half clamouring up on the lion to get a better view after asking it to stand. the lion cranes its neck to look up at him, and Yuri keeps his balance on stone shoulders, shielding his eyes. he's relieved once he's stop being disbelieving, the intensity of the emotion sweeping in a singular joy as he lights up, smiling, wanting to laugh in spite of being exhausted.
cupping his hands around his mouth and drawing air in his lungs, he shouts: )
Nasteeeeenkaaaaaaaaaaaa!
( then he's leaping down, racing her way, lion shaking its massive stone head and trotting along in his wake, his pack politely picked up and carried in its mouth. )