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yuri!!! on ice: victor nikiforov

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WHO: Shaw, Sam, Victor
WHERE: Gym, atrium
WHEN: Jan 8
WHAT: Making friends, maybe (the dogs will, at least)
WARNINGS: Probably nothing

[Sam] Man versus machine

The gym has its advantages, for sure. It's certainly more advanced than any other kind she's seen before on Earth. She's tried all the different equipment so far, even the anti-grav room. (She hasn't been back to it since, though ... it's not exactly the most pleasant sensation. Pain she can handle, but nausea is just annoying).

Today she's been throwing punches at the training dummy, which is looking rather worn down from the abuse. She wonders if maybe she can get Root to program a better dummy that might actually put up a fight. Better still would be a regular sparring partner who could withstand a beating (or give one, Shaw isn't picky).

She finishes up and drops herself onto a bench where she left her towel and water bottle. The towel gets draped around her neck as she uses the ends to wipe the sweat from her face. As she reaches for the water bottle, she notices a familiar face. You spend this much time in the gym, you become acquainted with the regulars. Their eyes meet. She gives a brief nod.

[Victor] Dogs in space

She walks Bear everyday, like clockwork. He needs the exercise of course, but he also seems to appreciate the routine. Being in space in unfamiliar territory has taken some shine off his coat in recent days. Maybe it's all this recycled air that keeps circulating around and round. The ship might look like it's acres wide, but it's still a confined place, shuttling through the universe of dead air.

Shaw showers him with gifts, like she did before. He's already got a nice studded collar and several chew toys of varying cuteness and utility. His gigantic doggie bed is stuffed with some kind of down, airy and way more comfortable than Shaw's own pillow. And today she's got bits of bacon in a bag to give him some encouragement. He still looks a little less than perky.

"Come on, big guy. Work with me, here. What do you want? And don't say Finch. I can't give you Finch."

Bear's ears perk up at the name.

"He's better off where he is, anyway," she says, regretting mentioning the name at all. Meanwhile, her own ears perk up as she hears someone approaching. It's been an uneventful few weeks since she arrived, but that doesn't mean she's forgotten how to stay alert for possible threats.

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Makkachin's footsteps are a steady compliment to Victor's as they walk alongside the path, ambling along in their pleasant, mutual company. It's a rhythm established over the weeks of their time here, almost but not quite a match for the way time had passed around schedules in Hasetsu. There's less distance to travel, and no time on the ice meant different physical fitness regiments fit in around Victor's admittedly tenuous attempts at being a Working Citizen.

The pair of them notice the woman and her canine companion, Makkachin keeping his tail low as he wags it once, huffing out a quiet noise of greeting. Victor pats his thigh, drawing Makkachin's attention, encouraging his dog to stay with him as he smiles and gives Shaw something of a wave. "Hey! Does your dog enjoy making new friends?"

Makkachin whines, tail still wagging, ears perked forward. He definitely wants to check out Bear and his person, but the poodle stays where he is for now, for once waiting for Victor's signal to be free.

This guy is a cautious one, at least with his dog. That's probably wise, given the kinds of dog-owners that Shaw has encountered in her walks around Manhattan. Some people just have no concept of boundaries, which often translates into their dog's behavior as well.

Bear stands alert and interested, with the kind of excitement you only see in dogs who encounter other dogs. Is this what was missing from Bear's routine?

"Blijf," she says to Bear. Stay. For now.

She regards this newcomer and his poodle. He seems just as excited as Bear. Shaw's expression softens a little.

"He could probably use one."

Sam spends a lot of time in the training rooms. Not at much as soon, but he's not playing pyramid anymore. He's got to find other ways to keep active. Especially in a situation like this where he doesn't know what the frak is going on.

He's in the middle of depositing his towel and water bottle onto a nearby bench when he catches the woman's eye. Her name is unknown to him, but she looks human—looks can be deceiving as he well knows—and he's seen her here more than once. That nod gives him an opening to say hello and he takes it.

"Hey." Lifting a hand in greeting, he gives a little nod and a friendly smile. "How's the gym treating you today?"

He watches both owner and dog, his own posture relaxed and informing Makkachin's posture in turn. The older poodle gives a slow wag of his tail, ears forward, still waiting. Victor smiles, close lipped, and gives him a soft command in Russian, trying to see if he recognises the word she'd used... or if that was the dog's name.

Heel.

"Makkachin usually plays well with others. He's not that fond of the really nippy dogs in his old age. Isn't that right, boy?" Makkachin turns his face up toward Victor, cuing in to his name, before reverting his attention to the new dog. It's a pleasant scene, so at odds with how much of this adventure over the last month in space has been. He supposes nothing catastrophic has occurred, but it's not exactly restive. He'll count his blessings where he can.

"Are you comfortable with allowing them to say hello?"

The nod isn't exactly an invitation to say hello, at least in Shaw's book. But it's too late now. Besides, it's probably better to talk to people if you actually want to gather some intel around this place. As far as she is aware, none of the crew have any useful information at all. Knowing how others have been brought here, and what the technology is like on their respective worlds, might actually help. How, she doesn't know yet. But she'll share what she knows with Root and maybe they can come up with something.

"Like usual," she says, holding up her hand where the tape has already come unraveled from all the strikes she's made with her knuckles against the punching bag. She pulls off the tape the rest of the way, unwinding it with practiced movements before it comes off in a long tape. She tosses it to the trash bin.

"It gets a little repetitive."

"Sure," she says after a moment. The poodle -- Makkachin -- looks friendly enough. Anyway, Bear can handle himself around other dogs. "Go on."

With her encouragement, Bear stands up and trots over to the other dog and the sniffing ritual begins. They're such funny things sometimes, she thinks. She gives a rare smile as she watches them get acquainted.

"He had a couple friends, back on Earth."

He probably misses them, she means.

Courtesy dispensed with, Makkachin sinks down into a play bow like a much younger dog. He holds his tail low and neutral, ears perked forward in invitation as he huffs and taps his paws down, wiggling his body and hopping around to the side. Victor smiles, glad to see his best friend making canine friends of his own; or at least making the attempt.

"Most of his were left behind in Russia when we moved to Japan." He glances toward the other owner, just a brief check for her own body language before he's back to watching their dogs. Makkachin probably missed the dogs he knew, but he'd always been happily people focused as well. "I feel like I should ask if either of those names are ones you know. Sharing a planet hasn't meant sharing much more than the word 'Earth' with some of the people I've met here."

Ah, but that's its own prelude into introductions. He holds up a hand, waving in such a way that the glint of light off the golden ring around his right ring finger is the brightest thing about him. Victor dresses well, but toward subtler, more subdued colours. His flash and glitter tends to be saved for solely on the ice.

"Victor Nikiforov. Are you one of the more recent anomaly arrivals?"

"If you consider a few weeks as recent," she says. According to the network at least, it seems to be.

Shaw herself is dressed in her Earth gear, which she favors over the stuff they provided when she first arrived. Hey, she doesn't like being dictated to about anything, especially what she puts on her body. Not that there's anything particularly remarkable about her black tank-top, black jeans, and black boots. Her hair is cinched back in her usual ponytail.

'Victor' looks young-ish, tall and athletic.

"I'm Shaw."

After a bit of a pause, she offers another name: "Sameen. I've heard about a different Earth, but there's a Russia and Japan in mine. I was in New York, before."

"Compared to a few years, or a lifetime?" He lets his shoulders lift in a mild shrug, less concerned about particular details as with general timeline placement. "A few weeks feels like nothing."

Or like far too long, in his opinion. There's simply no point in lingering over it.

"I think I've run into at least three different versions of Earth. It's hard to say when the time discrepancies can be so... big? Grand? Very large." He's speaking in English rather than in Russian through any translator, and the words he wants escape him from time to time. There's something reassuring in hearing that Russia and Japan are existing in more times and more situations than not. Hopefully, Shaw's Russia also happens to not be caught up in a war with robots, like happens to be true with Sombra's Russia. "It's nice to meet you, Shaw. What's your four legged companion's name?

He looks at her hand, noticing the wear and tear on the tape. It's a familiar sight. Sam's seen it on his own hands often enough, here and on the Galactica.

"Yeah," he agrees, with a rueful twist of his mouth and a short nod. "Yeah, it does." A glance toward the training room takes in the equipment and in his mind's eye, he envisions the rest of the exercise area available to them. "But it's got more options than the last ship I lived on, so I can't complain too much."

Sam slants a look at her. "You tried running in the atrium? It's a nice change of pace."

"Sometimes. I take my dog. He gets a little antsy."

He must be missing real outdoorsy things. It's a pretty good approximation, what they've got out there in the atrium. But she figures that Bear is keen enough to know how different it is from the real thing.

Shaw arches her eyebrow.

"The last ship?"

Maybe it depends on what you were doing before arriving. For Shaw, a few weeks of her absence would have meant a lot of damage, back when Samaritan was online. At least that threat has been averted. The Machine has other assets besides Shaw and the missions it gives will have to be handled by them, for now.

"Bear," she answers with a nod toward the guy. He pricks his ears up when he hears the name and then goes back to sniffing at Makkachin.

"So what's happening in your version of Earth?"

"Nice to meet you, too, Bear." He smiles, close lipped, glancing at the dog. Makkachin continues to be on his best behavior, tail wagging, huffing out air as he sees if he can lure Bear into giving playful chase.

Good boy, Victor finds himself thinking fondly.

"Hard to say. The world's a big place. No robotic wars, that much I can say. No massive wars as a whole? Wars seem to be the most people talk about relative to their Earth, when I think about it. No magic, no... aliens, no extraordinary instabilities, I suppose. It's a nice enough place. Not perfect, but not bad."

If it isn't astoundingly clear, he has no idea what to really say about his world as a whole. "Yours?"

Bear takes the invitation with enthusiasm, giving a light arf! before leaping off the path and into the grassy areas of the park. If Makkachin follows, he'll turns right back around and give a playful chase.

His world sounds a lot like Shaw's Earth. Or how it's like for most people. There was a silent war going on in places that only a handful of people knew about. A war between two artificial intelligences, for control of the world and all the people in it. Root would call it the battle of two gods. Shaw is not as dramatic. She only cared who she had to aim at and shoot.

"Probably more like yours, if that means no robot wars or alien invasions. I dunno. People just live their lives, for the most part. And put it all on social media."

Victor's attention shifts to track their dogs at play, watching as Makkachin gives glad chase, then twists around and runs away from Bear, tongue lolling. He ducks down and swings his rear behind him, barking in preparation to leap in and bump shoulders and mouth at Bear in playful wrestling tag-teaming.

It leaves Victor smiling. It's always nice, when Makkachin is acting so much younger than his years, though he keeps an eye out for any signs of stress on his dog's body. Makkachin doesn't always know how to hold back.

"Social media... Ah! Yes! The same as back home. I'm an Instagram fan myself." Using it more than primarily any other social media site, since he enjoyed taking candids of the places he's in, and the people he's with. It's a fun sort of rolling scrapbook of life. "I'm still disappointed there's nothing similar to it here, but the app selection is limited. Which surprises me for various reasons."

Bear is much more active, being in his prime, but he's very gentle when he needs to be, too. He slows down to keep pace with the older dog as they go about exploring the park together.

Shaw tries to hide a brief smile as she watches them.

"Instagram...."

Honestly, she doesn't understand the appeal of taking photographs of your food or your things or yourself and plastering it all over the internet. Maybe dog pictures ..... maybe.

But her instincts have always been to conceal her footprints, digital or otherwise. Even though she knows that back on Earth, she was being watched, always.

"You know that's just inviting people to be all up on your business, right?"

"Whatever you want to show them, yes," he agrees, having already been living a fairly public life. He didn't have the same background for so much of this, but marketing himself? It'd been a necessity since his teen years. "More, depending on how kind or cruel your friends are." Or your fans. Certainly, there's always that element.

Still, it's something familiar, easy to miss. Especially since he did post a decent number of photos of his dog. Usually with him, but Makkachin is so cute. Who doesn't want to see him?

"I am — or was — an internationally competitive athlete. You get used to it after a while." Or you ignore it completely and feel like no one's watching you, if your name is Yuuri Katsuki.

From the sound of it, they've lived polar opposite lives. Shaw has faked her death and lived off the grid for some time now. At some point, going to great lengths to hide herself from a network of surveillance that spied on you everywhere. If you're not paranoid, you should be. Not that anyone knew about the system, except for a small handful.

Shaw wouldn't really know much about internationally known athletes. She considers Victor's physique and hazards a guess: "Gymnastics?"

He smiles, honestly amused at the guess. He considers himself a bit tall for gymnastics; he's tall for figure skating, too, but not the tallest of those currently in competitive circuit. Which may be a blessing, all things told.

"Figure skating, actually. Gymnasts take my breath away with some of what they do." His admiration for anyone at the top of their field still comes through. Even when his attention slides back over to the dogs, watching Makkachin bowl over and wiggle around on his back, happy as can be.

Ice skating. Kind of like dancing, except over ice. Is it a sport? Is it artistic? Weird combination of both? It's one of the things Shaw will never quite understand. Pure athleticism she gets, but what's with the music and the sequins?

"A figure skater in space," she says with a brief snort. "I don't think they have a rink in this ship."

Though weirdly enough, it's big enough for one, or several.

"Not yet," he says, letting one hand rest on his hip. The other comes up so he can hold a finger up in front of his face, winking. "It's still being built."

The figure skater in space absolutely, positively commissioned an ice skating rink to be built the first week he was here. Bizarrely enough, the administration had listened. In about three, four more ship-standard weeks, it would even be completed.

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