#spookyfoot

day 6 part 1 omgggg

Watching Yuuri suit up should not be nearly as bittersweet nor as arousing as it is, but Viktor feels that way anyway as he watches Yuuri array himself in a jumpsuit and oxygen pack for his visit to the Almavivo. 

“We’ll have a line of communication with you right here,” says Emil, tapping a small wire thread on the fabric of the jumpsuit. “The bridge will see and hear everything and transmit instructions through the translator earpiece.”

Yuuri nods. He clicks the button on his pack to activate it, raising his thumb towards Emil as the oxygen bubble expands around him. But just before he steps towards the airlock doors, Viktor runs towards him and enfolds him in his arms. 

“Take care of yourself,” he pleads. 

Yuuri smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

Viktor takes his hands, kisses his fingertips to Yuuri’s gloved ones. He presses his forehead to the surface of Yuuri’s bubble, wishing he could go farther. Yuuri meets him halfway; the surface of the bubble the only barrier between them. 

“I’ll get Yuri back safely,” Yuuri says, before pulling back to look at Emil. “Be prepared to build a boarding seal if I’m successful.”

Emil salutes him, and the airlock doors open. Yuuri steps through, pressing his hand against the glass. Viktor mirrors him, feeling a lump of worry congealing in his chest. Whether it’s his, or the rest of the crew’s, he’s not quite sure. Perhaps it’s both.

Then the external doors open, and Yuuri steps out of the airlock and towards the Almavivo.

Viktor heads back to the bridge, where the crew is watching the feed from Yuuri’s glasses. An access hatch opens for him on the side of the ship, and he clambers onboard with little trouble, his breathing nervous but steady over the feed.

“You can do it,” Phichit mutters. “Come on, come on…”

“You’re the negotiator?” a voice over the feed asks, clear even over the hissing static on the audio feed. Moments later a beautiful Nevan shows up on the screen, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she presses the muzzle of her blaster against the temple of a scowling Prince Yuri. The blood in Viktor’s veins turn to ice. “Are you armed?”

Yuuri must have raised his hands to show he was not. Anya considers it, before jerking her head back towards something. Yuuri follows, his camera feed revealing the cockpit of the ship. Everything seems bathed in an eerie green light. 

“Thank you for having me,” Yuuri offers as he nervously takes a seat in the chair. “I have an offer from Prince Viktor of the House of Nikiforov.”

Anya and Yuri sit. Yuuri looks down, clearly noting that Yuri’s hands are bound. 

“What is he offering me?” Anya asks warily, crossing her legs. The feed bobs up to see her face, now more drawn and haggard by proximity. 

“A pardon for the treason you committed in attempting to flee your Candidacy,” replies Yuuri. “However you will still face criminal charges for the attack at the Armistice Ball.”

“Criminal charges,” scoffs Anya, digging the blaster harder into Yuri’s skin. “Sounds more like the instant I give you the Prince, that Fleet will blast me into millions of pieces.”

“You know perfectly well they can’t do that without violating the terms of the Armistice itself,” replies Yuuri. “But you have no more fuel, no supplies to last you beyond a week. This ship is meant to get people from point A to point B, not outlast a Fleet on a little asteroid at the edge of a no-man’s land. If you refuse, we might leave – but the Fleet won’t. They will outrun you and outlast you.”

Anya purses her lips. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”

“I’m not here on behalf of the Fleet,” replies Yuuri, shrugging. The feed shifts a little, as he adjusts his glasses. “I’m here on behalf of a brother who wants his brother back.”

“And in exchange, will he give me my sister back?” retorts Anya. “Psi-dampening walls cannot block out the deepest familial bonds. I felt her, Terran. I felt her mind crumbling into dust miles away in my room. And you expect me to let their prince go so that he can return to life as normal? Continue to capture poor talented Nevan children to further the royal bloodline?”

“Prince Viktor feels as strongly about ending the Searching industry as you,” Yuuri says. “Which is why he is willing to give you the pardon. You would have the chance to go home for a while and visit your family before the trial starts.”

“There is no justice for Candidates who have been wronged as much as Natalya and I have,” Anya grinds out, her eyes flashing. “I would sooner –” she moves the blaster to point it at her own head, and Yuuri lurches forward. 

“No!”

Anya laughs. Viktor feels a bone-chilling uneasiness slide into his gut.

Yuuri catches himself, taking a deep breath. “Is there anything we can do to ensure the safe return of Prince Yuri?” he asks quietly.

“Fuel,” replies Anya. “Supplies. That royal pardon – I would like to return, someday. But for now, I will not.”

Yuuri swallows. “They will hunt you down.” 

Anger, grief, frustration. Viktor’s not sure if it’s his own, or if it’s someone else – The entire crew? The Fleet? Anya herself? He times his breaths to the sound of Yuuri’s vitals, his heartbeat ticking like a metronome to Viktor’s own wild thoughts. 

“One Mandalan ship core replenishes itself in twenty-four standard hours,” says Anya. “It won’t take me far, but I can use it in combination with a compatible energy source. That Nevan command ship has some spare batteries.” She pauses, smiles. “One of those, some supplies, and the pardon, and you can have your prince back. I won’t harm him.”

There’s a crumpling sound. Viktor moves his hands back from the edge of the workstation to see that the metal has warped. 

Yuuri is silent. What do I do? he seems to be asking. What do I say? Viktor looks on, seeing the fire burning in Anya’s eyes, and remembers the blue scarf blowing on the palace gates. 

Calm. The universe holds its breath.

“Accept it,” Viktor says quietly, his voice choking in his throat. The feed tilts, as if confused. “She will answer for the attack another day. We will find her.”

“Will you?” Mila wonders. “The Searchers never found me.”

Phichit sighs. “She’s probably just trying to get the fuel to seek asylum in the Mandalan Empire, or on a distant Federation planet. You might be able to find her, but you might not be able to arrest her.”

“And she’d just get away.” Viktor sighs. “But this is the best option for getting Yura back. We have to take it.”

The feed moves, as if nodding. “All right,” Yuuri says onscreen. “We’ll take the deal.”

“Fuel and supplies and pardon first,” Anya instructs. 

“Okay.” Yuuri extends a hand. Anya regards it distrustfully.

“No – what’s the Terran phrase – funny business?”

“Absolutely not,” replies Yuuri. “Emil, please make the seal.” 

There’s a rumbling deep within the Firebird, as Emil extends a boarding seal between the entries of both ships. Viktor grabs a touchpad and scribbles out a note of pardon, affixes his signature and the royal seal. 

“I’m sending this over to the Almavivo,” he instructs Sara, and flings the document over as soon as she opens the channel. 

A small chime resounds on the ship, and then Anya smiles. “Thank you,” she says.

“I’ll issue a command to Medvedev to send her the spare battery and supplies,” Viktor adds, feeling resignation settle in his bones. This should be a victory, but somehow there’s something hollow about it. He feels torn, somehow, between his desire to do good by his people… and his desire to do good by his people. 

No matter the outcome, someone will be hurt by an unjust death. Who is he to consider the losses at the Armistice ball ‘justified’ because of the evils of his own family?

No, that’s what Anya had thought. She had looked at them as collateral damage – had looked at the tense situation between the Federation and the Empire and decided it would serve as a perfect scapegoat for her own crimes.

“The battery and supplies are onboard our ship,” Emil reports over the comm. 

“Yuuri, we’re sending someone over with the supplies and battery,” Mila instructs. “Make sure she hands off the Prince.”

The crates are carried on screen, into the cockpit. Anya sets down her blaster and removes the restraints around Prince Yuri’s hands and ankles. Yuuri grabs him, and the two of them start to move away with the other crewmembers – 

“Wait,” says Christophe. “Emil, what kind of power core did we just transport onboard?”

“A Mark-2 Terra Incognita power core,” reports Emil. “It should be compatible with the Mandalan one.”

Christophe nods. “And Yuuri, what’s that noise?”

“What noise?” asks Yuuri, as they rush through the corridors of the ship. “The hissing? That’s been there the entire time.”

“Isn’t it static?” asks Viktor, frowning.

“No, the AV equipment is fine. I tested it recently.” Phichit frowns. “Wait, Chris, do you mean –”

“Mark-2 Terra Incognita power cores are extremely sensitive to oxygen levels, and we just gave Anya an entire supply of water – Yuuri!” Christophe shouts. “Get out of there now!”

There’s the sound of an explosion. The bridge rocks under their feet. The visual feed cuts out, only to be replaced by the horrific sight of the Almavivo exploding right in front of them.

Shields at 2%, NICA reports, red lights pulsing gently. Structural damage to the port side hull at 9’o clock. Depressurisation warning. Depressurisation warning. Depressurisa —

Viktor closes his eyes, trying to search for that familiar silence through the ringing of the voices and feelings around him. Yuuri? Yuuri?

you genius

spookyfoot replied to your post “just created liquid pie in a cup. 1 cup apple cider 3 shots...”

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highermagic replied to your post “just created liquid pie in a cup. 1 cup apple cider 3 shots...”

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thedeathoftrust replied to your post “just created liquid pie in a cup. 1 cup apple cider 3 shots...”

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@pencilwalla​ nuri I don’t even go here but this sentence came into my house and murdered my cats

HEY. HEYYYYYY. this is a lot. YOU INSPIRE ME