If there's going to be one Russian word Yuri never forgets, no matter where his life goes after the next three days, it's going to be that one. It never ceases to fall out of Victor's mouth while a half dozen or a dozen other things are going into it. Yuri is managing bites of it. He's going to need his strength tomorrow, but Victor's excitement isn't infectious right now.

The Duck Blood Soup is possibly the strangest, and he's not in the mood for strange. (How can he miss his mother's cooking already, barely half a day since landing?) He's already -- his left foot keeps bouncing a little, even though the toe of his shoe doesn't leave the floor. Time has moved too fast since leaving, and it's moving both too slow and too fast with getting to tomorrow arriving.

That knot just taking up all of the space inside of his stomach, leaving him drink more water than eating.

He raised a hand at the question, not surprised Victor asked, but still a little chagrinned at the notice, even though Victor always tends to notice things he'd almost rather Victor didn't. But the answer is easy there, even on his nerves, because he had avoided that one for a good reason on top of it. "It's right before the competition, so I want to avoid raw food."

Avoid anything that he might get sick on tonight, tomorrow morning, in the middle of performing.

His nightmares are numberless sometimes. But even they are a bare distraction for his circling thoughts. This place.