Back in Hasetsu, at the Ice Palace, Yuri would be the single point of focus. Not just for his attention, but in the whole rink. It's an almost unheard of luxury, the entirety of the rink belonging only to the two of them. A single coach, with a single skater, and a wide, wide, waiting expanse of ice. A blank sheet of paper holding its breath. A frozen river patient with the potential to erupt under Yuri's blades.
Here, there's no such privacy, but it's not such a bad thing, either. There's Yuri, out of the corner of his eye, looking a little tighter than Victor might like, but within reason.
Yurio, a flash of icy blonde hair and silver blades, now gaining speed in the far end of the rink. Even from here, Victor thinks he recognizes the stubborn set of his jaw, the grim line of his mouth as Yurio focuses, laser-tight. Even in practice, he only ever seems a hair's-width away from snapping under the relentless onslaught of self-inflicted pressure at any given second.
(Yakov is here, too. They haven't spoken yet.
Not really.
Not in any way that counts.)
But the real benefit of being here during the practice times is seeing where all the other competitors stand, while numbers run through his head and he checks Yuri's against the base component score of everyone who skates by. Of all of them, JJ poses the most immediate threat: even if Yuri skates his program flawlessly, JJ's base score is simply higher. With the new scoring system, Yuri's vast artistic ability could still fall against a program backloaded with jumps.
So much for the obvious, but any one of these skaters might pull off a win, if everything goes well for them and at least one thing goes wrong for everyone else. There's no room for error at the Grand Prix Final.
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Back in Hasetsu, at the Ice Palace, Yuri would be the single point of focus. Not just for his attention, but in the whole rink. It's an almost unheard of luxury, the entirety of the rink belonging only to the two of them. A single coach, with a single skater, and a wide, wide, waiting expanse of ice. A blank sheet of paper holding its breath. A frozen river patient with the potential to erupt under Yuri's blades.
Here, there's no such privacy, but it's not such a bad thing, either. There's Yuri, out of the corner of his eye, looking a little tighter than Victor might like, but within reason.
Yurio, a flash of icy blonde hair and silver blades, now gaining speed in the far end of the rink. Even from here, Victor thinks he recognizes the stubborn set of his jaw, the grim line of his mouth as Yurio focuses, laser-tight. Even in practice, he only ever seems a hair's-width away from snapping under the relentless onslaught of self-inflicted pressure at any given second.
(Yakov is here, too. They haven't spoken yet.
Not really.
Not in any way that counts.)
But the real benefit of being here during the practice times is seeing where all the other competitors stand, while numbers run through his head and he checks Yuri's against the base component score of everyone who skates by. Of all of them, JJ poses the most immediate threat: even if Yuri skates his program flawlessly, JJ's base score is simply higher. With the new scoring system, Yuri's vast artistic ability could still fall against a program backloaded with jumps.
So much for the obvious, but any one of these skaters might pull off a win, if everything goes well for them and at least one thing goes wrong for everyone else. There's no room for error at the Grand Prix Final.