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Want to talk about how I'm playing Chekov? Care to plot? Just eager to yell at me about stuff? This is the place!

I'm also on plurk: [ profile] cheatreality
candothat: ((/ロ°)/)

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You have contacted the device of Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov.
Please leave a message.


[ooc: Feel free to leave an IC message or start up random IC action; just kindly indicate which!]


Feb. 28th, 2014 07:30 pm
candothat: (Default)
[Chekov is in the cottage's living room, red engineering uniform on, surrounded by all of the things he can't take home with him. (The important things are in a dufflebag and a backpack, and Everett is coming along, too. A genius can probably think of a way to explain the suitcase, the dog, and the decidedly non-regulation haircut, right?) He's smiling at the network device. No need to end on a teary note.]

I have been here for seven-hundred and twenty-four days. It would have been two years, as of the sixth of March. Not so long as many people, but I have outstayed most of my crew--some of them twice--and the majority of friends I made when I first arrived. Overall, I have been happy--happier, sometimes, than I am at home. But I will be glad to return. I last left home during a difficult time, and there will be many funerals and speeches to endure before our long leave, and after leave, the five-year mission. Everett will go to Petersburg to live with my father; he is lonely and will enjoy the company. I will have the chance to see the night sky from Earth. I've missed them, more since I traded my memory of them to the witches in October. Maybe the memory will return.

Mostly, I'm glad that I will keep my memories. Forgetting has been my greatest fear about leaving. Too many memories, bad and good but all important, have been made in the City to be forgotten. It will be strange since almost no one will have any of these memories, and I may find it difficult to explain some things, such as aging slightly. But memories! Those are more valuable to me than anything else I am taking with me. As long as I remember those I have met, leaving will not be so hard as it would be otherwise.

I will not go into a long discussion of memories and friends because it is too soon for nostalgia, but I want to share an old Russian saying: If all the options are bad, choose the one that hurts the least. None of us, I think, are happy to be leaving, even if we miss our homes. Personally, I'm unsure if I have made the decision that hurts the least, but it is the right one. I hope that for you, my friends and even those who are not my friends, the option that hurts the least is also the right one. Try not to be too sad. As long as we all go home with our memories, we will continue to exist in the lives of one another. Saying goodbye does not erase someone from your life.

There is one more Russian saying I want to share, and it is a happier one, I promise. Nothing is permitted and everything is possible. This is my favorite saying. The City has proven it true, and it will always prove true in our futures. Maybe we will meet again. The laws of physics may not allow it, but it is not impossible.

Also, is there anyone remaining in the City who would like a motorcycle? I have a very nice one, but it is too cumbersome to take it with me.

And finally, I would like to say goodbye to most of you in person. This is no way to say goodbye.

[Private to the Voyager Crew]

I wanted to have something clever or insightful to say to you, but all I can think of is thank you. I had forgotten what it was like to be a part of a crew until mine arrived, and when they left, you allowed me to be a part of yours. I will always be grateful for this. Thank you also for sharing some of your science with me. Captain Janeway, I promise that I will not use any advancements from beyond my time, except, perhaps, for personal use.

If I am still alive in your time and you return home--and you will return home--please say hello. That me will be very different from me, but he will like meeting new people and discussing whatever scientific advancements will be current. If I am not still alive, I hope that I died very heroically. Should that be the case, don't be sad.

Maybe interuniversal travel will be mastered in your lifetimes. If that is so, I hope to see you.

[Private to Lucy]

I know that you will not want to say goodbye in person. Please reconsider? You are my first everything and I think I will keep being too in love with you to fall in love again, so please, I would like to see you a final time.

candothat: (:D)
[Okay, but has everyone forgotten that there's snow outside and Anonymous is setting up all kinds of amazing things? Dogsled races! Dips in the ridiculously cold ocean among the icebergs! Free hot chocolate! Chekov, being his own boss, gives himself both days off on account of all of the misery accumulated throughout the rest of January. There's nothing like some bracing winter excitement to lift the spirits.

Shut up, he's Russian.

He makes the most of both days. Dogsled racing on the thirtieth? Yep, he's there, hanging on for dear life and trying to remember which words the dogs respond to. (He doesn't win, but he makes it across the finish line with no injuries that require hospitalization, so he considers himself victorious.) Polar bear swim on the thirty-first? Why not! Chekov is practically obligated to participate! His plan to outlast everyone else braving the icy ocean waters fails when an inability to feel his limbs complicates doggy-paddling, but it was fun while it lasted.

Chekov barely sets foot indoors. He can be found almost anywhere in the City, running or starting snowball fights or watching moonlight sparkle on the snow after the sun sets. It's two days of enjoying the City without worrying about disappointing anyone or dwelling on those who have left. Chekov thinks that he has earned it.]



Jan. 12th, 2014 03:56 pm
candothat: (Serious: Downcast)
[Chekov knows that he shouldn't be surprised when his failed attempts to contact Captain Kirk lead him to the Hall of the Missing and, ultimately, the realization that the majority of the remaining crew of the Enterprise is no longer in the City. Disappearances frequently happen in groups. Spock, Kirk, McCoy, Uhura... most of them had come and gone before this, too. Chekov really should know better than to be surprised. Kirk might be able to bend the rules at home, but it was foolish to hope, even for a moment, that he would be capable of doing the same in the City.

It's tempting to stay off of the network and immerse himself in a project, but his crewmates were well-liked and it's only right to keep the friends they have made informed.]

Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura are no longer in the City.

[Brief, formal, to-the-point. Unfortunately, one other party needs to be contacted.]

[Starfleet Comm Frequency // Unhackable]

Lieutenant Sulu and I are now the only officers of the Enterprise in the City.

[In other words: your orders, Captain Janeway?]

candothat: (Coat)
[Chekov, currently outside in the snowy, picturesque City, is very pleased with his lot in life. He might not be home, but home is no place he wants to be. This place is superior in all ways, and he has learned so much more about quantum physics than he had ever thought possible thanks to the scientific advances made since his time (and far beyond).

Still, the snowy evening evokes memories of Saint Petersburg before the start of the war. Perhaps it's nostalgia that prompts him to make a post to the network. Naturally, he addresses the network in Russian. It's the only language he knows, after all, and the various translation devices in the City haven't made the language barrier insurmountable in the two years he has been here.]

This is the first time I have been reminded of home in some time--not that that is something to complain about. Christmastime has been joyless there for years now, but, when I was a boy [as if he isn't still a boy] and my mother was still with us, we had very pleasant celebrations. Small, of course, but even borscht and pagach is a feast when served with enough pomp.

As my father is fond of saying, "Although there’s nothing to eat, life is fun."

My favorite thing about Christmas was the stories that my mother would tell. They were the same stories every year--I could have told them to myself, but they would not have been as good--and still I could never hear them enough. My favorite was about Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. It is a long story and I wouldn't want to bore anyone by telling it. My mother teased me sometimes, saying that I was made out of snow and magic and given to her and my father as a gift the same as the snow maiden was. That is nonsense, of course, and I told her that, but she knew that I liked to hear the story anyway.

The ending is sad, and that is no surprise. The Snow Maiden falls in love and the warmth of her heart melts her into a puddle. I suppose this only proves that Russians celebrations are melancholy even when life is not unpleasant. I prefer to think of it as deep, philosophical introspection rather than inherent sadness and an acceptance of futility. I think that is what the novelists talk about when they write about the Russian soul.

Anyway, there is no Christmas at home any longer. The Bolsheviks have done away with it. That will not stop families from pretending that borscht and pagach are a feast, or mothers from telling their children stories.

[He shifts and brushes some snow out of his curly hair.]

My apologies for rambling. This is a good time of year for nostalgia--a good time to remember what we have lost, and maybe to feel the echoes of joy still left from good memories.

[And off goes the video! Chekov lingers in the snow a little longer before going home.]

candothat: (Old-timey type)
Pavel Andreievich Chekov was born in Taganrog in the year 1899 to Anna and Andrei. The family relocated to Saint Petersburg (which would become Petrograd in 1914) in 1905, primarily so Andrei could look for work that would put his engineering background to use. Pavel, a bright boy and a diligent study from a very young age, was able to obtain a decent education in spite of his family's low social status.

Anna Chekov died of a heart condition in 1908. Andrei frequently worked twelve-hour days, leaving Pavel largely to his own devices. The child had full access to his father's books and devoted most of his time to supplementing his education.

In 1911, Andrei, through forged connections and a great deal of luck, managed to enroll Pavel in the Imperial Saint Petersburg Academy of Sciences after the boy impressed the Academy's leading physicist with his knowledge. Pavel remained a good student and was on track to become a professor of physics himself before he started to show an active interest in Imperial Russia's tumultuous political situation. He found himself caught up in the tumult and aligned himself with the Mensheviks, put off by the extremist Bolsheviks.

When World War I erupted in 1914, Pavel, unlike most Mensheviks, supported Russia's involvement in the war, convinced that it was the duty of the Russian people to defend their country in spite of the incompetence of its leaders. As Russian morale plummeted throughout 1915 and the war placed an even greater strain on resources available to already desperate civilians, Pavel became increasingly disinterested in his studies. The country was dying slowly and studying physics wasn't helping him save her.

Pavel enrolled in the Imperial Russian Army shortly after his sixteenth birthday. His education quickly earned him the rank of praporshchik in the engineering division. There were few benefits to being a commissioned officer; the army was suffering from the same scarcity of food and clothing as most Russian civilians. His position saved him from active combat, but not the continuing demoralization of the army as the war stretched on with no end in sight and bodies piled up along the eastern front. A sense of fatalism descended on the army and, and in 1916, Pavel was just one of a vast number of soldiers to desert the war efforts. It seemed clear that Russia wouldn't survive the current state of affairs unless change took place.

He returned to Petrograd and his father late in 1916; both Chekovs joined the discontented masses, firmly allied with the Mensheviks. Pavel quickly grew disillusioned with the riots and protests, seeing that they were accomplishing little. As 1917 rolled in, he returned to the Academy, convinced that both the war and the riots were futile. When things failed to improve with the overthrow of the Romanov dynasty, the boy gave up on politics altogether and immersed himself in physics. The world of physics, unlike everything else, was in an exciting state of change. Its horizons were limitless. Pavel threw himself into the study of atomic theory and the new and radical field of quantum physics.

Background aside, Chekov is still Chekov. He's still a genius, he still has some military experience, and he's still going to be sassy in the right company.

That said, this is a Pavel who has been exposed to far more human ugliness than the one the City is used to. He isn't an idealist. As much as he would like to believe in peace and equality and a society where everyone is fed and clothed, he has grown up in a world where none of that happens. The vast majority of Saint Petersburg's workers (and students) were living in poverty, especially after World War I commenced and inflation made it impossible for a laborer to afford the most basic goods. There are idealists among them, but hopelessness is far more common. This Pavel has given up on hoping that Russia will overcome it's past and present, at least within his lifetime.

He isn't more introspective or philosophical than usual, but his philosophy is fatalistic and most of his insights are disheartening. On the bright side, he's better with words than his normal counterpart. Concentrating on one language instead of trying to collect a number of them has improved his ability to convey abstract ideas with some semblance of eloquence.
candothat: (Redshirt)

[ooc: Chekov has, like, three minutes of screen time in the new movies and all of his scenes are very short, so here are several of them mashed together! The network would only see 1:00 to 2:25.]



Nov. 21st, 2013 08:13 pm
candothat: (This is a Russian invention)
[The recording starts mid-conversation (caused, perhaps, by excited gesticulating). Chekov's voice is loud and clear; any number of other voices can be in the background, along with the occasional clink of glass on glass and the roar of laughter. The words of whoever he's talking to can't be made out.]

--method of teleportation that you are talking about does not lead to the destruction of the individual. I think that you misunderstand how the process works.

[A pause. More background noise.]

No, no no no. Our identity depends upon how the constituent molecules that we are made of are arranged, not upon which molecules have been arranged. There is no difference between one carbon atom and another, do you understand? And so if the position of everything that makes us up is copied perfectly and this information is transmitted and we are annihilated and reassembled, we will, in the end, be the same person as we were at the start.

[His conversational partner apparently has something to say to that.]

No one is killed. I cannot be more specific about the process, but I understand your concern about personal identity and the destruction of the individual being teleported.

[A much longer pause.]

Now you are making the assumption that there is something more than the physical arrangement of constituent particles that leads to this thing called the individual. Unless you are telling me that there is an immaterial soul to be concerned with, what is the concern? From the perspective of the individual being teleported, the process is nearly instantaneous and they experience no cessation of existence or consciousness. As I said, arrangement is what matters.

[Short pause.]

Of course duplication would be possible, that is why any technology capable of copying individuals down to the quantum level would necessitate a number of safety precautions. Responsible engineering can prevent paradoxes like the one you pose.

[Another long pause.]

No, I have not. What is the Ship of Theseus?

[OOC: Open to action at the Wolf's Den. Sorry for backdating, but yesterday's curse was perfect and I missed it and everything was sadness. That said, I don't think Chekov's probably the best of philosophers...]

candothat: (Amazing stuff is amazing)

I mean.

Pavel Chekov is a seventh year student in Ravenclaw. How old is he? I'm not sure, but he's younger than the other seventh-years because he's a genius. Deal with it.

Pavel isn't a pure-blooded wizard. Regardless, he does well. Magic isn't his forte, but he's acing all of his classes (Astronomy and Arithmancy are his favorites) and stays out of trouble. Being a friendly sort, he socializes with basically everyone regardless of year or house or desire to be socialized with.

His real passions are flying and Quidditch. He's Ravenclaw's seeker and, while he might not have the fanciest broom, his speed and tactical mind make him an excellent player. It doesn't really matter to Pavel if his team wins or loses, however; he just wants to fly and have fun playing the game.


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Chekov, Pavel Andreievich

March 2017

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