Memory Gifset: Panicking

Star Projection: Yellow
Source: Canon (from Beyond)
Time: 2263 (age twenty-two)

( We are basically standing on a wery large bomb! )

Memory: A Bad Way to Die

Source: Extended universe (The Gemini Agent)
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)
CW: Attempted murder of a minor


Little Pavel Andreievich Chekov, fourteen and scrawny and with a mess of curly hair that hasn't been trimmed at the sides, is standing in a small room with no windows. There's little more than a bed, a desk, and an impressive array of technological devices built into the wall. It's also rather wet; the emergency sprinklers have been activated.

Pavel tries to turn the sprinklers off, first from the sleek computer on the desk, then manually, muttering to himself in Russian about how ridiculous the situation is all the while. When that fails, he places calm calls to both housing services and the fire department. Concern doesn't start to manifest until the water reaches his knees and the lights flicker, then dim. The pale emergency lamps along the ceiling cast the room in a cold light.

One of the wall monitors buzzes with static, then comes to life. There's a male figure, backlit and faceless. "Cold water is a bad way to die," it says, voice distorted. "Quarry water goes down deep, forever, and it gets colder and colder. It's dark. Black. It's like death. I felt it. My brother felt it." And the display goes black. Pavel looks surprised and perplexed, but not frightened. Not yet. There has to be a way out of this...

The water is rising more rapidly now. Getting desperate, Pavel climbs onto the desk and tries turning the sprinklers off manually once more. The sprinkler head breaks off in his hand. He swears (rather mildly, considering the situation) and pulls out his communicator. 

"My room is filling up with water!"

There's a long pause before a female voice replies. "You're kidding, right?"

He stares at the communicator incredulously. "No! Can't you see it leaking?"

"I see nothing. Come on, Pavel. Don't mess with us."

"The fire sprinklers are on." His voice wavers. Nerves. He has to stay calm. "They are gushing, Alex. With tremendous force. The line pressure must be very high. The door is locked. The room has no window."

There's another prolonged pause on the other end of the communicator. "Oh my god."

"Yes, exactly."

"Call Residential Services again. We'll get back to the fire department." The voice shouts an  indistinct order, then adds, "Don't worry, Pavel. We'll get you out." And, possibly in an attempt to put Pavel at ease: "This is ridiculous."

"Yes, it is."

"You can't drown in your own room."

"No, you wouldn't think so."

"We'll get you out." The voice is firmer now. Resolute. 

Pavel doesn't look all that reassured, but he nods. "Thank you."

The emergency lights choose that moment to go out. The small room  is plunged into complete darkness.

A moment later, Pavel's communicator sheds a faint light on the room—on water that has risen past the top of his desk, and on a shivering fourteen year-old. He looks frightened for the first time.

Memory: Running

Source: Headcanon
Time: 2251 (age ten)


The scene: Saint Petersburg--or, more accurately, Pavel's memory of the city.

Pavel, all big eyes and curly hair, can't be much older than ten. He's running on the sidewalk in a residential area composed primarily of cinderblock buildings (old, if you have an eye for that sort of thing--nearly three centuries old), breath fogging in the cold air and a smile on his face. The city is covered in several inches of snow, but the pavement is clear and the boy doesn't seem mind in the least. 

The older buildings give way to sleek, metallic high rises and business buildings. The roads widen into a massive thoroughfare and the sidewalks broaden. Traffic, pedestrian and streamlined personal vehicle alike, increases and a wide river appears on Pavel's right as he turns a corner. The river is largely frozen over, but dark blue water can still be seen through occasional cracks in the snow-dusted ice. More vehicles fly above the river at various altitudes, weaving here and there to avoid bridges.

Pavel keeps running along the river. Blocks of modern-looking restaurants, bars, and cafes, their reflective walls shining dully in the wane winter light, are punctuated by stretches of carefully cultivated parks. The iconic onion-shaped domes of the Church of Spilled Blood--Tserkov na Krovi--rise above not-so-distant roofs.

It's busy. It's cold.

It's home.

Memory Prose: Leaving

Trigger Item: Matryoshka Dolls
Source: Headcanon
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)

( He didn't visit very often. )

Memory Prose: Dreaming

Trigger Item: Black lacquer box (with Earth on the lid)
Source: Headcanon
Time: 2252 (age eleven)

( That's a lot of introspection. )

Memory Prose: Playing

Trigger Item: Piano
Source: Headcanon
Time: 2247 (age seven)

( Memories of Anna Irinova. )

Memory: Begging

Source: Roleplay (Polychromatic)
Time: Year 2 (age ~nineteen)
CW: Threatening of small Russians


The setting of the next scene is dark. The landing could be in a stairwell in any seedy establishment with its grubby walls and poor lighting. Pavel, nineteen now, is being thrown against one of those walls by a man who can't be more than a decade older than him. A dark-haired woman who looks about Pavel's age is receiving similar treatment next to him.

"It was my idea," Pavel is saying, afraid for both of them but doing his level best not to show it. "You can let Korra go."

The man doesn't say anything for a long while--it's not a particularly reassuring silence--and then, with a quiet zzt and a spark of electricity from the man's hand, the young woman falls to the ground unconscious. "And here I thought chivalry was dead." He wraps his hand around Pavel's throat and, with more strength than he looks like he should have, hauls the Russian up a flight of stairs. Pavel claws at the man's gloved hand even though he knows that fighting is futile. "I should flaunt you to the whole City. An example for young men."

Pavel stops struggling and focuses on keeping his feet under him. The hand around his throat loosens enough for him to ask, "What are you doing?" It's an honest question. This man used to be his friend. That was a long time ago--or it seems like it--and Chekov now knows better than to trust him, but there's still a sting of betrayal. A glimmer of hope.

The man's only answer is to tighten his grip. Even if Pavel could ask again, he doesn't want to risk worsening the situation by doing so.

They reach a door and the man kicks it open, revealing a roof. It's a chilly night without any stars.

He hauls Pavel to the edge of the roof and looks down contemplatively. "This will do."

A cold panic grips {a and, aware that he can't fight, he resorts to begging. He hates himself for it and he's too proud to beg for his own sake, but he's not going to be able to help his unconscious friend if he's dead. "I'm sorry. I promise that I will find a way to undo everything if you let Korra and I go, please."

The man's response is to push Pavel to the very edge of the roof, his grip on the Russian's shirtfront the only thing preventing him from falling.

Pavel makes the mistake of glancing down and concludes that the ground is a lot farther away than he would like it to be. All cadets at the Academy are taught how to fall in order to minimize the chances of serious injury or death, but he doesn't want to test that training. Maybe if he's just quiet enough, compliant enough, this will be okay. They were friends. That has to count for something.

The man pulls him forward a foot or two and lets go, letting a surprised Pavel fall to the rooftop. Before relief can set in, the man grasps Pavel's head with both hands. There's another zzt, another arc of electricity, and the memory ends abruptly.

Memory Clip: Succeeding

Star Projection: Blue
Source: Canon (from Trek)
Time: 2258 (age seventeen)

( I can do that! )