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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.
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.