Pavel Andreievich Chekov

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.