Pavel Andreievich Chekov

[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.


[COMMENTS]

[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.]

[COMMENTS]

[Chekov is, to put it mildly, alarmed to find the bridge of the Enterprise replaced by the City--the fountain, specifically. As startling as the abrupt change of scenery is, there are, as far as the young navigator is concerned, worse places to find oneself than in a fountain. The shallow water feels good after hours--he can't even begin to guess at how many hours--spent running around in the bowels of a beleaguered ship, issuing orders and trying to nurse failing systems along.

There's no time to enjoy the surprise reprieve. It takes several moments for his City memories to hit and several more for them to fall back into place but, once they do, Chekov has the presence of mind to remove the gold tunic that marks him as a Starfleet officer. Harrison is here. The captain had warned them against making themselves targets.

The captain. Captain Kirk, who's alive...

Chekov, wet curls plastered to his forehead and stripped down to his black undershirt, clambers out of the fountain and disposes of his gold shirt. He fingers his hair into some semblance of order and fumbles for his waterlogged communicator.]


[video]

He--? [Audio and video distort and give way to static. After some minor adjustments, they return. Chekov doesn't look all that different than he did prior to his disappearance (thanks to the City's temporal isolation from other universes, he's actually a few months younger than he was over a week ago, if sturdier), but recent events have given him a somewhat haggard countenance.] Hello? This is En--Pavel Chekov. I realize that very little time has passed--relatively speaking, I mean--but I must ask: Who is here still?

[Starfleet people, that's directed primarily at you.

And, hesitantly:] Has anyone fed my dog?


[COMMENTS]

[Chekov, slightly disheveled, is seated in the cottage's living room (toying, of course, with a gadget of some sort, as the boy has difficulties being still and without a task. There's a stranger seated next to him. He appears slightly older, considerably broader through the shoulders, a good deal taller, and far less inclined to fidget than the eighteen year-old.]

I'm told that this is an acceptable way to address the City. [The stranger has a distinctly Russian accent. It is, however, far easier to comprehend than Chekov's.] My name is Pavel Chekov.

And I believe that you may be a version [wersion] of me from an alternate reality.

Or you may be a version [the 'v' is not mangled] of me.

Being older does not give you the right to be the original Pavel Chekov. Anyway, I think that this is a curse and you will leave in a day or so and I'll still be here.

[The two Chekovs are no longer making any attempt to address the camera. There's a palpable uneasiness between them--a silent war in the making. Both of them manage to remain relatively genial in both expression and tone, but the uneasiness is clear all the same.]

I almost envy you. If this is a cage, as you said, it's a very nice one. The vodka is good, all of the women are beautiful--

Of course the vodka is good; it's mine. Maybe you are older and better at fighting, but I know how to choose a good drink. [Chekov--the one the City is more accustomed to--grabs the bottle of Stoli from his counterpart.] You're far enough into the bottle. Give it to me.

As they say in Russia, "I don't need your valuable directives."

This is my home and my vodka. You should be more courteous.

If you were a better host, maybe... [Taller, less adorable Chekov ruffles the other Chekov's hair. The latter is not amused.] But why fight when we can settle this like men? One more fight, fists only. The winner gets to stay here and the loser goes.

[Chekov rubs a bruised cheek, sulky.] You have the advantage.

I was joking. Let's drink and be friends.

I would rather go running.

Please, do what you like. Perhaps I can become better acquainted with Misses Uhura.

Don't flirt with her--either of her. [Curly-haired Chekov sets his gadget and the bottle of vodka aside and moves out of sight. The other Chekov watches him curiously, reclaims the vodka, and takes a healthy swig.] I say that for her benefit and yours. She dislikes it.

Have a good run!

[A door slams. The remaining Chekov gives the camera an apologetic smile.]

Forgive Pavel's ill-humor; he may be mad at me for winning our sparring match. But, if you would like to talk to me, my humor is intact and I have little to do.


[ooc: Chekov isn't getting on well with his Good Side (if you want some tl;dr on said Good Side, it's right here). Actual!Chekov can either be action'd up while out or contacted via the network later on; Other!Chekov is free for network communication. If you fancy talking to both, that can happen later. Do indicate to whom and when your characters are replying!]

[COMMENTS]

[The video opens to--well, not much of anything. It's night; the stars are visible, and Chekov's face is lit by the dim glow of his network device. He's remarkably subdued, but he typically does only pause to make network posts when he's in a low or contemplative mood.]

For anyone who has not heard already and knew them, Lena and Asami are no longer in the City. I did not know Asami as well as I wish I might have, but Lena was a good friend. At least she will be happy to be home... she did not like being in the City.

[And changing topics. No one wants to dwell on the negative.]

I have two questions. First, does anyone know how the ship on the side of the mountain came to be where it is? I went inside of it, but there was nothing informative there and most of it was, I think, inaccessible. It looks to me like a spacecraft. I have heard stories in the City of aliens and creatures coming from beyond the barriers, but nothing related to a ship like this.

My second question is this: is it common to experience memory loss in the City? If not, should I be concerned? My medical knowledge is very limited, but if there is something wrong with my brain, I would like to know. It is, after all, the most important thing that I have.

[He ends the feed with a forced smile.]


[COMMENTS]

[The scene: a roof. Which roof is unclear, but, judging from the book and notebooks visible in the dim glow of the network device's screen, Chekov was probably stargazing. Of course. What else would a sensible person be doing on a roof in the middle of the night?]

I have asked this question to individuals, but I am curious: what, generally, is the opinion on becoming attached to others here? From what I have heard and read, most seem to think that suffering the loss of someone they have become close to when they leave the City is a small price to pay for companionship. Then there are a few--or maybe there are not so few as I think--who would prefer to stay unattached to avoid being hurt. Is this assessment correct?

And those who, in theory, believe that it is wisest not to grow close to people... are they successful, or do they form attachments in spite of what they believe to be best for themselves?

[His tone is one of genuine curiosity. This is not a rhetorical question.]

I am of two minds on the subject, but I dislike the thought of being alone for however long I may stay here enough to make remaining unattached distasteful. And, when I am not theorizing and simply talking to others, it is impossible not to form friendships. Even though friends will leave and forget all experiences in the City, I keep making them, and it seems very foolish and maybe reckless when I think about it--making friends, I mean--but I feel it is better to accept loss.

It is like home, in some ways. I have always been moving and now, at home, I am in a position where having friends die is very possible and has happened. Is it different, losing a friend to death and having a friend leave the City? Logically, death should be more difficult to accept, I think, but I am not finding that so.

[A contemplative pause.]

The curse where we were turned into dogs--there was a little girl who was good enough to feed me, and I would like to thank her now that I am a person again. I think she was ten, maybe, and very pale, with light hair.

As to this last weekend's curse, no, Lucy and I are not married, although she is very kind and I mean no insult to her when I say that I am pleased to be unmarried again. Sincere apologies to anyone who was anticipating the reception.


[Filtered to the Deities // Unhackable]

Hello. When you have a moment, I would like to discuss another exchange with you, please.


[COMMENTS]

[The video starts with a shot of a car that, to those who know (or knew) Dean Winchester, will look very familiar. It's impeccably polished, gleaming even in the waning daylight.]

I now have a car.

[He sits down in front of the bumper (a move indicated by some very careless camera work) before rearranging the camera so that it points towards him. Chekov is, mercifully, wearing clothes. Fairly nondescript clothes, but clothes nonetheless.]

I cleaned her very well today, although she may get dusty when I drive her back home... after midnight, I think. [Because there's nothing more awkward than spending the day with your 19th century girlfriend when she's naked.]

Before you ask, yes, I am old enough to drive and yes, I can operate a vehicle like this. I have a license to pilot anything as large as a military shuttlecraft, and that is not so maneuverable. The Impala is the first ground vehicle I have piloted outside of a simulator and, although I know very little about vehicles as old as she is, I think that she handles well. Maybe she would be better off with Sulu--he has many hobbies, and twentieth century cars must be one of them--but I will be careful with her.

I am trying to decide which is better: driving or riding a horse. Driving is simpler, but when I knew how to ride a horse, that was more exciting. Horses are easier to find, also. I have been visiting the barn where they live to talk to them--the horses. The brown one stabled there is a good listener.

[His somewhat pensive and subdued mood (not a normal mood for Chekov) becomes very serious as he jumps to a new topic.]

What I also mean to say today is that no one else that I know is allowed to leave the City without telling me, not even if you leave a car for me.

[He knows just as well as anyone else that no one can control when and how they leave, but it's a nice, empty threat to end the video on.]

[COMMENTS]

City, if I may have your attention, please.

[Chekov is seated at a table (the kitchen table in the house he shares with Howl, Sophie, Tessa, and Peter, to be precise) with a serious expression on his face. For the purpose of this post, he is annunciating very carefully.]

I have noticed, in both this time and my own, that my homeland is not well understood or appreciated by those who are not familiar with the Russian Federation. I am proud of my country, as I think that some have noticed. Sometimes, when I am joking, I say things about Russia that are not entirely true. Today, I’m not joking. I am serious now when I say that there is no place in the known galaxy that is better than Russia.

( Non-IC cut for ridiculous length. )

[COMMENTS]

[The video shows a brightly-light room, currently occupied only by Chekov (alert and chipper in spite of the late hour) and a machine on the coffee table that looks like someone's attempt to meld a computer and a microwave. The mangled electronic(s?) is clearly not the topic of this network broadcast.]

I have been thinking about the City--why it is here, who controls it truly, what powers are capable of plucking us from our own dimensions and placing us here without a detectible temporal ripple. After a month, all I can conclude is that it would be foolish to conclude much of anything other than the following: the City is strange and illogical. The stars do not move in an ascertainable pattern, I can see nothing that dictates when a curse will or will not strike an individual, the gods are crazy...

[He sighs in his usual overdone fashion--a good indicator that he's not all that frustrated--and then smiles.]

But the company is good. When I read on the network, that is what I see the most. The curses are bad, the City is terrible, we are all trapped... but the company is good.

Oh--speaking of good company, if you have not met Doctor McCoy, I think that you should. He is from my world and not only is he one of the best doctors in Starfleet, but he is also exceedingly personable and eager to meet new people.

[Anyone who is at all versed in the art of reading Chekov's facial expressions will know that this is Not True and he doesn't mean it in the least. He then hops back to something resembling seriousness.]

But I was worried, when I came here, that I would not function well in the City. It is difficult to imagine living for months or years in a place--learning all that there is to learn, meeting people and building a new life among them--with the knowledge that it will disappear. I cannot imagine living possibly years of my life only to forget them. I think, though, that no one forgets when they leave, not wholly. That is not how the brain works. We must retain something of the City even after we return home...

[This seems to be wandering into more serious territory than Chekov cares to explore. He pulls a face and moves to cut the video feed.]

But I should not talk out loud after thinking too much. These are, I am sure, all thoughts that have been on the network before. I have to share them, sometimes, because there is only room for so many thoughts in my head at once.

[The feed ends abruptly.]


[COMMENTS]