Plushenko & Weir
God it was so cold out side! Weir was stuck wondering why he had even let Takashi and a few of his friends convince him to come out just to frolic in the snow. Of course the not so cheap alcohol they were consuming was keeping them warm, but it wouldn't pay to get wasted. Weir simply had an odd feeling, so he was drinking with a lot of consideration. Takashi; no matter how many beers it looked like the young man had just downed, was alive and stable. Weir was about to ask how that was possible, but it escaped his mind as he watched the Japanese man making the most lame snowman ever. Lame because the head was on wrong, the snow had been compacted so much that it was too big, and now too heavy, not to mention hardly anyone was feeling the need to help him get it up properly.
Now Takashi was busy punching its face in so he could make eyes and a mouth. As stated, it'd been compacted to tightly that shaping it was getting to be a pain in the ass.
"Johnny, you know we could use more help!"
The American olympic held in a laugh as he pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and joined Takashi. Taking off his gloves, he intelligently began scratching and digging out the holes rather then punching and poking them; the work came out much easier. However, now the tips of his fingers were a bright burning red. He jammed them back into his gloves and shoved them under his arms.
"I'm glad I'm now skiing or snowboarding. I'd rather mess with ice then snow. Besides, whip outs aren't nearly as wet and cold…"
Johnny shivered and chattered his teeth as an extra exaggeration to the cold. They'd really only been out there for two or three hours. Tonight he was feeling mighty whimpy however, and it didn't help that at this point in time he had a lot of things that we wanted to think over.
Things like what Evgeni Plushenko had said; that second is the biggest loser of them all. Takashi was immensely wise, so he'd have to ask him when they were alone, or when next he had the chance. For now, he really needed to stop being the moping boy that he was. He didn't want to, 'get the mood down' as Takashi told him. The Japanese man had then gone on to describe how the human body and pick up on vibes and chemicals that another body puts up, and that reactions occur which can make the other person sad and mad and happy. Things of that like; hell he'd never known that until now, and of course the way Daisuke had put it was more scientifically described.
Takashi pulled up his hunched over form, humming something under his breath and literally dancing around the snowman and flinging his scarf around the snowman's lumpy juncture between head and torso. Then the hat he was wearing which looked suspiciously like a tiger stuffed animal was shoved over the lumpy mass of a head.
"I'll have to go get a new one tomorrow."
Weir was admiring the new assets to the snowman, at least now the head didn't look so deformed. Not everything could be perfect like in the movies though, or cartoons for that matter.
"Alright! We go in now!"
Obviously thoroughly glad at that, it was getting so dark out that he was having trouble seeing straight. Arms draped warmly around each other and they skipped in a playful uncaring manner all the way up to doors of the hotel they were staying in.
Up until they were in Takashi's room; it had remained very silent. Not uncomfortable, just quiet, and they weren't letting it bother them. There were two other Japanese men in there getting dressed, all trying to find something nice enough to wear to the 'after party'. So far it looked to be something that was put together merely by the competitors. Judging by how soon it was into the Olympics; this wouldn't be the only party hosted.
Takashi was dressed in something casual, but at the same time a little flashy. That always seemed to be his manner, making anything normal appear more the just that. Weir smiled, and had to shake his head in embarrassment as his friend began to strike all kinds of obnoxious poses in front of the mirror.
"Alright, alright drama queen. You look fabulous."
He was flashed a brilliant smile and they went out arm in arm. Takashi shouted in Japanese over his shoulder at the few other young men left in the room; telling them to be sure and lock up after leaving.
After however, they simply walked back to Weir's room since that figure skater wouldn't be coming.
"Sorry that I'm not walking you to the party. I'd feel like such a whiny baby if I did though."
"No it's fine. I understand that."
The Japanese figure skater bowed politely to him, and appeared thoughtful for a moment.
"Don't lock your door. I may come back later."
Weir was confused but nodded in agreement anyways. Not shutting the door completely, from the outside though it would look shut, so he figured he wasn't in any trouble of wandering rabid fans. After that, it was just him left to his own extreme boredom; the TV on at a low hum, nothing beat some childish and cheerful cartoons.
Leave it to him to be so blastingly late to the silly party his wife was just dying to go to. It wouldn't be right for him to mope around, and he wanted to show he could be very amiable and grateful too. Thus the other half of his reason for going; to show he could be more then hateful or pompous.
Having now known what kind of dress to wear, he relied on a pair of nice light jeans, and a fitting white button up; over it he wore a simple dark jacket. Leaving it open to keep it airy and not so stuffy. He looked casual, but not sloppy, and he was definitely comfortable.
Wondering what his wife was wearing, he searched the closet to possible figure it out, but honestly couldn't see any changes. Frowning, he sifted his fingers quickly through his hair to soften and straighten it before finally leaving. Tonight would be his last night here, it was appropriate to at least attend as many events as he could, since his plane won't leave until tomorrow evening.
Plushenko was pleasantly astounded when he made it to the special are designated for parties. It wasn't crowded but there was still a lot of people around; those lucky or skilled enough to claim a medal.
He found even though people had seen of heard about his spoiled behavior, everyone still responded happily to his presence, as though nothing had happened at all. Already he felt like letting loose as plenty of others were already warmed to the bone and happy.
Subconsciously he looked around for the one that had defeated him. Through a small group of talking people, he managed to spot Lysacek. Unsurprisingly there was a whole group of people just about handing off of him. However he was surprised to see his very own wife one of those hanging of the ice champion.
It was as though the very fiber of his existence had narrowed in on this scene. He would not have been so fearful, but with the way his wife was dressed… She was stunningly gorgeous; lavished in dull lavender silk with her hair neatly pulled up. She let Evan spin her into a dance that hid flushed cheeks against his chest. Surely it was only dancing? From there he tucked a miniature of the American flag behind her ear. After that, he simply bit down on his lip, thinking as he turned around to leave, Plushenko honestly has numb in the mind now.
He was shaking, and suddenly his stride wasn't so calm and relaxed. It was a quick powerful stride, one that hunted he had a destination, and he did. Each step making him more and more angry, even though he was directing it at the wrong person. Of all things to be thinking about now though, honestly.
Coming in contact with the very door that was calculatingly left unlocked, when he banging his fist against it, hurt hand and all, it snapped open. The Russian figure skater recovering quickly from his surprise in time to stop the door from closing. As it had hit against the wall and was flung back.
Johnny Weir had been dozing in and out when he was startled, he rolled off his bed to see what the issue was, and there stood a bewildering scene. Evgeni was standing in his door way, and he looked as though he wanted to kill.
Plushenko strode up to him with all the elegance of what he was; a champion figure skater. Then, he felt a stinging slap on his cheek that reverberated all through the room. He almost kneeled over, but could only bow his head and hold his blistering cheek. Not at all sure what he'd done to deserve this.
"What is it with you Americans? Always taking what is mine! You can't just leave us with all we have left?"
Weir was unsure of how to respond to something like that, when he looked up to asses his angered guest. He was met with an uncertain face, one that seemed to be holding many things at once, and at the same time, nothing at all. Plushenko looked undeniably depressed, and angered, yet he wasn't crying or showing any more distress then that. The young man was caught off guard by the conflicting emotions, Weir simply wasn't expecting being treated like this, especially when it was undeserved.
"I haven't taken anything from you!"
The man in all his Russian anger paused, pondering exactly why it was weir he'd hit instead of the one who'd actually invoked his anger. Of course there was a chance that there was a misunderstanding, Lysacek surely wouldn't do something like that…
" I… I'm sorry. I lost it and it came out wrong."
Weir smiled, rubbing his cheek gently and laying his other hand on Plushenko's shoulder.
" I forgive you. Now, tell me what has happened."
Suddenly Plushenko seemed to withdraw, becoming meek and shy to speak. Now only sadness brimmed in his eyes.
"It's nothing."
"Not the answer. You wouldn't have hit me if it was just nothing."
It was impossible to escape that. Although the Russian figure skater was still trying to figure exactly why he'd come flying Weir.
"Come."
Johnny could already see this was going to be something big. They were going to sit, because he doubted either of them would be able to stand soon. Besides, Plushenko reacted well to the command; only small hesitation before he followed. Weir slouded easily on the edge, legs stretch out before him, crossed at the ankles. Plushenko had a bit more rigid posture, hands folded neatly in his lap. He would have looked at east if it wasn't for his constant fidgeting with the bandage around his hand.
"People are so used to you speaking out that anyone could easily tell you're having trouble with something, so spit it out."
Plushenko looked torn between either wanting to scowl at Weir, or just look embarrassed. His face was a warmed color, just the smallest tinge of pink to show he was upset about being read so easy.
"It's Lysacek."
Weir felt a cold pang when he heard that name. Mostly because of the icey way it was said. Now that Plushenko had brought words to his problem, it was starting to affect him; the blond looked like he was tearing up, and there was a subtle shake to his shoulders.
Weir remained silent so Plushenko would continue.
" I saw my wife hanging off of him. Dancing and flirting! My wife…Mine… Letting that American brand her with that flag."
His voice was shaking now. Emotions quite audible.
"He took my gold, and then he took my wife!"
Weir looked mildly surprised. Evan never striked him as the kind of guy to do things like that, plus Evan had a girlfriend. There was an obvious misunderstanding. He was confident that Plushenko had misinterpreted some actions and was jumping to conclusions. First he was going to ask Takashi if he'd seen anything, then talk to Lysacek, but for now he had an emotional spoiled Russian to deal with, whom was surprisingly now crying.
"I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Now, now… Stop that…"
He draped an arm around Plushenko's shoulder to pull him closer, when Plushenko was leaning against him he wrapped his other arm around the males middle back. Successfully turning Plushenko to face him by doing this. He was rewarded bt feeling soft hair and warm breaths against his neck as the Russian's face pressed to the crook of it. Weir then let the arm around the shoulders fall daring to his waist, but this only allowed Plushenko to latch onto his shoulders now. His arms wrapping tightly around them. Desperately almost?
Weir decided that Plushenko was an odd crier, as the body was wracked with rapid motions, no sound was present. It was always heart breaking to see someone like Plushenko crying. He was holding a star in his arms, comforting him as best as he could. Keeping a tight, secure hold around the man, and Weir donated all the warmth to his companion that he could.
"I am here for you Plushenko. Please don't be sad."
"Call me Evgeni…"
"Same for you, call my Johnny."
Plushenko finally allowed his eyes up to meet Johnny's, the blue-green of them shining in the aftermath of tears. Johnny Weir happily brushed the tears away with greedy fingers, and offering a bright smile. The corners of Evgeni's lips twitched up only for a second, before he laid his head back down against Johnny's shoulder.
"You can stay here Evgeni, so you don't have to be alone."
The only reply received was a small nod against his neck, but really that was all he needed.
