timestamp : evening , 6th of january , 1921 . location : the metropol , basement . tagging : @sovietniik
fyodor was always hesitant about moving the fighting outside of the den . there was something about familiar walls that gave him a sense of control over what took place there , that he might be able to impart ideas of caution and form into the heads of the young men who took part , but that idea , possibly that illusion , fades like a dream in the bright lights of the metropol . here , dressed in a suit reserved usually reserved for weddings and funerals , fyodor was distinctly aware how far into the lives of wolves he had found himself . still , he puts on a brave face , and watches the rounds of fighting as they unfold , ready to move if anything went awry .
the problem with this , however , was that he only had one set of eyes ; his attention needed to be here , and thus could not be on the ballroom upstairs where a few of the boys had wandered after their fights , and some before . when aleksei , though not the volki member he usually had the most contact with , appeared , fyodor tightened the grip on his cane just slightly . ‘ i trust my boys aren’t causing any trouble upstairs ? ’ he makes the ask sound lighthearted , rather than concerned . he knew there were animals upstairs besides wolves , ones these boys didn’t have protection from after tonight .
WHEN : night - december , 1920
WHERE : fyodor’s flat
WITH : fyodor rokovsky ( @prizefght )
MISERY LOVES COMPANY . isn’t that the saying ? faustus , she thinks . misery loves company . its origins don’t matter , truly , as yulianna’s heels click against slick pavement , snowflakes clinging to her collar , melting into her gloves , dusting her hair . it’s simply the truth , and fyodor has certainly seen his fair share of misery . yulya has too - - and so , they make quite the pair . she knows what today is . she knows what it means , what weight it carries . she knows that tonight , they need the COMPANY . they are kindred spirits in this way . they wear their grief differently , but teddy & yulya understand each other .
a parcel wrapped in brown paper is tucked under her arm ( nothing special , just a scarf - - every war widow learns to knit , even if it is just for show ). she balances a dish as she makes the journey on foot , finally finding herself face to face with the wood of a door . she breathes , lifting a foot and knocking the side of her shoe against the base of the door . ❛ FEDYA … ❜ she calls , hoping the lilt of her voice is familiar enough to warrant entry . then , ❛ teddy , i fully intend to stand outside until i’m let in , you know . ❜
it’s twelve years as of today . at least , it should have been twelve years as of today . he’s a stubborn fool , one who would push through any number of injuries ( even those he likely should have ) ; yet , today he allows himself to nurse an injury . conflicting feelings lingered , and those were feelings he didn’t know how to hold together . in one moment he still loved her , was sure he always would , and in another was angry about how she had treated him , not even the decency to simply tell him no and keep his money . he leans back in a chair in his living room , a now empty glass sitting on the table besides it .
he wants to ignore the knocking , to shut the world out , but then he hears yulya’s voice . it’s enough . he sighs , pushing himself to his feet and , for once , actually uses the cane he keeps to support himself as he moves to the door . it’s unlocked and he swings it open , gesturing for her to come inside . it was cold this time of year , even for those who were accustomed to it . ‘ i won’t have you freeze on my stoop , yulya . you know that . ’
“oh, uh, yi. mr. yi.” he says, distracted by the way he is so clearly being sized up. “yason - or rather, jaehyun. it’s a pleasure to meet you, mr. rakovsky-nim.” his mother was very clear in her letters - just because you are so far from home, be polite, use the honorifics i taught you when you were a boy if you are going to call in on someone you do not know quite yet. “i am sorry to call in on you unannounced at your place of work.” he looked around at the den, a little amused by the similarities in appearance to the studio in which he himself trained despite boxing and ballet being seemingly opposite physical arts.
“my mother met yours and it seems they are of the mind that we should meet.” the danseur smiles shyly and ducks his head a little. “그녀는 내 한국어가 연습에서 벗어나 걱정.” he looks up at fyodor and wonders if he speaks their mother tongue at all. he has a russian name and a russian life, perhaps a russian tongue only too. he had been excited at the prospect of having someone to speak to, other than the woman at the markets who sold cabbage and very rarely had time to converse.
‘ teddy , ’ he offers to the other , understanding but not needing the honorific , nor to be addressed as mr . rakovsky . despite the years he had been gone , teddy still pictures his father more than himself when he hears the name . he extends a hand to the other , intent to shake in greeting . ‘ no need , this place is open to whoever wishes to come in . ’ so long as they were not there to cause unneeded trouble , which , given the efforts of politeness the other was displaying , fyodor hardly suspected from him .
he tilts his head slightly , wondering how this occurred , but not questioning it , then nods . ‘ 내 것이 녹슬었을 가능성이있다, ’ he answers , which was the truth in part . he spoke it with his mother frequently , but besides that he had little opportunities to practice . and even as much as his mother tried , there was still a slight russian lean to the words , though that was probably only noticeable to native speakers . still , it makes him smile to have someone else to speak with . ‘ 최근에 모스크바에 도착 했습니까 ? ’
the way he says her name seizes something in her ; a pleading that she has not heard in years coming from his lips that tightens her lungs so significantly she loses breath . she looks to him , eyes drawn to the tone before she can fully process that response it has triggered . sorrow , fear , and something else linger just beneath her skin : homesickness . years have separated her from her home , from the life she lived , but her name in that tone pulls it all back to the forefront of her mind . she swallows thickly , closing her eyes as he continues and turning her head away slightly . she is forced , in this moment , to process her own burdens that she has shoved down , ones that she will not recall because of the pain they brought her . she lightens the burdens of others because it is not possible to lighten her own . her jaw tightens slightly as he voice ventures back into something more familiar to her , to the life that she lived now , and yet , somehow the words are the final push for tears to slide down her cheeks . a hasty wipe at her eyes and regret slams into her chest . she draws in a shuddering breath . the words stick in the back of her throat , so she nods instead . “ i am sorry . ” she says quietly after a minute . “ the tears — they are not your doing , if you can find it in yourself to believe me , ” neither the sovietnik nor the torpedo believed her and certainly other members of the volki were included ; the distrust was eating her alive . it had been years and still she walked on eggshells .
the relationship between dorya and teddy was never blessed with any children ; this was likely a blessing in itself , given the current estrangement between the two , but no one could argue that he would have made a good father — there’s a specific paternal instinct within him , one the boys of the den were more than familiar with , and it’s what she pulls from him now . he frowns at the way she begins to cry , not upset with her but with whatever force has brought her to this point . ‘ no apologies, natalya , ’ he says , voice certain but soothing . ‘ i have no reason not to trust you . as i said , you are a very kind young woman . ’ shoulders heave slightly in a frustrated sigh , suspecting this is a problem he cannot fix the way he was once accustomed to doing so . ‘ can you believe me ? that i am not upset with you , that i do not want you to change for my sake ? ’
there was a hoarseness in her throat as the sun gleamed over the city, high in the wintery afternoon sky, that was not spawned by the flakes of snow frost that trickled down into the apartment from above, a misplaced tile in the roof permitting a small puddle of cold water to gather in the middle of her living area. as the doors to the gymnasium ( come boxing ring in the evenings ) were pushed open with an elbow, she takes a moment to smother a cough into the woolen material of her scarf, nose tickled by the stench of sweat, trapped in a humid space ─ the attack on her sinuses was not unwelcomed, prompting a half - smile that flits across impassive features as the sound of fists hitting bags and bodies pricks at the ear. visits to the den often followed sleepless nights, which had become rarer over the years, exhaustion from raising a child outweighing any demon that wished to plague her thoughts, but marya was not liberated from the shadows of war, as the skin upon her neck could attest.
( unseeing, she had stared at the yellowed ceiling of her bedroom. after all these months, she still did not know what could rouse such memories yet her chest had heaved with each echoing cry, each passing name, the ones who lived and the ones who died, filth coating their hungry hands as they clawed onto life, onto her. unthinking, an old lullaby escapes her gasping mouth as though she means to soothe the phantoms that cry out for help, hands coming to wrap themselves around her own throat, guilt strengthening the hold until she heaves, shooting up from the bed to empty the contents of her belly on the floor. )
❝ fedya ! ❞ exasperation coats her tone, the calling raspy with remnants of self - inflicted abuse, yet the sentiment holds as she fixes the man with an accusing, slightly incredulous look. she had once praised his stubbornness as he laid, unmoving, on the browned sheets of the medical tent, urging him to keep fighting yet now she finds herself frustratingly amused by his perseverance, disbelieving smile softening the warning that laid behind each tap of her heeled boot upon the floor as she waited ( impatiently ) for him to cease the assault on his spine. ❝ if you will not use the cane to walk, should i use it to hit you ? perhaps then you will be immobilized enough to let your back rest, hmm ? ❞ as she speaks, her mouth twists into an exaggerated grimace, as though imagining the pain ─ though she jests, the reminder of his injury and her reason for seeking him out is enough to punch a deep sigh from the lungs. ❝ will you take a break now ? i have brought you lunch. ❞
neither was taking care of themselves properly , if the truth were to come to light . there’s a certainty in him about why he puts himself through this ; how could he train others if he could not practice himself ? but that neglects the full story , hidden paragraphs of how the care he has for others is not given to himself , or the lack of acceptance of what injury has done to him ( he won’t pretend he is the same now as he was , but he pushes forward with a similar fervency ) . that’s how she finds him , in a moment of this passion and stubbornness that makes him appear more like the fighter he once was .
his hands are wrapped with practiced perfect , thirty years of the same motions make them second nature ; it’s why he chastises the younger men about the sloppy attempts they make , because he’s seen it done right , he’s done it right . however , despite or perhaps because of this striving for perfection , teddy keeps his own training to the times when others were not present in the den . he’s all too aware of the shortcoming he now felt were so visible . thus , he’s surprised at the sound of the door opening , and just has enough time to stop the swing of the bag he had been attacking with precision , to turn and see marya as she begins her onslaught of him .
' it’s at home , marya . you’ll have to go get it if you intend to strike me with it . ’ today was a better day , the pain easily managed with the bit of help from painkillers ; good enough to train , which meant it was good enough to walk the way he wanted to . screw the cane . he did not want to feel like an old man quite yet , even if he knew there were days it was out of his hands . fyodor swung in the balance , almost accepting his new life , and other times wishing he could ignore it . ‘ i’d be happy to eat lunch though . thank you . ’
natalya's mouth promptly closes at his — … it was not necessarily a command, but it was not a request either — mention of stop . her jaw tightens at his apology , he needn't apologize but it seemed he was set on the words being spoken . for all her good intent , it seemed that she had made this situation worse than it had been previously . her lower lip is caught and worried between her teeth for a few moments in their pause . she swallows and looks away from him , the mess that she had somehow made worse was harder to face dead on . there is no way for her to fix this directly and he does not give her a way to help easy this for him . she thinks , perhaps irrationally , that it may be better for her to stop speaking with him altogether . the last thing she would want to cause anyone is pain , be it physical or emotional . “ as you wish , ” she finally finds voice to say , though it is not as strong willed as her previous words had been . she falls back onto old mannerisms , trained responses , and the way of life that she had once lived . there were too many here , in moscow , that pushed her affection and worry away that she could not fight another . living with two who did that daily was enough . “ as you wish . ” she repeats .
she agrees . she agrees , and he should be content to leave it at that , but fyodor has a softer heart than he would like to admit . he does not wish to see her upset , and he lets out a sigh at her response . it doesn’t help that the words sound like someone else’s , they sound like dorya’s . ‘ natalya , ’ voice going from stern to something closer to , though not quite , pleading . ‘ i appreciate your concern , i just do not believe my burdens are yours to lighten . ’ he hopes that makes this make more sense to her . she didn’t need to change herself for him . as his words come out the pleading fades away , and he ventures back into a voice that has a bit more of the edge from before , though it does not sound unkind . . . simply certain . ‘ you’re a very kind young woman , ’ he adds , which is true ; he’s seen the way she handles those who wander into her bar after they leave the den . ‘ and you should not change because i have an old wound . understood ? ’
natalya would not impose on the guys at den to walk her home every night . she knew that their days were long and , often , brutal . there was no need to also make their day any longer . it is a sentiment that is acknowledged , smiled at even , but there in nothing more offered in return for it . there is a not of guilt in her stomach at causing him pause , causing his step to falter . she's thankful for the darkness as her cheeks heat in embarrassment . she swallows , looks away , and shakes her head when he begins to apologize . that was a terribly forward question , lingering almost on rude . her shoulders straightening slightly as she finds her full height though she is still a head shorter than he is . “ they treated you poorly . " her voice lilts upwards as though she is asking a question ; it is also a conclusion that she had drawn . ” i can see it in the way you look at me , but i can never quite figure out what i've said so as not to repeat it , “ she offers quietly. the garnizon was a place where people should be able to forget their woes , not be reminded of them .
‘ stop , ’ fyodor says to her , not quite so firm a tone as he uses with his fighters , but it clear that he does not want hear argument on this point . ‘ i’m sorry . ’ the way he hears dorya in her words is not her fault , nothing she’s done wrong or can fix . he doesn’t want her to try , for he’s not that selfish . she doesn’t have to accept her apology , but he won’t have her deny it . he blows out a breath of air at the question that sounds more like she’s already reached a decision . he didn’t want it to be that obvious . teddy ignores the words , still won’t speak ill of his wife ; as separate as they were now , he had made vows and , despite straying from the god he made them under , was determined to keep them , out of respect for both a woman he still loved and his mother who still believed . ‘ it’s not anything you’ve said , natalya , and it’s not your responsibility to worry about me . ’ yet , he knows her to be a worrier . he appreciates the way she looks out for those who wander into her bar from the den . however , he , and particularly this , were things he would rather she didn’t bother with .
it was rare for jaehyun to not be at the theatre this time of morning. he liked to warm up and train while it was quiet and there was nobody around to distract him except for the familiar, comfortable presence of natalia at the barre beside him. this morning, for a change, he had taken the letter his mother had written him in her scrawled hangul and decided to make good on her wishes.
The name of the man she wanted to find was underlined in black ink, and written out in hangul - 표도르 라 코프 스키 - and jae had hashed out it to be a phonetic transcription of a name of one pyodoleu lakopeuseuki. fyodor rakovsky. it didn’t sound like the name of a korean living in moscow, but his mother had suggested though his father was russian, his mother was the sister of one of yi young-mi’s closest friends back in busan. you need someone with whom to speak in your mother-tongue. it worries me that you do not. if it had not been for that admittance of distress, he would not have come. but there was a scar on his heart in the shape of the curving peninsula he had watched recede as a boy on a ship bound for a strange land.
he knocked gently on the door of the den - like for wolves, his mother had written - where this man supposedly worked. “good morning,” he called to the man inside in perfect russian, barely bitten by the accent he had had as a child that the strict tutelage of the bolshoi academy had knocked out of him with any softness he had left. “i am looking for a mr. rakovsky… would i be in the right place?”
it was early enough that only one or two of the fighters were present within the den , most still sleeping off their adventures of the night before , but fyodor was a constant in this space ; the heartbeat of the building in much the same way his father was . he can no longer train the way he once did , but ( to the displeasure of one medik in particular ) he continues to make attempts on as many mornings as he can . an argument made about a teacher needing to stay sharp themselves , and a smile to ignore the feeling he knows he’s likely making worse . however , he is pulled from the bag by the sound of knocking . turning towards the door , he motions for the stranger to come in .
‘ good morning , ’ he returns, somewhat curious about the man and cannot help the habit of sizing up those who enter — an old habit of a fighter , repurposed for the use of the recruiter . he looked athletic enough , and truthfully fyodor was of the mindset that if you were someone who was willing to put in work , wanted to be there , then you were worth having . however , he still doesn’t know that that is the reason for the other’s appearance , so he remains quiet on that front . ‘ that’d be me . pleasure to meet you , mr . . . . ? ’
the words are short, curt . though , she is thankful that they are polite at least . his words do not slur together and he stands tall even with the injuries that plague him . even so , she is mindful to keep a space between them . she does not encroach on him . she offers him a half smile , not as bright as the ones put on her lips at the garnizon , but warmer . “ i have walked back alone many times before , ” and that was true . with the pistol on her person and the word of the pakhan , she was relatively safe walking through volki territory tonight . “ but i appreciate the sentiment as always . ” there had once been a time in her life where she did not go anywhere without accompaniment or a chaperone . she cannot imagine going back to that life for more reasons than she had simply outgrown it . a few more paces , another block in silence , before she looks to him and lets a question fall past her lips , “ have i done something to wrong you ? ” it is one that has been bothering her for years , one that she finds the space to ask him now. though , her eyes widen slightly and her cheeks burn at her own bold nature . “ i — please , forgive me , that was terribly forward . you do not have to answer that . ”
‘ the boys can walk you back most nights , if you ask . ’ he gives little thought to offering the den’s services , having certain expectations of them , though he’s not so niave to believe that natalya is completely unprotected if she lives in the volkov estate . she likely has others looking out for her with more capability than him and even an army of boxers . people with more firepower and even less qualms about hurting another . he nods at her statement of appreciation , unsure what else to say to it . fyodor is happy to be of use where he can . he’s content to leave it at that , and focuses more on his steps , making sure he’s steady ; slight limp that’s always present highlighted at the current moment . yet , her question catches him off guard , his movement halting . he looks up at her and takes a deep breath . even the way she asks the question feels familiar . ‘ i’m sorry if i’ve given you that impression , natalya . you — ’ he considers how to share the past he has without burden to himself or her , ‘ you remind me of someone i used to know . ’
timestamp: early morning hours post closing , — of december 1920 . · location: the main road , the walk back to the volkov estate . ( public space ) · tagging: @prizefght !!
the bar had been rowdy tonight. between the beginning of the holiday season , the activity in the den, the typical patrons that came through, she’d been pulled in about fifteen different directions and was somehow still standing . one of those directions had included scolding yury into letting her bandage his bloody knuckles before he was allowed a single drink . she’d won in the end , not that it was a competition . by the end of the night it was a wonder how she was still standing or staying upright at all . teddy must have seen it , the exhaustion lingering just beneath her eyes in the beginnings of dark circles , when he offered to walk with her back to the volkov estate . there is a part of her that wants to deny him , that knows the palm pistol hidden in her skirts was more than enough protection , but she does not . their walk is quiet at first , as she simply enjoys the quiet . “ thank you for walking me home , teddy , ” she offers in a tone of voice quieter than she uses in the bar . he’s heard it before , what her natural speaking tone is . light as air . “ you are very kind . ” and it was a kindness that she, perhaps, did not deserve from him given the amount of times she has soured his mood at the garnizon with a simple phrase or a look .
she was a sweet girl , and teddy wished for a world where he had little reaction to the small things she did . however , there was undeniably something in way natalya carried herself that was eerily reminiscent of doroteya . it was hardly her fault she had a similar upbringing , used phrases that those native to this section of moscow would never do so naturally , and so he did his best to burry the reactions to her as much as he could , and treat her with the same kindness she extends to the boys of the den . the part of his brain that seems to enjoy torturing him makes him wonder if she actually feels any safer with him , the way he is now . instead he simply nods , a quick, ‘ of course , natalya , ’ as they continue down the road , and is thankful for the numb of the vodka he had consumed earlier in the evening . ‘ wouldn’t want you to walk back alone . ’
timestamp : night , — of december 1920 . location : the den tagging : @yurylenkov
heavy sigh leaves him as he examines the injury the other had sustained from a poor fall , though fyodor has to admit that once some of the blood was cleaned away , it was less substantial than he originally had believed it to be . that would not , however , save yury from the stern tone fyodor enters when things like this happened . it came from a place of care , a paternal instinct he cannot shake though he has little indication where it came from , given the state he himself currently lives in . he tuts slightly , then moves to get the metal first aid kit from one of the shelves before returning , and handing it off to the younger man .
‘ bandage that properly , yura , ’ he advises , before moving to sit again . he likely should have used his cane today , but he pushes through it for the sake of pride , even while he scolds the other . his own pains were less considered .
𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑾𝑶 ! quinn again , and here we have resident somewhat rough around the edges but secretly a romantic den dad . his bio is still in the works ( aka it currently cuts off around 1915 bc while my brain knows what has to happen , it sometimes refuses to do it ) . however , i will also give you a tl;dr of what’s in it plus some bullet points of what is yet to come ! the tl;dr is fyodor’s father ran the den before him , and he grew up knowing little else besides the life of a boxer . when he was twenty four , he had a whirlwind romance with a woman named doroteya that quickly turned sour once they were married . in possibly the shittiest six month streak anyone has ever had , ( tw. parental death ) fyodor lost his father , his wife decided she wanted to separate , and wwi started . shrugging and saying well this might as well happen and also likely using it as a way to avoid his problems , fyodor enlisted , hoping that when he returned that the space between him and doroteya would solve some of their problems . he insisted that she stay in the apartment they shared and , making the choice between that and the den keeping its doors open ( though this choice would likely be made for him eventually given how many of the fighters at the time enlisted or were conscripted ) , sent home part of his salary each month to make sure she had a place to live . about six months in he started sending letters home as well . and ! that’s where the bio leaves off , so under the cut you can find some bullets of the sections i still need to write ( tw. gun shot wound , spinal injury , chronic pain , drug and alcohol mentions / dependency )
his full introduction can be found here and plots are at the bottom of the page , however i’d love to brainstorm if anything doesn’t strike your fancy !
in 1917 , fyodor was shot in such a way that resulted in an incomplete spinal injury ( meaning he retained motor and sensory function below the injury , but it was reduced compared to what it used to be ) . fyodor can no longer box competitively , and sometimes walks with a cane ( there’s a proud streak in him that tries to avoid doing so when he can , but there are days he cannot help it ) , however he still does his best to continue to practice , though at a reduced rate . he also suffers from chronic pain due to this injury , which he self medicates for .
after his injury , he was discharged and allowed to return to moscow . when he opened the door to the apartment he found the letters had fallen through the mail slot and onto the floor , never to be opened . doroteya had moved out long ago , despite the fact that he’d been paying for the apartment .
feeling as though he had little left except for the den , fyodor began trying to restore it to what it was before the war and , since he couldn’t compete himself , began training new boxers . however , like most things , it was struggling after the war . needing to hold onto something , fyodor struck a deal with the volki to return the den to its former glory , albeit for a price .
the weird dad of the fighters / boxers , honestly : stern but cares about his boys , passionate about the sport , etc . everything else might be gone but at least he has this , and so he does his best to make sure things run as best they can .
