[ This was insanity. Everything- from his first arrival, to this moment- this ridiculous decision- insane.

He was a skater, a dancer; not a fighter. He fought with words, and occasionally a well placed kick, or on the ice, surrounded by music and lead by a burning desire for perfection. His greatest weapon there had always been his grace and unfailing determination- nothing like this. It was almost comical, when they had asked him if he would like a weapon- the blank stare he had fixed them in return as he tried to fathom what to put in his hand. What in this world, or any other might help.

'Do you have any knife boots?' he'd asked, joking, because the suggestion was just as absurd as the situation itself. They'd given him confused, quizzical looks back, exchanging unsure glances, before Yuri had scoffed- and picked up a spear taller than he was. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he really knew how to use one.

He supposed he would figure it out. Or die.

Death was probably a possibility.

Yuri probably should have been more worried about it than he was; but everything was still coloured with a sense of surreality that had him feeling rather... removed from the idea. So there he was. Fifteen, skinny as a rail, gripping a spear tightly in hand, staring at the fences as though he dared any of those monsters to make it across.

He refused to be afraid.

It had once been said he had the eyes of a soldier. A skater, a dancer, and now-

Yuri Plisetsky would prove just what kind of soldier at heart he was.

[ Whoever's idea this sick joke had been was going to meet the bottom of Yuri's boot. It was, apparently, too damn much to ask to get into a dance studio to unwind. To practice. To do anything else that didn't include fighting monsters, dealing with more god damn strangers. Yuri didn't like people enough to put up with this sort of shit on a good day.

Tearing down one of the advertisement pamphlets, Yuri furiously tore it into smaller and smaller pieces, gritting his teeth before throwing the litter to the ground, stomping on it, and grinding it underneath his foot. ]

What asshole came up with such a stupid idea! [ He shouted to no one, still grinding the paper into the ground, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and whipping around. ] What the hell are you looking at, asshole?!

[ want something different? let me know and we can figure out a different starter! c: ]