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prplocks · 1 month
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ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴ ᴅᴇʙᴜᴛ: ᴢᴇʀᴏʙᴀsᴇᴏɴᴇ
yura yura
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rosebleue · 7 months
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kpop-locks · 2 years
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꒰ ˀˀ ↷ kep1er ; random ”♡ᵎ ꒱
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aarghhaaaarrrghhh · 2 days
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A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven - The Morning Muddle
The empty window frame, without even a single shard of glass, creaked in such a drawn-out way and so loudly that Yura jumped. The rain had ended a long time ago, but the occasional drop still fell from the roof and thundered against the hacked-up pavements, rustled the grass, and rang out as they broke against the fragments of the windowpanes laying on the ground. Gusts of wind brought these sounds to the dandelion playground. It was like nature itself was imitating life, filling the emptiness and deceiving. And Yura wanted to be deceived, but he could not. It was not just empty there, but dead. Especially for this person who had seen and heard how bright, cheerful and talkative life had been in the fifth troop. Now all that was left of it were the windows of the boys’ dormitory which gaped to the right of the porch and the narrow arrow slit of the tiny counsellors’ bedroom that loomed on the left. At some point it had been Volodya’s bedroom, at some point he had slept and woken up there, but – Yurka smiled – he never seemed to get a full night’s sleep.
He vividly remembered how he had dreamed of turning up in Volodya’s room. However he might have taken a furtive glance in there, he was never a real guest.
But why not ever? Even if he had not been one then, he might be one now, though Volodya was no longer the owner of the room.
Not in the state of mind to force himself to tear his gaze away from that window, Yurka rose from the carousel. No matter what it took, he would get there. He would be a guest in that ownerless room.
Gauging whether he could jump over the hole in the porch, Yurka turned up by the passageway. As he mused whether the thoroughly rotten floorboards would hold when he landed, Yura sighed dejectedly – no, they would not hold. If he fell into the under-floor space, he would not be able to climb back out – it was too tall and he had nothing to hand besides his spade, but that would not catch anything very easily. But Yura decided that if he had been able to make himself come to Lastochka after so many years, then he simply had to get into the counsellors’ room. What if, Volodya had left something there in memory of himself: a funny drawing on the wallpaper, a couple of words etched on the table, chewing gum stuck to the head of the bed, perhaps a sweet wrapper in the bedside table, perhaps an item of clothing in the wardrobe, surely he must have left something? But Volodya did not draw on the walls, or etch on the furniture, nor chew gum. But Yura very much wanted to believe that Volodya had guessed that he would return.
Turning to the left, Yura passed through the trampled flowerbeds to the windows.
The dormitory of the fifth troop rose above a wide foundation, like a podium. A wooden green plinth protruded outwards, forming a tall, narrow step. Barely regaining himself after slipping on the wet planks because of his plastic soles, Yura took a look through the broken window. The dark, narrow room appeared even smaller than before, but the decoration and even the furniture had not changed: the table, pushed up against the far wall of the bedroom, to the right of it, the door, to the left, the wardrobe, two simple nightstands and two narrow beds facing each other by the window. Volodya’s was the one on the right. Yurka desperately wanted to sit on it. To find out whether it was soft or hard, creaky or quiet, comfortable or not.
Afraid of hurting himself on the glass scattered on the windowsill and cursing in desperation that he had not thought to bring gloves, Yura wiped away the shards and, grabbing the fragile wood, pulled himself up and climbed in.
Ignoring the puddles on the floor, the dust and the dirt all around, he lowered himself to his knees and opened Volodya’s nightstand. On the only shelf lay a magazine, crumpled by moisture, The Farming Woman from May 1992, clearly left by some girl counsellor. Below it was hidden a booklet. As he read the title, Yura smiled – this was more like Volodya - Theory and Methods of Pioneer Work. Nothing more was found in the nightstand.
Yura led his gaze over the bed. Metallic and narrow, it was not a bed, but a stretcher screwed by its legs to the floor. Judging by the layer of dirt on the screws, he guessed that it was rarely moved. Clearly, it really was Volodya’s. The frame was creaky, bouncy and rusty. When he slept on it, at least it wasn’t rusty – and it’s alright, thought Yura, just to think that he slept here!
Yura touched the frame with his hand – in response, it pitifully screeched and by its cry, underscored the silence that reigned there. However, it was not only silence, but emptiness as well. Besides the main furniture, there was nothing there: neither curtains nor any kind of rags, nor books nor sheets of paper nor any torn scraps of wallpaper, nor posters on the wall – and Yura remembered that a poster for the band Mashina Vremeni used to hang there, he remembered that Volodya loved them. There was not even rubbish there, besides the dust, water and dirty mush on the floor and the shards of glass below the window. As he stepped over to the far corner of the room, towards the only unexamined piece of furniture – the wardrobe, Yura thought that he would have been glad even for rubbish: its presence would have at least created the illusion that Yura had not come here in vain, that he had not climbed through a smashed window like a sentimental child, like a complete idiot in vain.
Why had he climbed in there, why had he come back here in general? And once he was already there, why did he go roaming about the camp, wasting time, instead of going to where he meant, to what he came for? But he could not help looking in his room, and now being there, he could not just leave so easily.
Having thrown open the doors of the wardrobe, Yura was stupefied – bits of crumpled clothing hung inside. His heart seized up from the pain while, through the many old cardigans and jackets, in the far corner, he found a few brown uniforms with black epaulettes, upon which the white embroidered inscription SA[1] stood out. His hands shook when, among the rags, he found the only uniform with shiny buttons.
It was the military uniform they had worn during capture the flag. The counsellors had uniforms, the children just got simple gym kits. And this uniform with its shining buttons was a soldier’s, just small. To the pioneers, it looked huge, to communists, too small, for a Komsomolets, it was just right.
Cynicism, scepticism, self-deprecation – all these disappeared in the blink of an eye, thrown away somewhere far away, over the crumbling fence of the camp. It became unimportant how old Yura was, unimportant what he had achieved, what he was talented in, how clever he was, whether he had the right to be funny – all these things had meaning in another life, far away from there, in the real. In that place, in the camp of his childhood, Yura could be the same as he had been – no longer a pioneer, nor a Komsomolets either, since, funny as it may be, all this was about him up to that point. There was but one difference: before, he had thought that it was very important. Now, all that remained important to him was the old brown rag in his grown-up hands. And the memory of the person on whose shoulders stood out the black epaulettes with the inscription SA, and on whose chests shined those golden buttons.
***
“Greetings, pioneers, and listen to The Pioneers’ Dawn,” Yurka heard from the loudspeaker while brushing his teeth. “Be ready for the signal klaxon for capture the flag after breakfast! The assembly of the troops shall be on the main plaza of the camp…”
That morning started like any other – regular P.E., which Yurka did not overly like: they did not let him wake up fully before already making him run off to exercise. This time, he even turned up on time and because of that was twice as angry – he, along with the other kids from the troop had to wait for Ira Petrovna when the majority of counsellors were already there. For example, Volodya was already stretching with his kids. Yurka wanted to go say hello but rethought it – the counsellor was busy. Standing with his back to them, he demonstrated the exercises to the kids diligently and conscientiously. Neck and shoulder stretches, then elbows and joints, waving arms up and down, side to side. Happening to hear the girls standing nearby twittering about last night’s disco, Yurka observed Volodya as he ordered:
“Feet shoulder width apart! We’re going to do some torso stretches now. We bend forward, stretch our palsm to the ground,” Volodya followed his own instructions. “Sanya! Not so quick, you’ll break something!”
Yurka hemmed to himself, What’s Sanya doing now? but did not try to find him. A more attention-grabbing phenomenon was unfolding before his eyes: Volodya slowly and gracefully bent forward and touch the ground with his palms, not even his fingertips. His t-shirt rode up, laying bare his back, while his red sports shorts fit tightly across his well-built thighs, his legs and that soft, round spot higher up.
Yurka’s thoughts fell apart into exclamations, then gathered themselves into words and sentences and galloped from ‘woah, he’s flexible’ to ‘who exactly let him come in shorts, there’s kids here … and girls!’.
Volodya straightened out and bent down again. The chaos in Yurka’s head shifted to a resounding silence, his body went numb. He could not look away. After a few long moments he came back to his senses and caught himself staring shamelessly at his butt in that tight-fitting red cloth as he hunched over in a half-bend for a minute already.
His body felt as though doused with boiling water: blood rushed to his face, sweat even beaded on his forehead – and not at all because of the heat, it was still morning-cool outside.
Where the hell was I looking, huh?! inwardly howled Yurka. He began to feel ill at ease because of everything: because of the stupid poses, because of the fact that he had blushed, because of the fact that he had been staring, and especially that incomprehensible reaction – a light, pleasant spasm. No, the reaction was completely comprehensible, Yurka had experienced it more than once. But what was incomprehensible was why he had felt it for Volodya? Why not for the girls? After all, there were plenty of them, beautiful, slender, much more interesting than Volodya, training nearby. But if the girls were ‘more interesting’ than Volodya, then why had Yurka been looking at him so particularly? Maybe, everything was the morning’s fault and Yurka just had not woken up properly?
It was unlikely that anybody had paid attention to his behaviour – none of it lasted long, but after their evening chat about magazines and candid and ridiculous questions, Yurka became unbelievably ashamed of himself. He was, however, deflected from this terrible confusion and new imaginary reproaches by the voice of the P.E. instructor Zhenya, who appeared on the square together with Ira:
“Good morning, pioneers! Let’s begin our exercise!”
***
Yurka was dumbfounded by what had happened at morning exercise, to the extent that he could not come back to himself for over an hour. It was as though through a thick layer of fog that he plodded along to breakfast, then returned to his dormitory, prepared for the ceremonial assembly, put on his uniform for capture the flag and tied his neckerchief.
He looked at the clock on the wall – he would be late. Everyone had already left the dormitory, from outside he could hear the faraway noises of the assembly passing by – Olga Leonidovna’s voice, reinforced by loudspeakers. But Yurka was stood alone in front of the mirror and could not in any way form a proper knot out of the red rags round his neck. He began to get angry.
“Are you not going to the assembly or what?” Volodya’s voice so suddenly rent the silence that had fallen upon the room that Yurka flinched. Inside, it was like he had been struck by lightning – Volodya had appeared too unexpectedly, and it would be completely inappropriate to see him at that moment.
“I’ll… I’ll come soon. And what about you?... Why did you come here?”
“Lena was leading my ones to the assembly, you weren’t on the square, so I came. My troop is staying in the headquarters, are you with them?”
Glancing askance at Volodya’s chin in the reflection in the mirror, Yurka did not even turn to face him – he did not want to spin around and look him in the eye, while when he considered that he would not have to see him for the whole day, it was as though a mountain fell from his shoulders. It was good that, the day before, he had turned away from Alyoshka Matveyev and had not agreed to stay in the headquarters.
“Yura, hello? What are you so quiet for? Has something happened?”
Yurka tugged the ends of his neckerchief in irritation and left it all tangled. He turned to Volodya and, trying not to look him in the face, said to somewhere off to the side:
“I got up on the wrong side of bed, probably. Now I’m running late as well. You go, I’ll catch up.” And in that moment, he wanted more than anything else on earth for Volodya to leave as soon as possible.
But he, on the contrary, stepped closer, smiling understandingly and hemmed:
“Hey, what gives, Yur? You’ve been through all the stages of pioneering, a grown-up, but you don’t know how to tie a tie,” he said, and, reaching out with his hands, began to gently retie Yurka’s neckerchief.
“I don’t…” he choked on his own words. His throat dried up and he felt thrown once more into heat.
Volodya dealt with the knot so deftly, it was like he had spent his whole life practising tying ties. Winding it here, threading it there, pulling it – and it was ready. As he was sorting out the neckerchief under his collar, he very softly touched Yurka’s neck. It was a random, momentary touch, but to Yurka it was like being struck by an electric current.
“You’ll need to be taught how to tie a tie,” decided Volodya.
“What?” Yurka seemed to hear him but could not understand the sense of what was said through the roaring in his ears.
Volodya sighed, “I’ll teach you the bad, I say!” and he slyly winked.
“Hu-u-uh?” Yurka cocked an eyebrow, dazed.
“‘Teach me the bad. Well, teach!’ – It was in Yeralash.”[2]
Yurka frowned – his heart was pounding as though about to have an attack, and Volodya had gotten it into his head to crack jokes?
“So then, are you coming with me to the headquarters?” asked Volodya again, seeming not to notice that something was up with Yurka.
“No, I’ll go with my own to the forest. At the troop meeting it was decided that I’d be an intelligence gatherer.”
“Ah, alright then…”
The shine in his eyes dulled, Volodya saddened, while Yurka felt a prick of conscience.
“It’s just that I promised!” he hurried to justify himself, although in reality, he had not promised anybody anything. He had only been intending to ask to join the reconnaissance… And why did he lie? Again! And to whom? To Volodya!
But there was no time left to rethink – Yurka heard fall silent the microphone and cut through said silence the horn which called the pioneers to organise themselves and move out towards the place where capture the flag took place.
“Alright… Let’s go,” Volodya went over to the exit from the dormitory and waved at Yurka. “Maybe we’ll see each other in the evening, my kids are begging to go in the forest, but Lena and I haven’t yet figured out how we’re going to organise everything.”
Yurka only “uh-huh”ed and hurried off in the direction of the square, where columns of pioneers, under direction from the P.E. instructor and the counsellors were splitting off to different sides – two teams, each in their own location.
But having escaped from Volodya’s society, Yurka could not escape from his own thoughts, which one way or another hounded him so. He could not help but think about everything that had happened, about his reactions. He could not help but think about Volodya. It so happened that even if Yurka tried not to remember the morning, he was still talking about something that one way or another had to do with Volodya. For example, about how he was doing there, whether he was coping with the kids at the headquarters. And also about how he had promised to come to him in the evening at the tent camp with the kids. And then about their quarrel the day before, about their discussion. How guilty Volodya had looked the day before, there by the fence of the court! And so frank, that Yurka berated himself! He could he have doubted him? How could he have – even just in his thoughts – called him a liar and not believed in the sincerity of their friendship?
But thoughts about their friendship returned Yurka one way or another towards thoughts about what had happened at exercise and later on, in the dormitory. The sincerity of their friendship… But had Yurka been sincere himself? And if so, then why was he so afraid of a chance touch?
What was there was not fright, but Yurka did not at all, ­at all, want to recognise that.
Due to these heavy meditations, the most interesting activity, one of the most long-awaited and important events at pioneer camp, capture the flag passed by as though in a fog, and was recollected only in fragments.
Yurka tried to concentrate, but to no avail. He began to grow angry, ‘Enough thinking about irrelevant things! Get yourself together, sissy!’  And he immediately rushed to vindicate himself, Now, what’s this about ‘irrelevant’? Is Volodya irrelevant? No, he’s very… very… But try as he might, he could not reach a precise definition of how much and of what Volodya was ‘very’ for him.
Ira Petrovna allowed him to be a scout and was even gladdened by Yurka’s determination, convinced that he absolutely would uncover the disposition of the enemy base. Yurka’s team encamped on the territory designated for them. Yurka, in Vanka and Mikha’s company, had taken to setting up a tent, when he was taken aback by some completely cheerless news – Masha had thrust herself upon Yurka as a fellow scout. She was a long time asking, whining and wringing her hands – Ira had not wanted to leave them together in private, but all the same gave in and gave her permission. While doing his military tunic up, Yurka looked askance at them and had only one question to pose to himself – why the hell, he asked, did Masha need to be in a pair with him?
Her motives made themselves clear very soon. Naturally, as soon as they were in the middle of the forest, where there might already be enemy spies and soldiers snooping about, Masha, who had been hesitating for a few minutes, asked modestly:
“Yur… You’re making friends with Volodya, aren’t you?”
Yurka rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue – now it was all clear. Why else would girls need him? To fulfil the function of a megaphone, to be sure – to jabber about the fifth troop’s counsellor!
“Yur, why doesn’t he go to the discoes?”
At first, Yurka tried to ignore her. He decided that if he stayed demonstratively silent and did not answer her questions, then she would get it… And Masha likely understood, except she did not calm down:
“But Yur, I’m not asking you to do anything here or… Come on, just tell me! He has a girl, right?”
After a dozen questions, which began to repeat like a broken record, Yurka began to get angry.
“Yur, does he like Polina? He’s probably shared it with you… The way he looked at her at the last rehearsal…”
“What ‘way’?!” flared Yurka. “He doesn’t look at anybody any kind of way! He came here to work, as a matter of fact!”
Masha paused from the unexpectedness, stared at him and blinked, frightenedly. Yurka nodded to signal her to keep moving and added quietly:
“Mash, we’re on reconnaissance, you understand? If they notice us and capture us or kill us, we’ll lose a whole bunch of points!”
And she calmed down. For twenty minutes.
“Yur… Has he said anything about me?”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end from irritation.
“Come on, Yur… What is it, is it hard for you to say? You understand, it’s just–” she blushed and came closer and held Yurka by the wrist. “You understand, Volodya… I like him… But he’s a bit oblivious, in a way. It’s like he doesn’t notice anyone around him, like he’s not interested in anyone… That’s why you are my only hope to become close with him–”
“Get close? Masha, save it, leave me out of your business! I’ve been through enough because of you. Enough.”
“Yur, am I asking a lot? Just ask him about me. You could. You and him are together as a pair quite often. At night, for example, or during the day, at bedtime, just ask him… that is, ask…”
“Hey, wait,” ordered Yurka and stopped himself. “How do you know that I go off with him at bedtime?”
“Oh, like it’s some secret! Everyone knows about it. And that you’re also with him at night-times.”
“And what about you, where are you loafing about at night and who with?”
Masha was taken aback.
“‘Loafing about’? You’re the one who loafs around! And it’s none of your business, anyway!”
“It is my business! Because Ira thinks that me and you are having some kind of love affair. On top of that, it’s because of that that she had a big argument with Volodya, so your little walks now affect him as well. Why did she think that? Who are slumming it with and where? And what does it have to do with me?”
“How should I know? Go ask Irina. And ask about me. Only not her, ask Volodya… I can’t do it myself, after all: firstly, it’s unbecoming, what would he think of me? And secondly, I don’t get any opportunities to even just speak with him. You’re near him all the time. Lend me a hand, eh? But not just for nothing. What if I let you have the piano? Not for the whole play, but for some composition. Not the Sonata, obviously, but something a little easier…”
Yurka was terribly irritated by all this questioning, but he would have been able to hold himself back if not for that last comment.
“‘A little easier’?” he repeated. “A little easier! Did I mishear or did you think to put yourself higher than me?”
“What’s up with you? Of course not, I was just–”
“–Dreaming! You think you’re above not only me, but everybody else. You think you’re the only one who’s worthy of him? The centre of the universe? Like Volodya’s gonna take off and fall in love with you!”
“I don’t put myself above anybody!” Masha began to get angry. “But why not me? Look around! Who else?” She sniggered. “You, perhaps?”
Yurka rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead in vexation.
“You said about Polina, for instance.”
“So that means it’s her…”
“I don’t know! And really, where did you get it from that there’s anyone that he’s–”
Yurka had grown so angry and scattered that he did not notice the tears forming in her eyes. However, he did notice the yellow spot flitting by not far off, in the bushes behind Masha – the enemy’s shoulder straps.
“Hide!” he hissed and tore away.
The enemy troop’s scouts – Yurka recognised one of them as Vaska Petlitsin – stamped past. Neither Masha nor himself were seen. Yurka judged based on the grass trampled by the kids when to turn off from the path to get to their base and headed off on his way. Masha walked in silence, demonstrating with her whole appearance how she was angry with him. Pleased by the silence, for twenty minutes, Yurka led them towards the enemy camp.
The yellow team was encamped in the territory where the deciduous forest transitioned to coniferous. The sandstone beneath the tents was strewn with pinecones and needles, and the air smelt of resin. Yurka dove yet again into the thick bushes and began to observe the enemies from afar but did not notice anything of particular interest – the same things were taking place there as in Yurka’s team. A couple of girls were fussing over the bonfire, Petlitsyn was traversing the centre of the camp with a partner – judging by everything, they were stamping towards the commander’s tent. The P.E. instructor Semyon had the kids going through the sporting basics: jumps, squats, push-ups, stretches. The majority of the kids stood on watch by the yellow flag.
Yurka sat in cover a little longer: he marked on the map that he had made himself the location of the enemies in relation to his own base, and, after verifying with his compass, drew the route. Now it fell to Masha and him to return to their camp whole and unscathed, in order to give their commander, Ira, this information and begin the storming.
He felt like a squeezed lemon. A dirty, dusty, tortured lemon! He just about read the base, but on his way, they encountered enemy soldiers thrice, from whose whisperings to each other Yurka and Masha learnt that all the other scouts of their team had been neutralised. With it being understood that they were left completely on their own and that now a very large amount depended upon them, Yurka began to truly be afraid. But the fear that they would be caught and that the storming would be delayed was ‘good’ – it was rational. And in time, it covered up that other fear – the ‘bad’ one, irrational, deep and shameful – the suspicion that something was not right with Yurka.
Recollections of what had happened were lost among the noise of thoughts about capture the flag and for the first time that day, Yurka began to feel alright. New, correct decisions, desires and suggestions appeared to him, for example, he might lay into each soldier snooping about and tear his shoulder straps from him. And this truly appealed to him. Then new thoughts appeared, also ‘good’ – that no, he must not kill the enemies, since he was a messenger with information of the utmost importance. Yurka was pleased by his freedom from the fear, shame and doubt as he concerned himself with Masha, the storming, the victory, hiding, covering himself and pretending to be a tree.
When they turned up in the camp and told Ira Petrovna what they had found out, the no-nonsense counsellor, turning on the spot and displaying her captain’s epaulettes on her soldier’s uniform, split the soldiers into three groups: the first would stay in the camp, in order to protect the blue lag, the second would go under her command directly to the enemy camp, while the third, under Zhenya’s lead, she ordered to make its way to the base from the rear, that is, by a roundabout route. To Yurka’s great delight, Ira took Masha with herself, and sent him to Zhenya. The way was long and tedious, remembered in scattered images of the endless forest, the comrades’ military tunics, the whispering and worrying that they would be spotted and caught because of the noise that the dozen kids were making. Nevertheless, the soldiers safely and successfully deployed and lay in ambush, waiting for the other half to appear on the front lines. Zhenya lay beneath the bush next to Yurka and feverishly whispered, “The yellows aren’t expecting an attack from the rear, we have the advantage, we’ll take the flag before Irina.” Yurka laughed into his fist, wanting to add, “And we’ll throw it down at her feet.”
As soon as the first signal of the arrival of the soldiers was received, the kids set off, but what began was not an organised storming, but more of some kind of children’s brawl. Everyone collided with each other and got all mixed up in a little heap. Now rolling about in that heap like a centrifuge, then coming up for air and diving back in, Yurka tore off the shoulder straps from two guys. One, he wounded – that was Mitka, his left shoulder strap stayed in place. The second – Petlitsyn – he killed, having torn both off immediately.
When through Irina’s prayers and Vanka’s hands the yellow flag was taken, the blue team formed rank and set off back home, singing military songs. Ira glowed with joy. Zhenya, upset that the first soldier to approach the flag was hers and not his, trudged along on the sidelines and quietly swore to himself. Yurka laughed heartily and sang along with everybody:
Sing the song like it used to be, squad singing leader, And I’ll softly take it up, And we’re young again, and ready for great deeds, And nothing is out of reach for us!
Joy was joy, but his legs were buckling from exhaustion. He wanted peace and quiet. After returning victoriously to the camp that was all a-hubbub and having dinner, Yurka hid himself from the noise in his tent and spread out flat like a star on his hard mat.
Trying to make himself doze off, he wrapped himself up in the sleeping bag up to his head, but sleep did not come, as what was interfering with him sleeping was not noise from the outside, but his own thoughts. Now that Yurka was not toiling at anything, he could not drown them out. If in the daytime, while he was occupied with tasks, he only just drove those thoughts off, then now, left alone, he could not do it any longer: he needed to gather his courage and to stop deceiving himself – what happened at exercise could not have been an ordinary morning muddle. After all, his interest and desire to look at Volodya were apparently so strong and deep that up to that the memory of it still pleasantly tickled his chest. But what ­was it? How come it was so… Surely it was wrong to feast one’s eyes on people like that, especially on him… And he was discomforted by the fact that, if he threw away all pretences and was honest with himself, he had not wanted to look away at all! Yurka began to feel sickened by himself.
He sharply sat up. Throwing off his sleeping bag, he rubbed his face with his hands, and began to scratch his head in a frenzy, not because it was itchy, but because he wanted scratch off all these shameful thoughts – he did not need them!
It was getting dark outside, noises from the camp came wafting in: someone was strumming a guitar, spreading a cheerful little song. From all sides, the voices of a dozen pioneers were making a racket, and it even seemed to Yurka that he could clearly make out, not far off, chubby little Sashka sharing his opinion on the buckwheat porridge that they had been given for dinner.
“Evening’s only just get started and you’re going to sleep already, soldier?”
At first, it seemed to Yurka that he was dreaming Volodya’s voice. But he only opened his eyes a crack and he really was there, stood over him. He was wearing the same uniform as Ira, but with two differences: on Volodya’s, there were shiny buttons glittering and the epaulettes on his shoulders were not a captain’s. He was completely at a loss – thoughts about why he was there had not yet completely departed from his head – Yurka tried to welcome him calmly, but notes of nervousness crept into his voice all the same:
“I wish ye health, Comrade Lieutenant.”
“Senior Lieutenant,” smiled Volodya as he turned so as to show off his epaulettes in full and pointed out the stars.
“Woah, so you are,” Yurka feigned surprise and laid back down again. “Still alive?”
“Just about. But oh how they tried! Imagine, I forgot to get my entry pass, went into the headquarters, and my own people on watch, they demanded to see it. They hang off my arms and legs and pull me around in different directions and thump me on the back. They really don’t understand that while their fists are small, they can hit perfectly well. My whole body hurts now. And my shoulders. Won’t you give me a massage?”
“N-no…” stammered Yurka. “I don’t know how.”
“A shame…” Volodya pursed his lips and stretched out nearby on the sleeping mat, exhaling with pleasure, “This is goo-o-od…”
Yurka laid, afraid to budge. Volodya’s shoulder with its hard shoulder pads and black ‘SA’ – Soviet Army – epaulettes pressed against his shoulder. Yurka could neither ignore this contact, nor move away, putting an end to it, but to Volodya, it was apparently nothing to be bothered about. He turned onto his side, looked at Yurka and squinted – the latter looked aside.
“What’s that you’ve got there…” He reached out to his dishevelled hair, but Yurka recoiled. The day before, he would not have done that for any reason, but after what had happened, Volodya’s touches felt too sharp, as though they ran him through from head to toe, they frightened him. “Grass? Why do you have grass in your hair–”
“– And sawdust in your head…” Yurka finished for him confusedly. “I’m a scout. I’ve spent the whole day knocking about the forest.”
Volodya looked at him with sadness in his gaze.
“While all day, my kids have been bothering me… After lunch, as we plotted, let’s all whine: we want to be like the adults, we want to have an overnighter at capture the flag! They’re acting up, pestering us. Lena was almost brought to shouting at them.” Volodya placed an arm under his head. “Sanya and Olezhka started to go off the chain so badly that I had no other choice than to bring them here.”
Yurka tried to listen to him, but it did not turn out very well. The sense of what was being said was lost in his desire to also touch Volodya… Yurka abruptly turned away and grumbled:
“Ira said that only a few kids were coming with you. What about the rest?”
“Told them that only the ones who do the headquarters work best of all would come.”
“And did a lot of them do well?”
“No, I was very strict picking them… mostly our theatre kids. A few of them got upset, of course, but I had to give them a choice: either a few kids go, or no-one does, because I hadn’t been planning on taking on this responsibility. Then Lena promised to take them to the movie theatre in the evening, to put on a cartoon for them…”
Yurka got up and looked down from above at Volodya – relaxed and without a trace of exhaustion on his face. Well yeah, of course, he had not been running through the bushes, or storming the enemy base, but then again, kids are no less taxing…
“Shall we go to the bonfire? We’ll be telling interesting stories now.”
“Horror stories again?” grumbled Yurka, hiding his discontent for himself behind false irritation at the prospect of horror stories.
“Bored of them already, huh?” nodded Volodya. “Me too. But no, not necessarily horror stories. Although, if I’m asked, I’ll tell one about the Queen of Spades.”[3]
Volodya smiled warmly, mischievous sparkles danced in his eyes, but Yurka suddenly felt dreadfully sorrowful in his soul. He grumbled, “Let’s go,” and flew out of the tent like a bullet. Because of the morning’s damned events, it now seemed to him that there was some kind of subtext in Volodya’s behaviour, as though it was not out of exhaustion that he lay down and not out of curiosity that he touched his hair. But this was all just in his head – Volodya could not know anything about it, he just could not! He did not see anything, and no kind of improper thoughts – Yurka would have given his right arm - ever swarmed around his honest and bright Komsomol head.
Volodya came out following Yurka and stared at him in quandary. The counsellor was immediately surrounded by Olezhka and Sanya, who led him to take a seat on a spot that they had reserved especially for him. Yurka, on the other hand, making use of the temporary solitude, sat down some distance from the bonfire.
As they listened to Ira Petrovna, the kids quietened down so much that her quiet voice reached even to Yurka:
“The first pioneer camps appeared in the 20s and were field-based, which means instead of dormitories and halls, the first pioneers lived in tents. Do you remember the film The Bronze Bird?” The children nodded. “It was exactly like that. It goes without saying, of course, that if they happened to find a building suitable for a camp, the pioneers would settle in there. But, as you must know, it wouldn’t be for long because in those days, like now, there weren’t many developed cities and for the most part, people lived in villages. Now then, the main task for the pioneers in those days was to help the rural people with the running of things, teaching the children to read…”
“… so that they could scratch off lists of denunciations and get a ticket to Artek[4] in return,” finished Yurka, but nobody heard him. Ira Petrovna continued:
“The main event at pioneer camps was the gathering round a bonfire, where the pioneers would discuss the results of their work that day: how many people they had taught reading to, how many people they had helped to build or mend things. They made their plans for the next day. The pioneers were self-sufficiently, without adults, decided who among them had earned praise, and who had earned criticism, and they carried out educational work…”
The history of the pioneer camps bored Yurka – Ira told it every season because there were always those who still did not know about it. Now, for instance, Volodya’s little ones were fulfilling the role of main listeners, especially Olezhka, who was so swallowed up in the story that his eyes were bulging out and he forgot to close his mouth. The rest were gracefully silent, and Yurka was silent too. As he peered into the nighttime darkness, he paid attention to the boring story, as long as it drowned out the inner voice that was harassing him once again.
Suddenly, a quiet but clear rustling sounded from behind. Yurka strained himself trying to determine where the sound was coming from. Some kind of animal was rustling about in the bushes growing a couple of metres away from him! Remembering that wild animals had not roamed that forest for a long time, he guessed in a flash what kind of beast was planning its night-time raid on the camp and, without saying a word to anyone, stole on tiptoes up to the bushes.
Oh-so-quietly, a squeak rang out from somewhere down off to the right and Yurka inspected the base of the bush, perplexedly. A withered old leaf from the previous year that was covering the ground shifted… His heart dropped to his heel and a crop of cold goosebumps sprung up on the back of his next: But what if there’s snakes here?! thought Yurka in horror and time almost stopped. Slowly, trying not to make any excessive movements, he stepped backwards away from the bush.
Yurka had seen these delightful snakes more than once and knew very well not to approach them in any circumstance. He knew that in the daytime, adders, as cold-blooded creatures liked to warm their little bodies beneath the sun’s rays, but he also knew that July was breeding season for them, so they also liked to coil up in nests. Phrases from his health and safety and biology lessons leapt into mind, that adders were like clockwork mechanisms: the closer you approached one, the more tightly it would wind itself into a coil. And then it was like a spring: it would dart and bite. The closer the bite was to the head, the deadlier.
And Yurka, the idiot, had boldly crawled into the bushes in the middle of the night without even remembering about the snakes and without having said anything to anybody. As he was about to shout out to a counsellor that he might have run into a snake nest, he bid farewell to his life and prepared to be darted at by a maddened viper, when a brown maple leaf lifted up and from underneath appeared … a button nose. And then he heard a quiet Fi-fi-fi-fyr.
“A hedgehog!” sighed Yurka with relief when the spines appeared as well. All the same, it is true what they say, that the first thought is always the most correct, and at first, Yurka had thought it was a hedgehog. The hedgehog was also thinking about Yurka – its beady little eyes observed him cautiously from under the bush.
Squatting down and reaching out his hand, Yurka prepared to catch it. But the beast, contrary to expectations, did not flee. On the contrary, it came out from under its leaf and brushed its nose up against his tennis shoe. After such a welcome, Yurka simply could not leave it – such a sweet and brave thing – under the bushes. The unexpected guest definitely had to be shown to the kids! Hemming for a moment, he took off his jacket, wrapped his new acquaintance up in it and brought it to the bonfire.
The hedgehog caused a real furor among the first troop as much as among the fifth. Without hearing Ira out, the kids jumped up one after another from their spots and crowded in a heap around Yurka. They took the hedgehog off of him and began to pass it from hand to hand, trying to squeeze and stroke it. Touched by the way it sniffed amusingly, they christened it Fyr-Fyr. No-one, not even Fyr-Fyr themselves objected to this name.
Once the emotions had subsided a little, the fate of Fyr-Fyr. Ira announced a vote on what to do: let him go or send him to the recreation room. They unanimously decided that before anything else, the hedgehog would need to be fed, and then he could stay in the recreation room. And once everyone finally calmed down, they understood that there was nowhere to keep the hedgehog until morning.
“I saw some boxes in the field kitchen, under the tinned meat,” recollected Volodya. “I don’t think Zinaida Vasilievna would be against it if we took one.”
“Cardboard? Won’t it chew through?” Ira Petrovna drew out with exaggerated doubt, her tone once again reminding Volodya that peace had not been established between them.
“Even if he chews through it,” interceded Zhenya, “nothing bad would come of it, he’d just run off back to the forest, that’s all.”
“Zinaida Vasilievna isn’t going to give us a little pat on the head for that!” frowned Ira.
“Ira, what do you want?” asked Volodya. “For us to take him back to the camp? In the middle of the night, through the forest?”
“No. I won’t let him go in the night. Keep him shut up with you in your tent.”
“I won’t be sleeping alone, but with my boys.”
“Well think of something,” she snarled.
“What do you want to hear? ‘Under my authority’? Very well, under my authority. You’ve found an occasion for a scandal!” raged Volodya.
“Guys, let’s not in front of the children.” Zhenya clapped them both conciliatorily on the shoulders. The children who were standing around in a circle exchanged glances with each other in perplexion. “If anything, I’ll find ten good boxes for Zinaida.”
Yurka’s mood, even without this, was not the best. But to be present at this squabble, of which he was in actual fact the cause – it was because of him as well that back then, at the theatre, Volodya had blurted out about ‘having a crush’ – threatened to spoil his mood completely. Yurka did not ask, but instead announced:
“Then I’ll go get a box,” and, without waiting for an answer, he stomped off to the kitchen.
“I’m with Konev,” he heard from behind, and a malcontent Volodya quickly caught up with him.
Turning on a torch he got from who-knows-where, he lit the way for Yurka, although the light was moonlit and electric light was not needed.
“Is there something up with you?” asked Volodya angrily.
“There’s no need to take your anger out on me,” grumbled Yurka. “I’m perfectly alright.”
“No, no, I’m not trying to take anything out. If it sounded like that, then forgive me. But… Yur, I get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”
“Not at all, I’m just tired.”
“Come on Yura, don’t lie to me.” There was the sound of vexation in his voice. “I can see that something’s not right. Are you offended? Why? Did I say something wrong? Or did I do something wrong?” Volodya grew anxious and, after looking Yurka in the eye, placed his hand on his shoulder. But Yurka did not want bodily contact, he was even afraid of it, and he cast it aside. Volodya was completely bewildered: “This can’t still be about those magazines, right?”
“Of course not, it’s just…”
“You keep on with this ‘it’s just, it’s just’! Tell me straight, what’s wrong?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ve been in a bad mood since morning, I don’t want to ruin yours.”
“And all the same, it’s ruined.”
“By what?” Yurka was surprised, and he stopped outside the kitchen.
“By the fact you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve been so worried–”
“Say what? You’ve been worrying?” Yurka was taken aback, but in his chest felt warmer for some reason. “About me?”
“You are my friend, of course I worry and get upset over you, and…” Volodya stopped short and lowered his gaze. He pursed his lips, then cleared his throat and carefully pronounced: “Let’s put it like this. If something really has happened, you should absolutely tell me, after all, I’m … not a stranger. What’s more, I’m a counsellor. I will help you. Alright?”
“Alright. But I really am just tired. Everything’s fine, Volod,” but Yurka was more trying to convince himself than Volodya with that.
“Agreed,” nodded Volodya. “Tomorrow, while everyone’s asleep, we’re planning to go fishing. Do you want to come with us? Or will you be tired? We’ll have to get up at five in the morning.”
“Oh, five in the morning, that’s murder… If I don’t get my fill of sleep, I’ll be angry the whole day, sleepy and not really myself.”
“You’re already not really yourself,” muttered Volodya when, finding a box, they turned back towards the bonfire with it. “And because of you, neither am I! When Alyosha told me that yesterday, you refused to go for headquarters, I thought that I had offended you and now all day I’ve been a butterfingers and on edge.”
At such words, Yurka simply could not react indifferently. Volodya was not himself without him? On edge, a butterfingers? That meant that he needed Yurka. How pleasant it was to feel needed. His anxiety about what had happened at exercise went on the back burner and he wanted everything to return to its proper place. Yurka smiled:
“Good. Alright. I’ll get up.”
“Just don’t forget to ask Ira for permission.”
“Of course. If it comes to it, you should affirm that I’m with you. Where are we meeting?”
“I’ll wake you up myself.”
***
Yurka was sure that waking up at five in the morning was beyond his strength. He would, of course, force himself to, but it would not be an awakening, more of a raising from the dead. Even on normal mornings, he woke up oh so unwillingly, and then, after such an intense day… But his apprehensions remained just apprehensions.
It was worth it to climb in the tent when his exhaustion began to make itself known – he fell asleep immediately, the moment his nose hit the pillow. But his sleep was fretful – and the thoughts about Volodya did not leave him in peace there. All night, Yurka was tying his neckerchief, constantly getting it tangled in knots, and then touching his neck. Volodya’s skin was covered in goosebumps under the timid brushes of Yurka’s fingers. After that, in the real world, Yurka’s whole body was covered in them and he woke up abruptly, in panic.
He opened his eyes, sat up, breathing heavily and tried to figure out where he was and what the time was. Around him was absolute darkness and complete silence, with only the wind outside making noise as it rustled the leaves in the crowns of the trees.
Quietly and carefully, trying not to wake Vanka and Mikha up, Yurka crawled out of the tent and as a first order of business, he checked his watch by the moonlight – 4:07. Yurka sighed. He could sleep a little longer, but he was wide awake.
The sky was just beginning to lighten. Yurka estimated that dawn would break within just thirty minutes, but the first weak gleaming and faraway sunrays of the new day could already be seen.
There was nothing to be done, and Yurka set off to find where to wash himself. He found an improvised washbasin hanging on a tree by the field kitchen and he splashed some water on his face. A shiver ran through his body and an urge to return to his tent, wrap himself up in his sleeping bag and not go anywhere struck Yurka.
What fishing trip, what stream? It’s beyond freezing outside!
He plodded off towards to the tents, but not to his own. He decided to find Volodya. It was good that he and the kids had pitched their camp further away than the main team – otherwise Yurka, peering through the mesh windows, would have been searching for the right tent in the darkness for two hours.
The three tents of the fifth troop stood in a triangle, with the entrances facing each other. Yurka peered into each in turn. In one, the girls were sleeping, in the two others, the boys. Volodya, Yurka did not recognise right away – he was laying turned over in his sleeping bag practically onto his nose. Next to him Sanka was snoring, Pcholkin was snorting and Olezhka’s nose was whistling.
Carefully picking his way in between the little ones, Yurka stole up to Yurka and knelt down next to him. Dishevelled as he slept, Volodya looked funny and silly, like never before: it was clear that he had been reading his notebook before going to sleep – it was laying on his chest, and next to him lay a switched-on torch – what was more, he had forgotten to take his glasses off before going to sleep. They had fallen down and gotten mixed up. Volodya was squinting in his sleep and moved his nose as though dreaming of something unpleasant. Yurka could not hold himself back – as quietly as possible, he giggled into his fist, trying not to wake him up. But all the same, he woke him up.
Volodya opened one eye. He blinked, opened the second and looked to the right, first in confusion, then in suspicion, then in horror:
“I overslept?!” and he sat up sharply.
“On the contrary, there’s still ten minutes you need to get up,” Yurka giggled once again.
Volodya sorted his glasses out, raised a finger to his lips, indicating with a glance first the children on the right, then the exit from the tent.
“What did you wake up so early for?” he asked, whispering, when they had crawled out of the tent.
Yurka shrugged:
“I don’t know myself. It just turned out like that.”
Volodya looked at his watch and said:
“Alright, it’s already half past four, we need to get the children up. Will you wake them up? I’ll go wash.”
Yurka nodded and climbed back into the tent.
While he woke the children up, Volodya managed to liquidate the remnants of sleep and gather the fishing tackle.
Yurka was the one who led their little company to the river – it turned out that Volodya was bad at orienting himself in the woodlands, while Yurka, as it happened, knew an excellent fishing pier not far from the camp’s beach. While they plodded along towards it, it grew lighter all around them and the day began to enter into its own right.
“Kids, do we all remember how we need to behave?” asked Volodya with a moralising tone. “I remember. Don’t run or jump on the pier, just sit calmly. Fishing isn’t a game. Fish like the quiet – if you shout, you’ll frighten then and you won’t catch anything!”
But the kids were hardly planning any mischief – they clearly had not woken up, they were trudging along behind Yurka slowly and sleepily, yawning every couple of minutes.
By the river, the reeds rustled, and the frogs croaked achingly. Yurka took a deep breath of the fresh, humid air and stepped onto the pier. The boards barely creaked under his weight. A morning fog crept along the water, which dissected the rays of the ascending sun. By the pier itself, a little, unremarkable birdling was jumping through the thick cover of duckweed. Yurka was surprised that it would endure such unreliable cover.
He had not even dreamed that he would find such a silence, such an idyll somewhere that the kids of the fifth troop were present. But that morning at the river, on the fishing pier, it was quiet and peaceful. Neither the troublemaker Pcholkin, nor the extravagant Sanka were thinking of acting out. Either they had not been able to wake up fully yet, or they were simply interested in fishing. They sat on the wooden deck, holding their rods in their hands and watched their floats carefully – in the hopes of not missing the bite.
But the fish did not bite. Yurka opened his mouth. To yawn.[5]
“Maybe the fish are still asleep?” he asked, jokingly, yawning loudly. In the past half-hour, there had only been a bite once, with Olezhka, but he did not manage to reel it in fast enough – only half a worm was left on the hook, and the fish had torn off.
“What a thmart fish!” Olezhka nonetheless did not lose heart. “He bit the worm but didn’t get caught on the hook!”
Yurka watched his own float, now and then losing touch with the world and slipping into a slumber. His lack of sleep and exhaustion from the day before were making themselves particularly known.
Volodya, who was sitting next to him, quietly gave the kids some encouragement:
“It’s nothing to worry about, the main thing in fishing isn’t the catch, but the process instead!”
That was the last thing that Yurka heard clearly, He did not notice when he fell asleep. He was just watching his float and then his head was already dipping off to the side and his eyes closed and a wonderful, sweet languor spread over his body…
“It’s biting! It’s biting!” Sanya’s loud voice tore into his comfortable, sleepy little world.
“Weel it in!” squeaked Olezhka.
Yurka opened his eyes and discovered something hard and warm beneath his cheek… Volodya’s shoulder. Yurka sharply lifted his head and looked from side to side. His rod lay nearby, and a few small perch splashed about in the net behind the children. Volodya was looking at him silently.
“Oh, I– something–” Yurka faltered as he looked at the shoulder that he had just been laying on. “I fell asleep…”
“Really? I didn’t notice,” Volodya affected surprise. He seemed pleased and could barely hold back laughter. “Maybe you could sleep a little more… stripy.”
“What?” Yurka did not understand. “The creases of the fabric have left a mark on your cheek. Right here.” Volodya tenderly touched his cheekbone and burst out laughing, while Yurka, being so close to his face for the first time, could make out the little dimples on Volodya’s cheeks.
[1] For Soviet Army
[2] A kid’s TV show
[3] Referencing a mystery story by Pushkin
[4] A large, prestigious summer camp for children in Crimea
[5] There’s wordplay here that doesn’t really translate, revolving around the word klevat’ ‘to bite’ and the expression klevat’ nosom ‘to nod off’. Literally it’s ‘But the fish did not bite. Yurka bit. With his nose.’ This is my attempt at preserving the bait and switch between the anticipated biting and the actual expression of tiredness.
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notonbreak · 2 years
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Forecasting Love and weather ☔
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anime-master · 2 years
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Rikuo, Tsurara, Yura, & Kana
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khuns · 3 years
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witch!rachel + witch!yura for @nualie​ ♡  (send me halloween doodle requests!)
alternatively titled: i too wish i had a cute gf i could go potion brewing and spell casting with this spookey szn ・:*:・゚
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namikala · 3 years
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Official Jan to March 2021 desktop wallpaper calendar from Ayakashi Koimeguri
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arks-kin-creations · 3 years
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(Source for the background image is in the notes.)
Christmas Yura from Game of Dice 1920px by 1080px wallpaper. If you would like this wallpaper in another size, please let me know, and I will make it for you.
-Mod Ark (Albaire Shift)
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des-higher · 4 years
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yura + tiffany lockscreens ( please like if you save ) 
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prplocks · 1 month
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ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴ ᴅᴇʙᴜᴛ: ᴢᴇʀᴏʙᴀsᴇᴏɴᴇ
yura yura
reblog if you save
☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆
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kpop-locks · 3 years
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yura; gf material
like/reblog | @xuxipoet 
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nightshadits · 5 years
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I’m super in love with this game, so I made a thing or two
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officialinuyasha · 5 years
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Yura of the Hair Wall-Paper
- 犬夜叉 Inu-Yasha -
© 1996-2019 Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan ● Yomiuri TV ● SUNRISE ● ShoPro ● NTV ● Toho ● Yomiuri-TV Enterprise
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notonbreak · 2 years
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Weather forecasting 🫂
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yizhaess · 6 years
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