(the way a german accent slips into those words so effortlessly, how it grabs attention with such a commanding voice, it far more than startles apollo. their two voices may sound completely different, this one is much more lively, almost cheerful. but that doesn't stop apollo from losing his grip on his bags, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as he whips around in a flash of horror. there's a brief memory of skating til his legs burned, an icy anger threatening he'll never make a program.
it's gone as soon as it arrives, only having a few months worth of the devil guiding your every move, and the memories fade quickly. not nearly as awful as some of his more seasoned skaters. apollo got over these things quickly, the feeling of shame at being used and tossed aside stung far more than any memory.
once the fear passes from his mind, it fades to awe. he'd almost forgotten kristoph had a brother, hardly talking about him aside from a snide remark about his flawed and imperfect skating. he couldn't deny curiosity, not after someone so revered spoke so horribly about his own brother. it hardly took long to find programs of the angel on ice. thousands of girls uploaded his videos, complete with screams of joy and sighs love infatuation. apollo only remembers being completely mesmerized. his skating was anything but imperfect, his moves were fluid and clean, every emotion able to be passed on to the entire crowd. and, yeah, maybe his face wasn't so bad. he remembers so clearly, attempting to skate like that once, with a smile on his face and his heart on his blades.
he also remembers the deadly stare and enraged threat to look for another coach if he ever pulls a stunt like that again. an imprint on his mind like that did stick, quite against his wishes. moving on was hard at best, especially with no coaches with the knowledge or patience for a "broken skater". he'd never even performed, but with just that one fact of his first coach, and all of it was ruined from then on.
it hits him rather belatedly that klavier gavin is speaking to him, snapping out of his daze with a few blinks and a quick shake of his head. that one line, and already apollo can tell he's leagues better than kristoph. probably best not to mention that. he stands there stupidly with his mouth open for a few longer moments, face falling and simply hoisting his bags off the floor.) ... no. You need it more.
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it's gone as soon as it arrives, only having a few months worth of the devil guiding your every move, and the memories fade quickly. not nearly as awful as some of his more seasoned skaters. apollo got over these things quickly, the feeling of shame at being used and tossed aside stung far more than any memory.
once the fear passes from his mind, it fades to awe. he'd almost forgotten kristoph had a brother, hardly talking about him aside from a snide remark about his flawed and imperfect skating. he couldn't deny curiosity, not after someone so revered spoke so horribly about his own brother. it hardly took long to find programs of the angel on ice. thousands of girls uploaded his videos, complete with screams of joy and sighs love infatuation. apollo only remembers being completely mesmerized. his skating was anything but imperfect, his moves were fluid and clean, every emotion able to be passed on to the entire crowd. and, yeah, maybe his face wasn't so bad. he remembers so clearly, attempting to skate like that once, with a smile on his face and his heart on his blades.
he also remembers the deadly stare and enraged threat to look for another coach if he ever pulls a stunt like that again. an imprint on his mind like that did stick, quite against his wishes. moving on was hard at best, especially with no coaches with the knowledge or patience for a "broken skater". he'd never even performed, but with just that one fact of his first coach, and all of it was ruined from then on.
it hits him rather belatedly that klavier gavin is speaking to him, snapping out of his daze with a few blinks and a quick shake of his head. that one line, and already apollo can tell he's leagues better than kristoph. probably best not to mention that. he stands there stupidly with his mouth open for a few longer moments, face falling and simply hoisting his bags off the floor.) ... no. You need it more.