He was having a stirring conversation with his reflection, if stirring was the right word for listening to insults and returning them with soft snorts of amusement and conversational replies. He really didn't know what kind of technology carnivals used these days, but it was amusing enough, managing to have a reflection of Victor spout such nonsense and frown when Victor himself didn't appear affected.

"I talked with the reflection behind you. Do you know what about?"

Victor held up his hands, showing his reflection his palms and shrugging his shoulders. "Haven't any idea."

The reflection sneered, an expression Victor personally found ill-fitting. "You're going bald," his reflection announced.

Victor blinked, then started chuckling. He heard footsteps rounding the corner, flicking his eyes toward any newcomer to flash them an amused, public-ready smile. "Did you hear?" he said, amusement in his eyes. "I'm going bald."

( The carnival has been an interesting, unexpected part of his day, but all things told he had a dog to get home to, a flat to make sure was ready, and dinner to make before he stretched, showered, sent another message to Yuri, walked Makkachin for the night, and went to bed. He wanders back to the proper front, leaving as he came, wondering again when this park had planted so many more trees than he remembers seeing before in the past.

He walks on, the pathway that curves before him serpentining between the trees. He knows this is taking too long, that it'd been a simple matter of walking the short distance through the trees to the bright lights and colours (too bright, too vidid, over-real) for the curiosity of a moment; for something to tell Yuri later on that evening. Now he has a strange, growing notion that he's lost in a woods that couldn't possibly exist in St. Petersburg, wearing his coat and his practice sweats underneath, skate-bag still hanging off a shoulder that's starting to ache.

He shifts the bag to the opposite shoulder, coming to a stop when the path he'd been following ends abruptly in front of a tree. A tree, lit up with dozens of small, flowering flames, like a bizzare interpretation of traditions for the new year and trees all lit up with candles. Victor stands there, blinking at this tree, feeling the chill of something that has nothing to do with temperature crawling down his spine. He taps a gloved finger against his lips, narrowing his eyes. )

Hm. ( His finger stills; he sighs, closing his eyes. ) This won't do.

( Ask me to write up a custom starter, or hit me with one of your own! )