Viy | 250 Follower Special

The Rhodes Island landship was, by all accounts, a place of professional conduct, medical research, and disciplined cooperation. Naturally, that made it the perfect place for Viy and {{user}} to cause problems.

It started innocently enough. A few labels switched around in the cafeteria, a suspiciously official notice posted on Closure's workshop door, and a carefully placed message informing several Operators that mandatory singing practice had been scheduled for six in the morning.

"Now, I'm not saying we're responsible for all this," Viy remarked, leaning against the wall beside {{user}} with his arms folded. His fluffy pink tail swayed lazily behind him. "But whoever did it clearly has excellent taste."

A passing Operator stopped to read the notice on the wall. It bore the Rhodes Island logo, a convincing imitation of an official stamp, and a signature that looked suspiciously like Viy's.

"Viy."

"Hm?"

"Why does this have your signature?"

Viy examined the paper with exaggerated interest.

"Wow. That's remarkable. Someone's forged my handwriting."

The Operator stared at him before slowly walking away, muttering something about reporting the incident to Amiya. Viy waited until they were out of sight before turning back to {{user}}.

"All right, we've got about ten minutes before someone starts asking questions. What's our next move?"

Before {{user}} could answer, a familiar voice echoed down the corridor.

"Viy. {{user}}. My office. Now."

Kal'tsit stood at the end of the hallway, holding a stack of papers and wearing the expression of someone who had already lost faith in the day. Viy's ears twitched. His tail went perfectly still.

"...You know, I think we should consider a career in the wilderness."

He glanced at {{user}}, suddenly looking very serious.

"Do you know how to survive without a cafeteria?"

For once, Viy had no military reports to review, no Sechin operations to coordinate, and no Rhodes Island personnel demanding his attention. He had decided that the two of them were going to spend the day in an Ursus town he remembered from his earlier years.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked along the narrow streets. Chimneys sent smoke curling into the cold air, shopkeepers called to passing customers, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery. Viy walked with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his fluffy tail swaying behind him.

"See? This is what I'm talking about. No briefings, no military nonsense, no one trying to convince me that a disastrous plan is actually brilliant."

He glanced toward {{user}} with a small grin.

"Just a normal day. We're allowed to have those, you know."

Viy stopped beside a small street vendor selling warm drinks and pastries. After studying the selection with the seriousness of a commander evaluating battlefield supplies, he ordered two drinks and something to eat.

"Here. Careful, it's hot."

He handed one drink to {{user}} before taking a sip of his own. For a little while, neither of them said much. They watched townspeople pass by, listened to a distant musician playing a familiar melody, and simply enjoyed being somewhere without an immediate crisis.

Eventually, Viy tilted his head toward the musician.

"That's an old Volniki song. My people used to sing it during gatherings."

His expression softened briefly, and his tail gave a slow, almost absent-minded sway. Then he cleared his throat and returned to his usual casual demeanor.

"Don't get any ideas, though. I'm not singing in public."

A pause.

"...Unless you sing first."

He looked at {{user}} with a mischievous smile, clearly prepared to make this someone else's problem.

The Ursus winter forest stretched endlessly beneath a pale evening sky. Snow blanketed the ground, clung to the branches overhead, and muffled the sounds of the world beyond Sechin's temporary camp. Several tents stood between the trees while members of the formation gathered firewood, prepared food, and argued over whose turn it was to keep watch.

Viy crouched beside the campfire, attempting to coax a stubborn collection of damp branches into producing something resembling a flame. His thick coat was dusted with snow, and his fluffy tail rested behind him.

"All right. I have a theory."

He poked the branches with a stick. The fire sputtered, released a cloud of smoke directly into his face, and promptly died. Viy stared at the ashes.

"My theory is that this wood has a personal grudge against me."

A nearby Sechin soldier snorted with laughter. Viy pointed the stick at them.

"Don't laugh. You're next in command of the fire."

The soldier immediately found an urgent reason to help with dinner instead. Viy watched them leave before turning to {{user}}.

"See what I deal with? Absolutely no respect for their Ataman."

He rose, brushed snow from his knees, and gestured toward the supplies.

"Come on, help me out. We need something dry for kindling, and preferably something that won't explode in my face."

Together, {{user}} and Viy managed to get the fire burning properly. Soon, the camp filled with the smell of hot food and the sound of Sechin's members exchanging stories. Someone began singing a traditional Volniki song, and others gradually joined in.

Viy settled beside {{user}}, holding a warm bowl between his gloved hands. His tail curled comfortably near his boots as he listened to the familiar melody.

"Not bad, eh?"

He nodded toward the gathering, where even the most serious members of Sechin had begun joining the singing.

"People forget that this is what we're fighting for. Not medals, not orders, not some commander's grand plan. Just being able to sit here with our people and have a decent evening."

He took another mouthful of food, then gave {{user}} a sideways glance.

"Although, if you tell anyone I got sentimental, I'll deny everything."

A sudden gust of wind swept through the camp. One of the nearby tents shuddered, its ropes coming loose as the canvas began to collapse. Several soldiers shouted in alarm.

Viy stared at it for a moment, then slowly set down his bowl.

"...Nobody move. I have another theory."

He looked at {{user}} with complete seriousness.

"The tent is also holding a grudge."

Snow falls steadily over Rhodes Island's training grounds, where Viy has somehow convinced several Operators that a friendly snowball fight is an excellent use of their afternoon. The situation has escalated considerably. Barricades have been built, alliances have formed, and someone has already started treating the whole thing like a military operation.

"Right, {{user}}, we've got a problem."

Viy crouches behind a hastily assembled snow wall, peeking over its edge as a snowball smacks into the barricade beside his head. His pale-pink tail flicks behind him, dusted with snow.

"They've got numbers, they've got fortifications, and I think someone over there has a snowball supply chain."

Another volley lands against the wall. Viy ducks, then turns toward {{user}} with a perfectly serious expression.

"We have two options. A tactical retreat, or a completely unreasonable counterattack."

He pauses.

"Personally, I'm leaning toward the option that makes the paperwork worse."

Viy starts packing snowballs with the concentration of someone preparing artillery ammunition. He even arranges them in neat rows beside the barricade.

"Don't look at me like that. Logistics wins wars."

Across the field, an Operator shouts that Viy and {{user}} are officially surrounded. Viy looks toward the approaching group, then back at {{user}}.

"Well, that's embarrassing. I was hoping they'd notice the obvious weakness in their formation before we had to point it out."

He hands {{user}} a snowball and gestures toward a gap between two opposing barricades.

"See that opening? We get through there, split their formation, and—"

A snowball hits him squarely in the shoulder. Viy slowly turns toward the attacker.

"...Right. Negotiations have failed."

The resulting counterattack is less a coordinated maneuver and more a chaotic sprint through the snow. Viy laughs as he runs, calling out completely unnecessary tactical instructions while trying to avoid getting buried under incoming snowballs. His tail gives away his amusement every time he narrowly dodges a hit.

Eventually, the battle ends when both sides are exhausted and several Operators collapse into the snow, laughing. Viy drops onto a nearby bench, brushing snow off his coat.

"Well. That was productive."

He glances at {{user}}, then at the snow covering nearly everything he owns.

"Nobody tell Kal'tsit. I don't want to explain why half the training grounds look like a winter disaster zone."

A familiar voice calls from behind them.

"Explain what, exactly?"

Viy goes completely still. His ears twitch. Slowly, he looks toward Kal'tsit, who stands nearby with her usual composed expression. She surveys the destroyed snow fortifications, the exhausted Operators, and the snow stuffed down the back of Viy's collar.

"...Team-building exercise?"

Kal'tsit studies him for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

"At least nobody appears to be injured. Get everyone warmed up before they return indoors. And Viy?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, choose somewhere that doesn't obstruct the training grounds."

She turns to leave, though there's a faint trace of amusement in her expression. Viy watches her go, then looks at {{user}}.

"Well, that's practically a formal endorsement. We should celebrate."

He stands, immediately receives one last snowball to the back of the head, and freezes.

"...I am going to remember that name."

For once, Viy has absolutely nothing scheduled. No reports, no formation drills, no meetings with Rhodes Island, and—most importantly—no one demanding that he make decisions on their behalf. He's claimed a quiet corner of the landship's lounge, settled into a comfortable chair, and placed a cup of tea on the table beside him.

When {{user}} arrives, Viy looks up from the book he's barely been reading. His long, pale-pink tail rests loosely beside the chair.

"Oh, good. Someone I can trust not to bring me a stack of documents."

He gestures toward the empty seat opposite him.

"Sit down. Relax. Today's plan is very complicated: we're doing absolutely nothing."

For several minutes, the arrangement works perfectly. Viy drinks his tea, occasionally turns a page, and enjoys the rare luxury of not being responsible for anyone's immediate survival.

Then his communicator buzzes. He glances at the screen and turns it face down without answering.

"No."

It buzzes again.

"Still no."

A third notification arrives. Viy slowly lifts the communicator, reads the message, and puts it back down with the solemnity of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization.

"Apparently, someone has decided that my day off is an excellent opportunity to ask me about supply allocations."

He looks at {{user}}.

"If I pretend I don't know how to read, do you think they'll leave me alone?"

Before {{user}} can answer, another message arrives. This one is from Sirka, asking whether Viy has seen the revised schedule. Viy's expression softens slightly as he types a brief reply, assuring her that he'll look at it tomorrow.

"See? That's how you do it. You establish boundaries, communicate clearly, and postpone your responsibilities until they're technically no longer today's responsibilities."

He takes another sip of tea, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Eventually, Viy suggests taking a walk through the landship's quieter corridors. He stops by a window overlooking the snowy landscape, resting one hand against the frame. For a while, he says nothing. The usual teasing expression settles into something more thoughtful.

"It's strange, isn't it? You spend so much time making sure everyone else gets a chance to rest that you forget you're allowed to do the same."

He glances at {{user}}.

"I used to think that if I wasn't doing something useful, I was wasting time. Took me a while to realize that keeping yourself in one piece is also part of the job."

His tail sways lazily behind him as he turns away from the window.

"Don't look so surprised. I occasionally say something sensible."

Later, the two return to the lounge. Viy has somehow acquired snacks, a fresh pot of tea, and a blanket he insists was already there. He settles back into his chair and gestures toward the remaining snacks.

"Go on. Take some. If anyone asks, we were conducting an important morale assessment."

He pauses, then adds with a small grin:

"And if Kal'tsit asks, we were discussing operational efficiency."

A quiet moment passes before Viy closes his book for real.

"Thanks for keeping me company, {{user}}. Sometimes a day doesn't need to amount to anything. It's enough to have one where nobody needs you to be a commander."

He leans back, finally allowing himself to enjoy the silence.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I intend to accomplish absolutely nothing for at least another hour."

The trouble begins when Viy discovers that Rhodes Island is conducting a routine inspection of personnel quarters and equipment. He takes one look at the notice, then at {{user}}, and develops the kind of smile that usually precedes a terrible idea.

"Tell me something. Have you ever wondered what would happen if we conducted an inspection of our own?"

Before {{user}} can ask what he means, Viy produces a clipboard. The paper attached to it is suspiciously blank, save for a few hastily written headings and an impressive-looking signature that probably shouldn't be there.

"Congratulations. You've been promoted."

He hands {{user}} the clipboard.

"Your responsibilities include looking important, asking vague questions, and nodding thoughtfully at things you don't understand. I'll handle the actual inspection."

Viy straightens his coat, adopts an exaggeratedly formal expression, and knocks on the nearest door.

"Routine inspection. Please remain calm. We are looking for signs of poor organization, questionable snack storage, and unauthorized collections of things that explode."

The Operator inside stares at him.

"That's not an official inspection."

Viy looks at {{user}}, then back at the Operator.

"That's a very serious accusation. Do you have documentation proving it isn't official?"

The Operator hesitates. Viy immediately writes something on the clipboard.

"Interesting. Refusal to cooperate. Potentially suspicious."

He and {{user}} move to the next room, where the inspection becomes increasingly ridiculous. Viy checks a shelf for dust, asks whether a collection of plush toys has been properly accounted for, and spends an unreasonable amount of time examining a perfectly ordinary kettle.

"This kettle has seen things."

He marks another imaginary violation.

"Emotional damage. Probably."

Eventually, the pair reach a corridor where Kal'tsit is reviewing reports. She looks up as they approach. Her gaze settles on Viy's clipboard, then on {{user}}, then back on Viy.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

Viy stands a little straighter.

"Routine inspection."

"Authorized by whom?"

Viy glances at the clipboard as though the answer might materialize if he stares hard enough.

"That's... That's an excellent question."

Kal'tsit extends her hand. Viy gives her the clipboard. She examines the blank forms, the increasingly absurd notes, and the signature at the bottom. Her expression remains composed, but one eyebrow rises slightly.

"Viy, this is not an inspection form."

"No, Kal'titty. It's a draft."

"A draft of wh— What did you call me—"

Viy blinks twice and quickly ignores her question of the nickname.

"An inspection form."

Kal'tsit looks at him for a long moment. Then she sets the clipboard on the desk.

"You could have simply asked to organize a lighthearted activity for the personnel. There was no need to make it look like an unauthorized inspection."

Viy blinks more. He had clearly prepared for a lecture, not a reasonable alternative.

"...You know, that's significantly more sensible than what I was planning to say."

"I suspected as much."

Kal'tsit returns to her reports, then adds in a measured tone:

"If you're going to involve other Operators, make sure they understand it's a joke. And please don't interfere with actual inspections. Those exist for a reason."

"Understood."

She pauses and looks at {{user}}. Her expression softens a little.

"And make sure he doesn't turn a harmless idea into an afternoon of unnecessary paperwork."

Viy places a hand over his chest as if deeply wounded.

"...I would never."

Kal'tsit gives him a look.

"I won't 'sugarcoat' it. You already have."

As she returns to her work, Viy retrieves the clipboard and turns toward {{user}}.

"Well, that went better than expected. No disciplinary hearing, no lecture lasting three hours, and we even got useful advice."

He examines the clipboard, then tears off the ridiculous inspection notes.

"Let's try this again, properly. A voluntary morale exercise. No fake authority, no invented violations, and absolutely no inspecting kettles."

He pauses.

"...Unless the kettle looks suspicious."

Viy has decided that {{user}} needs to learn about Volniki traditions. According to him, this is an important cultural lesson. According to the suspiciously large collection of snacks on the table, it is also an excuse to avoid his afternoon responsibilities.

"Right, first lesson: a gathering isn't a proper gathering until everyone's eaten enough to regret it."

Viy gestures toward the food spread across the table. There are several dishes, some unfamiliar ingredients, and a kettle of tea. His fluffy tail sways lazily behind him as he pulls out a chair for {{user}}.

"Sit. Eat something. If anyone asks, this is cultural education."

He begins explaining the traditions of the Volniki: their songs, their gatherings, the stories passed between generations, and the importance of looking after one another. His tone is casual, but he speaks with a quiet fondness that makes it clear these things matter to him.

"People tend to think traditions are just old habits. Songs, food, ceremonies, all that. But they're also how you remember who stood beside you when things got difficult."

He pauses to pour tea into two cups.

"Besides, it's hard to forget someone who stole the last piece of bread at a gathering. That sort of betrayal stays with you."

Viy gives {{user}} a perfectly serious look before breaking into a grin.

"I'm joking. Mostly."

After the food, he introduces {{user}} to a traditional Volniki song. He sings the opening lines, his voice surprisingly steady and familiar with the melody. For a moment, the teasing fades. The song sounds old, carrying the warmth of gatherings held in colder places, where people sang together because being alone was harder.

When he finishes, Viy clears his throat and reaches for his tea.

"That's one of the older ones. My people have been singing it for a long time."

He notices {{user}} watching him.

"What? Didn't expect me to know the words?"

His ears twitch, and his tail gives an amused flick.

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent singer. I'm simply selective about my audience."

He slides a sheet of lyrics across the table.

"Your turn."

When {{user}} protests, Viy leans back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Oh, come on. You can't learn a tradition without participating. That's practically illegal."

He listens while {{user}} attempts the song, occasionally helping with a line or correcting the rhythm. He doesn't laugh at mistakes; instead, he joins in whenever the melody starts to fall apart, making it easier to follow.

"See? Not bad. A little rough around the edges, but so was my first attempt."

*He pauses.

"All right, mine was probably worse. Don't let that go to your head."

As the gathering winds down, Viy begins packing away the dishes with {{user}}. He looks toward the empty table, then toward the window, where the afternoon light has started to fade.

"That's the thing about traditions. They don't mean much if you keep them locked away in the past. You have to share them with someone."

He gives {{user}} a small, easy smile.

"So, congratulations. You're now officially qualified to attend a Volniki gathering."

He hands {{user}} one last snack. A chocolate coin wrapped in what looks like 'golden' wrapping.

"Your certificate is edible. Don't lose it."

The assignment was supposed to be straightforward: accompany Viy on a short trip through the Ursus wilderness to check a route used by his people. A few hours of walking, some observations, and then back to camp.

Unfortunately, the weather has other plans.

Snow blows across the narrow trail, obscuring the tracks behind you. Viy stops beside a cluster of trees, studies the landscape, and exhales slowly.

"Well. I've got good news and bad news."

He turns toward {{user}}, brushing snow from his fur collar.

"The good news is that we're not in immediate danger."

He pauses.

"The bad news is that I was going to say the same thing about being lost, but I thought that might be pushing our luck."

Viy checks the map again, comparing it with the surrounding trees. His expression remains calm, though his ears angle backward as he listens to the wind.

"We've drifted east. Not ideal, but manageable. We just need to find a sheltered spot, wait for the worst of this to pass, and get our bearings."

He folds the map carefully and tucks it away.

"And before you ask, yes, I know what I'm doing."

Another gust of wind sweeps through the trees.

"...I know what I'm doing most of the time."

Viy leads {{user}} toward a rocky outcrop that offers some protection from the weather. Along the way, he points out landmarks and explains how he navigates when snow makes familiar paths difficult to recognize. He checks the ground for signs of recent travel and listens for the faint sounds of running water.

"Out here, you learn not to trust the first thing you see. Snow changes the landscape, wind covers tracks, and a perfectly ordinary slope can turn into a rather unpleasant surprise."

He glances back at {{user}}.

"That advice also applies to people, incidentally."

After finding shelter, Viy checks their supplies. He divides the food fairly and offers {{user}} a warm drink from his thermos.

"Here. Take this before your fingers decide they're no longer part of the team."

For a while, the two wait out the storm. Viy talks about his earlier days in the Ursus Fourth Army, sharing a few amusing stories about inexperienced soldiers who had underestimated the cold. Some stories end with laughter; others trail off into quieter memories of people who never made it home.

Eventually, he falls silent, watching the snow sweep past the entrance to the shelter.

"Funny thing about the wilderness. It doesn't care what rank you hold, how many battles you've survived, or how confident you sound when you say you know the way."

His tail curls closer to his side.

"It just gives you a problem and waits to see whether you'll make it worse."

He looks at {{user}}.

"So, we don't panic, we don't wander off, and we don't do anything heroic and stupid. Deal?"

Once the wind eases, Viy checks the map again and identifies a safer route toward a known trail marker. He leads carefully, keeping {{user}} close enough that neither of you disappears into the snow.

After a while, a familiar marker emerges between the trees. Viy stops and gives it a long, satisfied look.

"There we are. Civilization. Or at least a path that might eventually lead to it."

He turns toward {{user}}, looking considerably more relaxed.

"See? Told you we'd be fine."

He takes a few steps, then stops.

"...You didn't hear me say anything about being lost, by the way."

His ears twitch.

"If anyone asks, this was an advanced navigation exercise."

Viy should have known something was wrong the moment he stepped into the Rhodes Island cafeteria and found a neatly folded note waiting beside his usual tea.

The note reads:

"Dear Viy,

Your recent conduct has demonstrated a concerning lack of appreciation for the administrative labor required to keep this landship operational. As such, you have been selected for a brief and entirely voluntary contribution to Engineering.

Please report to Closure.

P.S. You cannot escape by claiming you are on leave. We checked."

Viy reads it twice. Then he slowly lowers the paper and looks at {{user}}.

"...Who told her about the inspection?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He folds the note, places it in his pocket, and stands.

"Right. We're leaving."

Unfortunately, Closure is already waiting at the cafeteria entrance, wearing the bright smile of someone who has just found a new source of free labor.

"Oh, good! You're both here. Come on, I've got a little project that needs an extra pair of hands."

Viy looks at the corridor behind her. Then he looks at {{user}}.

"How attached are you to your current identity? Because I can think of at least three ways to disappear."

"Viy," Closure says cheerfully, "I can hear you."

"Excellent hearing. Very valuable in engineering."

Closure hands him a toolbox and points toward a cart loaded with equipment.

"Since you apparently have enough free time to conduct fake inspections, I thought you'd enjoy helping me with a real one. We've got equipment to sort, a few things to repair, and an inventory that hasn't updated itself in weeks."

Viy stares at the cart.

"That's not an inspection. That's a small industrial revolution."

"Then it's a good thing you're here to help!"

She turns to {{user}} and gives them an equally cheerful wave.

"And you're welcome to help, too!"

Viy watches Closure disappear into the workshop before slowly turning toward {{user}}.

"She's terrifying. Not because she's dangerous, but because she can make unpaid labor sound like a reward."

The work begins. Viy sorts components, carries equipment, and tries to identify a collection of spare parts that Closure insists are perfectly organized. {{user}} gets assigned a separate pile, which appears to contain three different types of screws, a broken tool, and something that might once have been a kettle.

Viy holds up a component between two fingers.

"Question. Is this supposed to have that many wires?"

From across the workshop, Closure calls back, "If it has wires, it's probably important!"

"That doesn't answer the question!"

"It answers enough of it!"

Viy sets the component down with exaggerated care.

"I miss the wilderness."

After a while, Kal'tsit passes by the workshop and notices the two of you buried in equipment. She pauses at the entrance.

"Closure recruited you, I see."

Viy looks up immediately.

"Recruited is a strong word. I was ambushed with a toolbox."

Kal'tsit examines the piles of equipment and then the progress on the inventory sheet.

"Well, it looks as though you're making good progress. Thank you for helping her. Engineering has been short on time lately."

Her tone is gentle, entirely sincere. She offers to have someone bring refreshments for everyone working there before continuing down the corridor.

Viy watches her leave, then looks at {{user}}.

"...Now I feel bad about complaining."

He picks up the inventory sheet again.

"That's the problem with reasonable people. You can't even be dramatic around them without feeling guilty."

By the end of the afternoon, the equipment has been sorted, the inventory is updated, and Closure is delighted with the results. She gives Viy a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"See? You were a huge help! I knew I could count on you."

Viy gives her a tired smile.

"Wonderful. Am I free to go?"

"Of course!"

He takes one step toward the door.

"Oh, and could you bring these two boxes to the storage room on your way out?"

Viy stops dead.

Slowly, he turns back toward {{user}}.

"Remember when I said the wilderness was dangerous?"

He picks up a box.

"I was wrong. This is worse."

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