*O PE N* ]|[ as american as herpes and hotdogs ]|[

[piru]

Jet lag, what a pain in the arse. Oh, how Garlyn hated it. The jaunt from NY to TX was no picnic, and even with first class accommodations, Garlyn was not in a pleasant mood. As the Lincoln Navigator rolled to a luxury-style halt in front of the main barn, Garlyn peered through the windshield as he eyed it, heavy in scrutiny. Seemed nice enough on the outside. The outdoors was well landscaped, the hedges trimmed, lawn neat and hoses coiled and accounted for. The walkways had clearly been swept recently and the smell of glycerin soap wafted through the semi-open window. Climbing from the cab, Garlyn checked his time-piece and let the door shut softly behind him with a gentle nudge. With Bear arriving in less than two hours, it was time he got things accounted for.

After the daunting task of preparing the box stall and claiming his tack locker, Garlyn was just this side of exhausted. A nice layer of shavings and hay clung to his t-shirt and paddock pants, along with his boots which he stomped clean before stepping into the lounge area. By that point, the haulers were half an hour late and Garlyn, being the most punctual person in the world, was souring. Quickly. He took a moment to collapse on one of the couches, mindful to keep his boots off the cushions as he forced himself to take 10 deep breaths. This was his buffer; his diffuser. Otherwise he'd reach through the phone, rip out a larynx and show it to the other party. Once he had taken 10 deep breaths, he found himself eying his cell phone for two purposes: one, to watch the time; two, to wait for the ring that had yet to come.

Tick, tock... tick, tock...

Maybe another 10 deep breaths wouldn't hurt.

[hack]

The sneeze that exploded out of her mouth and nose knocked Chuck clear off the back of the chair she'd been perched on. Utter exhaustion had forced her to sleep sitting upright, her chin in the palm of her hand; delicate, natural nails curled around the edge of that pointy (often mocked for being rather manly) chin. Hitting the floor with a crash that screamed her whereabouts, she scattered upright, snatching the android phone out of her back pocket to check the time. A lousy twenty minutes had passed; and still she had no text announcing that her dearly beloved Coup had arrived - what else was there to do other than sleep? The hauler was new to her; he brought four to five horses at a time and generally took his sweet ass time according to reviewers - but the animals got there intact and healthy. So what if he was currently an hour behind schedule? Perhaps circumstances came up beyond his control. Chuck forced herself to trust the man. This was his job, after all.

What if Coup had thrown a fit? Injured himself? An accident on the highway? Had the other gelding she found herself riding and training decided to take a chunk out of a fellow traveler? Had someone gotten loose? What if the trailer had broken up during..... quit it Charlotte. She stopped the thoughts in their tracks, shaking her head violently from side to side. Her Paint was fine, that overrated Chestnut was fine, there was positively nothing to stress over, and she needed to simply shut the hell up. Rubbing her cheeks with both hands vigorously, she squinted between sleep-heavy eyelids to eyeball the newcomer to the lounge she'd been holed up in. Finding him to be of little interest - he looked a little stressed himself - she made her way to the fridge, palmed open the door to retrieve an ice cold coke, and then squealed like a little girl at a Bieber concert when her phone began vibrating in her rear pocket.

"By GEORGE I think he's finally fuckin' here!" She exploded as she flung herself out the door after checking the message, making tracks for the door without bothering to send the hauler an "On the way!" reply. "Want shit done promptly gotta do it ya-gad-damn-self.."

[piru]

In truth, Garlyn was so drained and preoccupied that he never noticed he was sharing the lounge with someone else. As the minutes dragged by, the impatient and fatigued being had accidentally drifted into a twilight sleep. He had only just begun to softly rumble through his nasal passages when the raucous of someone crashing from their seat startled him into an upright tizzy. Flinging his arms in the air, his palm released the Blackberry unknowingly and sent it sailing through the lounge room until Newton's apple took it from there and sent it falling face-first onto the concrete floor. Upon impact, the phone's screen flickered and subsequently went dark. "Shitfire..." he muttered as he leaned over his lap to scoop the up the little black device, "...save matches." Though that last statement dripped with disappointment as he studied the cross-hair scratches embedded in the screen, and then found he couldn't turn it back on. Great, now how the hell was he supposed to know when Bear arrived? Or got lost? Or... CRAP! Observing the damage, he sighed and dropped the broken paperweight into his shirt pocket before shooting a glance at the catalyst for his micro-explosion.

The unknown woman was now passing in front of him as she made for the fridge. Both regarded each other quietly, neither acknowledged the other and for a moment, Garlyn was offended she didn't apologize. Then again, how could she have known? Maybe she didn't see him. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but the first impression still seemed otherwise tainted beyond recovery. The sneer and snicker that followed her slightly subsonic eruption was Cheshire'esque. "Skittish, much?" He couldn't help but now make assumptions as to her equestrian skills. When she took up a springy jog for the door, he caught wind of her announcement. An eyebrow irked. Clearly someone had arrived. Be nosey? Yep, be nosey. He could go for a pipe anyway, might help calm his nerves a bit. Rising to his feet, he trolled his way out of the lounge and through the barn doors into the parking lot. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw the same young woman round the corner into the receiving cul-de-sac.

As he slipped into the front seat of his car, Garlyn turned the engine over so as to get some cold air circulating. Outside of the gym, he hated breaking a sweat more than he had to. He fiddled in his console for a minute or two before retrieving a wooden-stemmed tobacco pipe holding a Meerschaum bowl. From his backy pouch he retrieve a few pinches of what looked like normal tobacco, though was actually not tobacco at all. And yes, highly legal and easily obtainable at any smoke shop. Once the spice was loaded into the browning bowl, he proceeded his indulgences. By the second puff, he was relaxing and finding his zen place, and by the fourth, the sound of a diesel engine brought him back to reality. A quick peer in the rear-view and he saw a large commercial hauling unit come rolling 'round the bend. Sure enough, it was the same hauler he was expecting and his heart leapt in his chest. Stashing his utensiles, Garlyn slipped from the Navigator and proceeded towards the cul-de-sac with a quick step.

The shrillest scream known to equine vocals escaped the aluminum rig as it all came to a groaning halt. The caucophany of steel hooves to metal walls echoed off the barn building and Garlyn could only sigh. The driver that came tumbling from the cab looked less than pleased as Garlyn approached. "You know if you had been on time, that Ace wouldn't have worn off before you delivered." The driver said nothing and scowled, turning on a heel and snatching paperwork out of the cab, thrusting it in Garlyn's face with orders to fill out and sign on the line. Having seen the young woman as he was pulling up, the driver presumed she was the recipient of the other two in his care and he proceeded to hand her the same red tape to manage before grumbling down the legnth of the rig to let down the ramps. Again, the scream exploded from the trailer, followed by a most epic drum solo. "BEAR!! Cut that shit out, old man." Finding the length of trailer that was housing the rambunctious grey, he slammed the broadside of his fist against the aluminum just once to make his point. Silence. Garlyn proceeded to put pen to paper when *BAM!* responded once in a final rebuttle. Sometimes that asshole just had to have the last word.

(Hmm... tangent much?)

[hack]

Bouncing from foot to foot as the hauler spoke unintelligibly to the leggy sack-o-surly - unintelligibly because she was out of plain earshot and never strained herself to hear anything. In fact, some could wonder if Charlotte was actually certifiably deaf, and one would be dead wrong. She suffered selective deafness, suffered it quite often. Leaping up onto the edge of the trailer's wheel well to gaze at the hazy dimness inside, a glance to the left revealed the source of the commotion - a gray, apparently Surly's boy. Directly before her was the flattened, delicate ears of her young gelding, and she stuffed her arm through the gaps in the aluminum trailer to rub his forelock, cooing delicately. Beside them on the left was her ward, a gangly Thoroughbred gelding fresh off the racetrack and ready for his letting down and retraining. He was ridiculously fast and ridiculously hot. With only three rides under Charlotte he was already coming around; and still, Chuck found the colt as stupid as stupid does. He had no brain of his own, lacked utter common sense, and reacted foolishly before even evaluating a situation. Thoroughbreds. Pah. Didn't have the brains Lady gave a rock.

Hey, money is money. It all spends.

Taking the out-thrust, somewhat soggy paperwork to fill out the same red tape paperwork as Surly had just done, Chuck stepped off the edge of the wheel well, scribbled her name, and then eyeballed the the section labeled "Damage/Injury Claim". Palming the pen, she tucked the file under her arm and waited as the hauler backed her ward gelding out. He all but fell off the end of the ramp, stumbling and acting as if he had just taken a nosedive off the grand canyon - head high, tail crooked like a wayward Arabian. Sagan was flashy, she'd give him that much. Taking his lead, she let the gelding crab-walk at the end of his line for a moment, allowing the young horse to take in his surroundings before snapping the shank quickly, ushering him into an appropriate position behind her left shoulder. He towered over her - not that it took much, Chuck wasn't a tall beast herself - though he was barely 16.2hh; only 2 inches taller than her personal gelding. An extreme liver chestnut, still wooly due to his lack of up-keep since leaving the track. Very upright, his athletic chest and muscular hindquarters oozed jump potential. And his face? Stark white. He was odd, for certain. Giving him a once over, she signed his paperwork and perched it on the edge of the trailer for the hauler to pick up after, holding the Thoroughbred at arm's length to greet her Paint as he was unloaded.

"And there's the manchild of the hour. Swell." Circling her finger in the air, she non-verbally requested the hauler circle her docile, nearly lazy bay and white before signing Coup's paperwork as well, handing it off to the professional as she palmed her APHA's leadline. Unlike the Thoroughbred twitching like a crackhead coming down off his high, Coup was relaxed and very unconcerned, ears splayed indifferently atop his boxy, a-typical Paint head. Notorious for being a bit stupid themselves, Coup wasn't your average bonehead Paint and actually thought for himself -- Charlotte surmised he had already told himself this was nothing to be concerned about. Despite that the two geldings were roughly the same age - Coup being 4 years and Sagan in the infancy of his 5th year - Coup was far more well adjusted. Sagan was a-quiver with excitement. See? "Damn Thoroughbreds. Quit it, Sagan." She snapped as the gelding hit the end of his lead, crow-hopping, as the gray inside was untied and began his descent out of the shipping box.

Stepping back to allow the hauler room to unload the big gray, she led the two geldings down the main breezeway of the barn to the stalls she had prior set up, halting just outside the duos' relative boxstalls to crosstie Coup while settling Sagan. Once the big chestnut was unwrapped, unblanketed, and unhaltered, she slipped out of the box to begin the tedious task of shaking out and re-rolling each wrap, delicately folding the thin blanket, setting all in a neat pile to be joined by Coup's. She kept half an ear on the exchange out front, glancing up at the leggy Thoroughbred currently stepping off the ramp. Pretty boy. "But still a damn Thoroughbred, eh Coo-coo?" She mumbled, stooping to unwrap the bay's legs.

[piru]

No harm ever came from looking, right? Sure. So Garlyn looked, and he was not impressed. He saw a genetic throwback of some sorta warmblood type with an attitude problem. (Surely not a Thoroughbred...) Who was also currently spanking the driver that was dangling from his lead. Garlyn had to sneer at that; seeing a horse get the better of a person always warmed his heart. He saw horses as a litmus test most times. Any horse smarter than a human meant that was a pretty easy human. Useful to Garlyn's sort. No telling how, but he'd find a reason given enough time. As the colt was handed off to the petite little tart who broke his Blackberry (yes, it was all her fault, dammit) Garlyn studied the pair and how they regarded each other. He watched as the colt fell in line and for a moment, Garlyn felt a "props" coming up... until the raucous of the monster in the box erupted. Nothing new, the grey was a pissant and everyone had better get adjusted real quick. Kinda like dear Garlyn.

Soon, it came his turn and for a moment, the Rockefeller's heart rate stampeded. He would admit it, he missed the asshole. He related to him in many senses. Of course he could never geld him, what kind of friend would he be snatching a pal's family jewels like that? It was against his religion. Take whatever excuse you've heard and use it, Garlyn had no intention of ever altering the grey jerkwad. The beast that came exploding from the confines of the travel trailer was garbed much like an equine Hannibal Lecter. Bear was fond of ripping his travel gear off of himself, hence the wire muzzle. A poll shield filled the gap between his ears and the ultra padded shipping boots that ran up the elbows and hocks to attach to the copious amounts of straight-up bubble wrap were just obscene. Okay, so it wasn't bubble wrap but the quilted, down-filled Rhino complete with monogramming was the final nail on that "PAMPERED" coffin. Once they were off the trailer, the hauler got the bright idea to try and lock up the rig before heading over to hand Bear off to his impatient papa. Garlyn soured quickly, but before he could say much, Bear was loud and clear.

If one knows anything about studs, you never put your back to one; especially one that happens to be an entire ball of Black Cat fireworks ready to pop off simultaneously. It also didn't help that this robust ass of a stud happened to have spent the last eleventy hours on the road next to his arch nemesii: geldings. So when the road-buddies came into near view, those slate grey satellites narrowed in before disappearing against the poll guard. With a sharp squeal, he sat back into what looked like a Lipizzan 'levade' as he prepared for take-off. The hauler didn't stand a chance, and being a big guy (as well as a big idiot), it was no surprise when the looped lead snugged tight around his hand. The following display of kinetic energy was worthy of video recording to be played back time and time again. Bear sprang into action with the force of a moving freight train, snapping the lead tought just before yanking his arm like a pinata on a pully. No one could hear the 'pop' as his shoulder socket released, but they could hear the roar of pain that followed.

As Bear hit the end of that lead, though... he did as he was taught for the entirety of his life. Giving up his hind-quarters immediately, Bear's ass swung wide just as his face could go no further. Facing the hauler now, Bear stared down at his anchor with a less than amused expression. The hauler could only roll in the dirt and holler like a stuck pig. Garlyn leapt into action just as Bear disengaged his hips (shocked, actually) and jogged up to retrieve the grey horse and back him up before he got any bright ideas. Bear obliged Garlyn, though returned his stink-eye-stare to the other boys in the yard. "Painful lesson?" Garlyn scowled at the downed individual, making no move to offer any help and having only the interest to get his animal settled into his new box. Pausing at the hauling rig to scratch off a signature on the clipboard, Garlyn abandoned the delivery boy, content with letting him limp home to lick his wounds.

[soviet]

Stride, stride, stride and takeoff. This was the only thoughts running through Lottie’s mind as she let the mare stretch her neck a little over the large oxer. They landed perfectly, and then the ebony mare had to spoil it with a buck. The blonde held on grimly, used to the Warmblood’s antics. She had owned Pip since she was a youngster and watched the Swedish Warmblood grow into a fine athlete. The mare had taken well to the American circuit and she was keeping her fit for the oncoming season. If they could get to the standard they had been competing at in Europe then Lottie would be happy. She may even be able to buy herself another horse to bring on. Not as young as Pip had been, perhaps a six or seven year old, back it properly (people these days had no idea how to train a horse) and then compete it. It was always a good idea to have more than one horse, in the case your main one had time off.

Pip snorted firmly before curving back into her outline, her motions so fluid it looked like she was dancing. Lottie half smiled as she sat deep in the saddle and asked the mare to come back to a steadier pace. She certainly was a flashy looking horse, a striking black mare who stood proudly at sixteen three hands and would have killed a judges heart from love if she entered in Dressage, but Pip’s jump was far too scopey to miss. But she was a mare, and mares will not be told, especially this one. Pip also liked to have a show off coming down towards a jump; just to make the theatrics more intense as she swerved and skittered before pulling out a monster of a leap over the fence. It didn’t concern Lottie that much, she had every ounce of faith in her mount and Pip had never refused, but it was rather tiresome after a while.

So the pair moved down towards the jump again. This time Pip went for her “throwing my head about and plunging with my forelegs” move, which looked highly dramatic to the untrained eye but really was the archetype antics of a youngster. The blonde girl sat there motionless, moving with the solid mass of muscle like a seagull heroically riding the unruly sea waves before the mare gathered herself on her haunches and leaped into the air. Lottie sprung forwards into position, observing the sudden pricked ears of the black mare as they soared forward in unison and landed. Pip had cleared it easily. Lottie allowed herself a rare smile before reaching down to give Pip a pat as she slowed the mare up and began the warming down proceedure. Pip had done well today, and she didn’t want to push it.

Once the Warmblood had slowed right down and her breathing was back to normal Lottie dismounted and ran her stirrups up before giving Pip another pat and a kiss on the nose. Next to the towering mare the blonde looked tiny as she led her horse from the school and back in the direction of the stables. There was more comotion than when she had left, trailers mulled around whilst delivery boys scampered. Pip, who had been following behind her mistress like a lamb pricked her ears and glanced out at the bustle. The young woman reached up with her free hand to unclip her hat, one finely shaped eyebrow raising at the state of a boy who had clearly dislocated something before leading her mare towards her stable.

The apparent source of all this disruption was in fact in the stable next door. A man, who may possibly challenge Lottie herself in haughtiness, was leading a grey stallion back to his stall. Pip raised her head at the sight of the stud, whinnied enthusiastically and swished her thick dark tail in a mildly suggestive manner around her firm hindquarters. Lottie rolled her eyes - mares will be mares. A sharp tug managed to draw the black Warmblood away from her spot and they reached the stall next door. Lottie’s nimble fingers began to work at the mare’s bridle as she glanced along to the newcomers. He was quite a nice stallion, although she wasn’t a huge fan of greys. “Sorry about her.” She offered in her muted Swedish accent, slipping Pip’s bridle off and had the head collar on the mare before she got any stupid ideas. “I guess its only natural.” She added, deciding that was the closes this man would ever get to an apology before turning her attention to the saddle.

status; done
words; 872
muse; turn mah swag on ;]
comments; i hope you don't mind, i was invited here by piru ^^

[piru]

The rambunctious grey tittered at the end of his lead, his tail a fury of whistling whiplashes as it snapped alongside either flank. Bear's head was on a constant swivel, too absorbed in the new surroundings to remember the death wishes he had bestowed upon his travel companions who were well ahead of them by that point. Snapping his face to the sky, the stud's jaws opened wide as he brayed the most obnoxious call that pitched and echoed throughout the barn and surrounding facilities. It wasn't a short scream either, Bear liked to elongate his vocalizations to the point of listener frustration. Not having any of it, Garlyn gave a sharp yank on the lead as he simultaneously cranked an elbow into the stud's chest. "Cut it out, shitheel." As if by instinctual reaction, Bear responded with a bite sufficient of adequate bruising at the point where Garlyn's arm met his shoulder. No real warning sign given, as if no thought was put into the action. He didn't even flicker an ear as he did so. It was just that innate rhythm of "you get me, I'll get you" that was their lives. Garlyn's guttural snort of pain was a new sound to any seasoned ear and as he grasped for his shoulder (as if it would make the pain any more bearable), he considered his options to respond.

There were witnesses. Couldn't kill him. Nor could he give him a right good blocking either. By the time he began weighing options outside the initial few, he quickly realized his window of retaliation had come and gone. Even if he wanted to correct Bear by that point, it wouldn't even apply. Way to over-think things again, Garlyn. This was why he hated public barns. But there wasn't much he could do about it. He was still locked in a property battle and until that was settled, there wasn't a chance of building his own. He also wasn't interested in attempting to purchase a whole other lot of land for the job; why when time might pay off big? Garlyn could be patient for the right reasons. Still didn't change the fact he hated losing his privacy cast out amongst others. He certainly wasn't used to it either. So, the love/hate pair proceeded down the brick aisle towards their appropriate box. As they passed other inhabitants, Bear had to make his show of bravado all the way down the breezeway. Garlyn could only roll his eyes as the stud paraded, puffed, and pandered in a disgusting display of macho-ness. He had to admit it though; Bear was Garlyn in many ways. The young philanthropist was not above sticking his chest out whenever he might encounter a mate of worthy status. But at least Garlyn wasn't big on killing other dudes just because they were dudes. That was all Bear.

They had just pivoted around in their box to face the door as the brand new set of strangers made their appearance, the mare calling flirtatiously in Bear's direction. Garlyn snickered as his fingers deftly worked the buckles on the travel rug. He had just stepped out into the aisle to hang the folded sheet on the blanket rung when the young woman's apology caught his attention. He chuckled lightly before his response, "Girls will be girls, right?" A lewd wink was tossed Lottie's way as he gave her a blatant, though whip-sharp, once-over. A flash smirk and he disappeared into the open box again. Bear was busy chewing at his wraps like a bored Labrador pup just as Garlyn came in and barked at him. The gray's head snapped up with one of those "Eh? I wasn't doin' nuffin!" expressions as he eyeballed the tall drink of seltzer water that approached him. Garlyn grumbled at the stud, mentioning something about Alpo and Elmer's as he proceeded to unwrap each leg. He tossed the length of them over his shoulder, circling Bear widdershinz to end up by the stall door. Leaving only the poll guard to remove, Garlyn stepped out and rolled the stall door shut.

"So, pony clubber or something? Or can she handle 3 feet?" That was a gentle statement, he slid on the kid gloves for that one. Sad, hm? Sure, there were other breeds besides English Thoroughbreds who could fling themselves over a fence and hope for the best. But for him, the only true jumping line would be found in English Thoroughbreds. Everything else was just sub-par in his eyes. Take it or leave it, the quintessential Garlyn.

status; done
words; 766
muse; lorazepam and civil twilight
comments; i hope you don't mind, i stole your ooc thingie ;-p[/size]

[soviet]

Pip leaned forwards to inspect her bridle that was now hanging precariously on the door of her stable, sniffed it for a moment before turning her attention back to her new neighbour. Her dark ears pricked forwards but she didn’t call again, the mare had seen enough parading about to realise there was a stallion next door. Lottie was less interested in the newcomers and set about undoing the mare’s girth, propping the saddle flap on top of her icy blonde hair and unbuckled the straps. Pip gave an exaggerated sigh and puffed her barrel out, her back tilting as she propped up one hindleg. Lottie rolled her eyes at her horse as she began to slide the saddle from the mare’s back when the stranger replied back. She turned just in time to catch the wink and followed his eye line with an expression of disgust, and also slight amusement.

'Twat.' Was the immediate reaction she had to that, as would most of the female population if they had received the same treatment. But was it really worth it? She was going to have to see him every day when coming up to see Pip, and although Lottie didn’t go out of her way to make friends, she didn’t do the same to make enemies. Instead she kept her mouth shut and simply fixed the man with an icy expression, complete with raised eyebrows to show her disapproval before turning sharply back round to catch her saddle and sling it on the open stable door. He was going to try a heck of a lot harder if he wanted that sort of attention, and if he did turn out to be a complete jerk she wouldn’t have any guilt in deliberately provoking him; which sounded wrong, but Lottie found it quite fun.

Now that her charming new stable neighbour had disappeared into his box she leaned down and removed the boots she had put on Pip - over reach’s on the front, brushing boots on all four legs. It wasn’t like the black mare wasn’t careful, she could just be a little awkward before and after the jump and it would be a shame if she accidentally caught something and lamed herself before the proper circuits even started. She then darted into the stable briefly to find a cooler and threw it over the mare, clipping the front up when she heard that voice. Again. Jesus was he looking for trouble?

With one decisive sweep of her foot she brushed the boots out of the way of the door, startling Pip somewhat then the mare settled again. “Three foot?” She said over her shoulder with smirk, unclipping Pip’s head collar and walked the mare into her stable. Pip waited just long enough for her owner to remove the head gear before stepping eagerly over to her haynet and gave a firm tug at it, the dull object swinging against the wall with a thwacking sound. “Try five and you’re getting warmer.” She added as she stepped out the door, slinging the bridle over her shoulder and bolted the stable shut, keeping one pale hand on top of her saddle in case Pip decided to knock it off.

“That’s at home though. She does about four six on the circuit but she’s only nine so that’s pretty good going.” A pause. “And yours? Does he actually do anything other than prance about?” It was a light hearted question, almost too light hearted for Lottie’s general cold demeanour. Another thump as the net hit the wall again from inside the stable, but she had long lost interest in Pip.

status; done
words; 608
muse; giving up the gun
comments; no problem! xD

[hack]

Chuck was used to being ignored. She was quiet, kept to herself, and rarely cared about being the vast center of attention. She also wasn't one to butt into a conversation; and putting her selective deafness to use, tuned the duo out as she finished Sagan's once-over and moved onto her Paint. The leggy individual had cocked himself completely sideways in the aisle to glare at the gray as he passed, smart enough not to issue a challenge though not quite enough to wipe the insolent look of disgust off his face before Mom caught him. Whacking a finger at his ear, Chuck raised an eyebrow and watched as the gelding whipped his head back around and swung his hindquarters back into an appropriate position, his slender, devilishly pointed ears flipped back toward his skull at the utter dismay of being chastised. Gaww! In public even!

Sagan swung his head over the open dutch door to stare down the aisle at the speaking duo. The gelding was, by Chuck's suspicions of the way he behaved, proud-cut - but was at the moment being amazingly well-behaved. Instead of bellowing back or issuing his own challenge, he stared longingly down at the black warmblood with the aire of puppy love, his ears rotating this way and that as he took in all the sounds and scents of the new barn. New barns weren't new to him. Seasoned track horses were used to change, and lots of it. Flicking her gaze from her own spotted mount to the bald-faced atrocity they called a Thoroughbred she was riding, Chuck shrugged. He'd either do well as a jumper or he'd flop and make a pretty trail horse. He didn't have much personality right now though, at least not one that Chuck cared for. Turning back to her careful dismantlement of Coup's shipping ensemble, the brunette let her mind go blank. Utterly blank. It was fun, zoning out. Now if only she had some greenery. Ahhh...

Three foot? Drifted over to her and she cocked her head, landing solidly back on mother earth. Jumpers, ahh. Now, she and Coup knew a thing about that, didn't they? An appreciative, near silent pat on her Paint's hindquarters as she unbuckled his shipping blanket and carefully folded it. She smirked slightly at the condescension mounting between the two, snorting outright as Lottie replied with her five-foot braggert. Grand Prix heights? The mare looked slick, but Grand Prix? A bit young, perhaps... but who was Charlotte to judge, she'd ridden bigger and younger to puissance heights.

Removing the blanket altogether and gathering up the shipping wraps, she made her obsessive compulsively neat pile, turning Coup into his box and securing the door firmly as she exited. "Sure he does other things, didn't you see him? He screams, bites, and dislocates shoulders like a truly.." (she inserted air quotes here) ".."well-managed" stud should." Chuckling slightly, she gathered up the bulk of her tack and hoisted it onto her shoulder, heading down the aisleway to the unlocked tack trunk lodged safely beside Sagan's box. Depositing her goods, she flipped the lock on the trunk and sat down heavily on the lid, knocking the dust off her paddock boots. "Any particular reason you're keeping that monstrosity a stallion, or do you just enjoy risking your life and everyone around you?" She lipped off, fixating Surly with her utmost dry stare. Hey, she was called 'scary' back home for a reason.

[/size]

OOC - I AM here. I'm sick, but I'm here.