[open] Hit the dirt

[martin]

Like most fall days, it was cool, but not overly so. While a t-shirt wouldn't quite cut it anymore, a light jacket would do to keep you warm. On days like these, the stable was always quite busy. From bushing blanketed horses to going on a trail ride to working in the arena, there were people everywhere you looked. Everyone wanted to take advantage of the nice weather, despite the cold of the fall. One of those people was Shane Martin... though the ever silent boy was there very nearly every day despite what the weather might be. He knew his horse was hardy enough to endure any weather, and he loved his horse enough to want to be there every day, not to mention the young animal would get a little ornery if he wasn't worked on a daily basis.

Today had been a rather rough day for him at school. Even though he was a senior, he was often the victim of "bullies" because of his lack of athleticism and shyness. Today was one of those days when he was. There was a group of about ten new guys that had gotten kicked out of their last school and sent here, and they were already starting a reign of terror. Shane had managed to avoid them all week, and since today was Friday, he was certain he would be able to go all five days without getting picked on... unfortunately, he was wrong. He'd stayed away from them all day, but as he was heading to math class... the last class of the day, they caught up to him. He ignored any and all taunts they called out at his back as he walked down the hall... he was used to them... and he couldn't say anything back anyway.

Of course, not knowing that he was incapable of verbal response, the guys were rather annoyed with his silence. They took pleasure out of other people's pain and a verbal response was the best way to tell when they were hitting a nerve... but Shane just said nothing. Finally one of the guys grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and planted a fist in Shane's ribs, sending the eighteen year old reeling back. Of course, there was still no verbal response or even a sound... sure the pain registered in his expression, but they wanted more than that. Just before they could descend on him though, a teacher came down the hall, and noticing the rather suspicious group of football player sized guys surrounding Shane proceeded over to ask if everything was alright.

Not wanting trouble, Shane just nodded his response, and after hesitating a moment the teacher moved on down the hall. Before he was gone from view though, Shane scratched out "the pen is mightier than the sword" on a Post-It Note and stuck it to the leader's chest and slipped past them and down to his math class. He knew he'd just pissed them off more, but even though he couldn't talk, he was still a guy, and he took pride in coming out of that with nothing more than an ugly bruise on his ribs... not to mention probably pissing them off even more with what he'd "written." So he might have made an enemy... what was one more to add to the list of people who would come after him just because he was different from everyone else? He was used to it, and it had very little effect on him anymore.

As soon as school was out, he made a beeline for the parking lot to avoid another confrontation, and headed for the stable, where no one would bother him. As soon as the light bay mustang saw Shane a low and boisterous nicker rumbled in the horse's throat in greeting to his silent companion. That "adorable" smile turned up the corners of Shane's mouth as he stepped up to the horse and placed his hands on either side of the animal's face, conveying through touch what most people would have spoken. Life was a lot harder when you couldn't speak, but he didn't have to worry about that when he was with the horse.

After a moment or two, Shane grabbed the halter and lead rope and slipped the halter on the horse's head, and lead him out of his stall down to the cross ties, where he clipped the horse in and hurried off to go get his brushes. Today was the day to try out the tack. Sure, he could ride the horse around bareback easily, but trying to put tack on a mustang was a whole different story. He returned shortly after, and set about brushing the horse's extremely fluffy winter coat. He had tried blankets on Dublin before, but the horse despised them and always just ruined them... besides, he was tough, he could live through winters in a nice warm barn quite easily. Dublin was definitely good for Shane, he gave him someone to talk to without having to write everything down. Horses understood silence a lot more than they usually understood words.

It didn't take long to get the horse brushed and tacked. He spent so much time with the horse that he was almost always spotless, and he tended to be a pretty tidy horse anyway. As soon as that was done he took him out to the arena which was currently unoccupied, and got on the horse. None of the jumps were set very high since, although Dublin had proved he was capable of jumping plenty high, he was only four and Shane wanted to bring him along slowly and let him mature before really jumping him. After a brief warmup he started him over a small vertical at a trot, which he cleared without really having to jump at all. Feeling good, though, and a little frisky with the cool air, he grabbed the bit, gave a bit of a crow hop, and jumped into a canter for a few strides before Shane pulled him up to halt. A few more times over the small vertical, then they moved on to jumping a little bigger at a canter. The pair came down the gently bending line smoothly and without incidence... until a few strides after the second jump his four year old clumsiness came out and he seemed to trip over his own hooves without any sort of warning just about going to his knees and trying valiantly to save his rider and himself, but it was to no avail. Before Shane could really even react at all, he found himself in the dirt staring up at his tall bay horse who had stopped as soon as he Shane had been unseated and he had caught himself and gotten back on all four feet again, looking horribly guilty, despite the fact that he hadn't intended to make his rider fall.

After a brief moment or two, Shane just smiled and pulled himself up onto his feet, and grabbing the reins which had come over Dublin's head along with Shane. Falling off was definitely a part of a rider's life, and it had never once bothered him, though Dublin looked horrified every time as if he expected something horrible to come of it. If Shane could have spoken he would have been saying something along the lines of "For such a fancy horse you sure are one heck of an oaf." But somehow, whether or not it was true, he always felt like the horse just knew everything he was thinking... he needed that comfort, to know that there was some living creature that understood him without having to write anything... even if it was just a horse that had no way of responding. That was why he loved Dublin as much as he did, he needed him.

[kerli]

Riding was such a bitch after a hangover.

It was her fault, there was no reason to have gotten wasted on a Thursday night, but it was merely the fact that Vika had nothing else to do. Her sister had gotten back to the apartment late that night to find Vika quite literally stuck in the bath singing along to ‘I’ve Got the Power’ on the evening show of some radio station. Understandably, Vika was in the doghouse the next day. It sounded like something out of a bad comedy, but it was her everyday life. She knew she had to get a job, but as what? She really couldn’t see herself stacking shelves or behind the counter at some mundane department store. Alternatively if she was more like Alice she could have worked her way up, but that meant effort.

As part of her punishment she had to sort out her sister’s horse too. So grumbling, complaining and trying to pull off her ‘I-am-ill-and-cannot-possibly-do-work’ act (it didn’t work) Vika reluctantly started up the car and pulled out onto the road towards the yard. She hadn’t worked Magpie in three days and was dreading it. The piebald gelding was fizzy enough after a mere day off let alone getting on for half a week. Vika sighed and took the turnoff for the farm. It was going to be a fantastically crap afternoon.

The roads were busy, kids were coming out of school and the like. Vika really wasn’t academic. Creative stuff yes, but any kind of arithmetic or literature and she was hopeless. It was bordering on embarrassing, but she had never had any interaction with someone outside of school where logic or intelligence came into it, sadly enough. She took the turning for the stables and received a beep from the person behind, she hadn’t bothered to signal. Craning round to look out her window Vika gave a gesture, before rumbling down to the stables, parking hap-hazard and turned the engine off. Better late than never.

The horses were out, and she decided to leave them there whilst she did her jobs. Vika went about mucking out the stable, changing the waters and filling up Magpie’s haynet in a trancelike state, the notions were too familiar to even think about. She had always been near horses even as a young child, but not one as bolshy as the piebald. He must have been a wife beater in a past life or something; that pony could be downright dangerous, and a downright cheap buy too.

Once both horses’ stables were done Vika slung the head collars over her shoulder and meandered out to the field, squinting slightly against the light. She didn’t try to call them, her voice was not up to it, and simply opened the gate and let herself in. The sound of the latch caught Magpie’s attention immediately. He glanced up, ebony ears pricked at the sight of his owner, and leapt into a headlong gallop down the field. He kicked his heels up in a spine breaking buck just to emphasise his enthusiasm and slammed on the brakes at a short distance, flecking Vika’s boots and jeans in a light dusting of mud and gouging long tears of grass out where he had halted. “God’s sake you nutter.” She said, half affectionately, reaching out to press her slim hand against the gelding’s nose before he jerked it away in impatience. Magpie had no time for sentimental chat.

The other gelding glanced up with mild interest and walked slowly over, his honest eyes widening as Magpie snapped at the taller horse, demanding the most attention. Vika cautiously stepped past her piebald and approached the chestnut, giving him a pat on his neck before reaching up on tiptoe to do up his head collar. Paris was well over sixteen hands, making it near impossible for Vika to halter him. He was a complete gentleman and stayed still for her to do up the buckles and gently nosed at the pockets of her jacket for any treats. He was so laid back, it was easy to see why her sister bought him. Keeping Paris’ lead rope in one hand, Vika edged towards the paint and with some struggle, managed to get a head collar on him. Magpie objected strongly, tossing his head in the air with some added eyeball rolling for effect. He could have cantered off with the girl clinging to the end of his rope, but he knew getting his dinner was out of the question that way.

With some difficulty, she led them both in, throwing the chesnut’s lead rope over his neck as he calmly walked into his stable and attended to his hay. Once Magpie was tied up outside Vika entered Paris’ stable, changing his outdoor rug for a thick warm one before shutting the door and turning her attention to the other gelding. There was a large hole in the side of his rug from a previous encounter, and once she had removed it, he had somehow managed to get thick mud almost everywhere apart from his back and the top of his hindquarters. Vika sighed, throwing her head back in exasperation, her long dark hair pirouetting downwards. It wasn’t her day.

She was tempted to hose him down, but decided it was too cold and reached for a sturdy curry comb instead. If she was going to ride there was no way she could clean off all this mud. Deciding to just focus on where the tack went she scoured his shoulders and belly until the black and white pattern of his coat was traceable once more before attacking his face with the brush. The mud had matted into his forelock, giving the impression of dreadlocks. With a small grin she brushed it out, picked out his feet and went off in the direction of a saddle, bridle and a hat.

She got herself ready first, then returned with his tack. Magpie watched his owner as she settled the saddle on his back, before giving an exaggerated sigh and puffed out his barrel. Vika narrowed her eyes at the gelding as she reached for the girth, struggling against the pony as she just managed to do it up to the first hole. The bridle came next, and the trick with Magpie was to do it before he realised what had happened. He snorted and protested, champing hard on the bit and shook his head around but she clung on grimly until the buckles were done up and taking the gelding’s reins firmly in one hand, headed for the outdoor ring; it looked a lot calmer than the hectic indoor school.

There was only one other person in there, a boy jumping a flashy looking bay. Vika got Magpie quickly into the school and set about running down the stirrups and checking his girth, feeling lower by the minute. She looked a state herself, heavy lidded eyes, scruffy jeans that has a hole in the knee and her hair stuck out in untamed wisps under her hat. Magpie was simply Magpie - a rather scruffy looking pony, gypsy coloured (under the mud) with a cheeky expression. His mane was unpulled, trailing down in pathetic tendrils and his thick winter coat gave him a falsely cute appearance. Vika mounted, taking the reins up quickly before the piebald got any ideas and found her stirrups quickly. Magpie spun round on his stocky hindquarters, impatient to get going.

Vika asked for a working walk, keeping on a circle to stay out of the way of the jump. Magpie stuck his head between his knees and jogged impatiently. Despite his height, his bulkiness made Vika look painfully small on him. He skittered as the bay went past, pinning his ears and took it as an opportunity to bunny hop the next few steps. Giving up on trying to be cool, Vika pushed for a trot, which he happily obliged, thundering round their circle as if he was limbering up for the Grand National. She sighed and sat still, hoping that this would wear him down after a while and they could work properly.

This was until she heard the stumble of a horse, and the sound of someone’s body hitting the ground and assumed it was the boy she was sharing the arena with.

Pulling Magpie round a little sharply on the reins she could see him getting to his feet and finding the horse’s reins. So he wasn’t dead, that was always her biggest worry. When someone cried out after a fall it usually wasn’t so bad, it was when there was a silence things turned for the worse; which was why Vika had been momentarily worried. Still, it would be considerate to go and see if he was alright. Hoping that Magpie would behave himself just once, she walked the gelding over to the other combination, halting out of kicking range from the other horse. Magpie pinned his ears and made a face at the bay, before snorting noisily.

“Are you okay? I can go for help if you’re hurt.” Vika called out to the stranger, her eyes quickly scanning for any obvious injuries. There were none, but it was always to be on the safe side. Slightly, ironic, coming from her.

status; complete
tag; shane
words; 1557
muse; the power
comments; sorry i hope you don't mind, i just had a lot of muse for her >.<

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[martin]

After a few moments, the adrenaline of falling started to die down and the pain started to wear through it. It was nothing serious, just enough to make him not want to get back on, as was often the case when someone fell... but like everyone else, he knew he had to get back on whether he liked it or not. So far, he'd been lucky enough to never get seriously hurt by falling but that wasn't really much of a surprise when you considered how easy going Dublin was. Shane was fairly sure Dublin didn't even know how to buck.

He brushed the dust off his jeans and was just about to get back on when he heard the voice of someone behind him who he hadn't really even realized was in the arena with him. He turned and looked over at her and her horse which looked none too friendly. He wasn't sure how to respond to her. On the first part, the answer was yes, he was alright, but on the second part the answer was no, he didn't need her to go for help... but he couldn't very well just nod and shake his head at the same time, it just wouldn't make any sense. He was fairly sure she could tell that he was alright considering he was on his feet and all... but you could never be too sure. He never really knew how people were going to react to his inability to communicate, but he really couldn't avoid interacting with people if he wanted to continue riding.

He decided to just respond to the second part of what she had said. Surely she knew he was alright. He just shook his head and offered a slightly meek smile before flipping the reins over Dublins's head, moved over to the horse's side and pulled himself up into the saddle a little stiffly. Of course, Dublin stayed perfectly still, watching the other horse curiously, but making no attempt to move either towards or away from him. Shane spent to much time with Dublin that it was possible the four-year-old was one of the most well mannered horses in the barn. He was never pushy or rude, and was an absolute saint under saddle and with ground manners. He would probably make a fantastic lesson horse once he was a little less clumsy and had a little more show experience, but considering how attached they were to each other, and Shane's inability to speak, the odds of him ever giving him up to be a lesson horse or teaching lessons on him were very slim.

Once he was in the saddle, he looked back over at the girl, hoping she didn't take offense to his lack of saying anything. On occasion some people misunderstood and were offended when he didn't say something in response, but there was nothing he could do to fix it. He wanted so badly to be able to communicate with people without having to write it down or some up with some sort of bizzarre hand signals. Unfortunately, that would never happen. Even if someone did someday come up with some surgery to make it so people like him could speak, he probably wouldn't want it. He'd lived this way so long that even just the idea of actually having a voice was a little... well, out of this world for him. He couldn't really even comprehend what that would be like. What he really needed were people who treated him like being unable to speak was nothing out of the ordinary, that way he could be content with who he was and stop wishing he could be someone else.