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Post by strawbk on Sept 21, 2010 16:34:26 GMT -8
50 cent beer night for the win. Ben had had a long ass day and was looking forward to winding down. Up at seven and off to work throughout the heat of the day, heat that usually made horses cranky and uncooperative. After taking Jinx for a run and then doing some serious showering, Ben was ready to wind down. His schedule was clear tomorrow morning, so he'd have time for a bit of a lie in. Bring on the beeeeeer.
He'd left his pit bull shadow in his downtown apartment, and headed out on foot to explore the town. After maybe fifteen minutes he'd come to a halfway decent looking pub, and stepped inside. It had a pretty good crowd going for a Thursday, not wall to wall people, but plenty enough that there was the loud buzz of conversation and the staff were kept busy.
Ben found a seat at the bar. "Whatever beer you'd recommend."
[/color] He drawled in his strong accent and nodded to the male bartender who was joking with a couple coworkers. Ben sipped his beer when it arrived. Ooh, that was actually pretty good. He spun his barstool halfway around to take in the crowd at the pub, sipping from his beer occasionally. It seemed to be a pretty diverse group of people. A couple groups ordered food, some were shooting rounds of pool, most seemed to be just winding down after a workday. Nobody was overboard plastered, which was nice, but expected. It was only 9 o'clock, after all. So Bennyboy had some thinking to do. He'd been in Texas about a month, and was still in a situation. He wasn't... avoiding the problems back home, but he didn't really think Australia was the best place for him to be while he sorted them out. There was the problem with his posting. If you're in the air force, why are you scared of a couple gang members, right? WELL UM BEN MAY HAVE BEEN DOING NAUGHTY THINGS THAT THE AIR FORCE WOULDN'T HAVE APPROVED OF. So he didn't exactly have their back there. And he could only play 'family emergency' for so long, so the kiddo had better get working on something. Anyway, by this point we are at Benben, in a bar, looking pretty awesome in a white t-shirt and black shortsleeved button-up, LEFT UNBUTTONED because he was just such a fashionista. Or lazy. Whatever works. He was wearing the usual jeans and dirty leather boots though, which were about the only things that gave away his career with horsey feet. OH HAY, THREE O'CLOCK. Hottie, looking just a tad broody. Ben threw his shoulders back and spun back around to face the bar, motioning to the bartender. "Could you send that lovely lady a pornstar, with my regards?"[/color] Hell yeah Benny, you go crazzay on Thursday nights. {LOL CAN YOU TELL I'M NOT A BIG BEER PERSON?}[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by portia on Sept 23, 2010 7:49:01 GMT -8
 I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES Fifty cent beer. That’s what the chalk board said out in front of the bar. Not necessarily interested as to whether or not she’d be paying a mere fifty cents for her drinks for the night, she barely acknowledged the sign as she walked in and took her place at the bar. The bartender knew her through her habitual appearances, and didn’t even have to ask what she wanted; he simply poured her a glass of Miller Light and slid it to her. Taking small sips she gazed at the TV as it played back slow motion replays of the football game from the night before, the actual noise from the TV could not be heard over the various conversations floating around the room, but she could read the subtitles.
Portia never did like football.
Her dad had loved it, often times when he wasn’t beating her, he made her sit down and watch it with him. Needless to say the sport brought back painful memories that she preferred to keep buried. It reminded her of the days in which she was not in control of everything, where her day-to-day encounters were not regulated by her own desire. Funny, riding racehorses required a degree of no control, simply careening around a track, closing your eyes and hoping for the best. But she liked that sort of ‘no control’ situation, because she knew that somewhere along the lines she could bring the freight training animal to a halt, and that to her was all the control she needed.
Or so she liked to tell herself.
By the time she had finished her first drink, she looked up and to her left at a male voice as it ordered her a ‘pornstar’. The slip in control was a major blow to her routine. Watching as the blue drink was slid her way she grabbed it, but simply stared at it, before looking at the man that had ordered her the drink. Narrowing her eyes, she studied him for a moment. Funny how the only people she never really judged was racetrack people, but pull her outside of the track and horse world and she became the next Simon Cowell of people. For the most part his appearance was pulled together, much like her. She wore a pair of tight jeans, paddock boots, and a tee shirt, her blond hair had been lazily pulled back into a low sitting pony tail, the resulting lock of hair rested over her shoulder.
Portia glanced down at the drink, wrinkling her nose.
Still, it was free, and she was not against free things. Lifting it to her lips she took a sip before putting it down and sliding it slight out of arm’s reach and said,
I can buy my own drinks, thank you.
Chewing on her lip, she figured since she had already gone out of her way to talk to him, she may as well give him her name,
I’m Portia, and you are…?
character;; portia
word count;; O.5oo
reservations;; ---
notes;; EXACTLY 5OO WORDS. BEAST.
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Post by strawbk on Sept 23, 2010 17:16:11 GMT -8
{I HAVEN'T EVEN WRITTEN THIS AND I KNOW IT'LL BE SHIT. JBIEBS WHOOPWHOOP.}
His eyes, the colour of the ocean on a rotten day, followed the drink's path to the blonde. Her expression was enough to bring a grin to his face. Clearly blue slush and rum was not impressing her. Ben tilted his head, watching her sip at the drink as though it was a steaming cup of horse crap. Promptly, she pushed it away and addressed him. He simply threw her a broad smile.
She offered up her name, and he met her eyes. All right. Portia. "Ben,"
[/color] he answered smoothly. "King."[/color] Yahhh, King Ben. He went over her a second time. She was good-looking, dressed pretty casually. Paddock boots like his gave her away. So what was her reason for hanging out alone at the bar with her Miller Light? Obviously she wasn't trying to drink herself into a problem-forgetting haze, not with that thing. Was it a habitual thing? It was always interesting, sussing out why the loners were sitting up there. Sometimes the answers weren't really as exciting as the potential stories you could make up. Like the woman over at the end. Definitely just got left by her husband of five years for someone younger and prettier. She got the mortgage. Then there were the angry drinkers. A quick scan of the pub showed there weren't any of 'em in the house tonight. This woman, Portia, she didn't look mad per se, but she sure as hell didn't look positively delighted to be there. More like she just didn't want to get into conversation with anyone. Then why go to a bar, instead of drinking at home? Ben was intrigued enough to go for the challenge. Hey, what was the harm in trying to get something out of her, right? He didn't have anything to lose. "I can buy my own drinks, thank you." He leaned his torso forward, elbows resting on the cool, polished wood of the bartop. "Why'd you drink it then?"[/color] Fair enough question. Ben tilted his chin openly, and took another swig out of his glass.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by portia on Sept 24, 2010 6:09:42 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES If someone asked Portia why she drank at a bar and not at home, she wouldn’t really be able to answer. A couple years back she had stopped by the Saloon and gotten herself plastered (one of the few times in her life), and it seems she had formed a bond with the bar that night and was having a hard time breaking off the unconventional relationship. She knew full well that she could drink at home, but she assumed that would drop her down to a ‘loser’ status that few people managed to climb their way out of. Sure, she had alcohol at her little house, but she didn’t really ever touch it when she could just come here and drink and be amongst other people drinking.
Looking around though, she figured she was probably not the only one with a lot on her mind.
Her worries were petty, however. Mostly having to do with her horses and how they’d run in the upcoming season, whether or not she’d be able to get a few to qualify for the Kentucky Derby, she was determined to get someone into the triple crown races, and sooner or later she was going to have a horse win all three races and become one of the legends of racing. The world was due for a winner sometime soon, so why not let it be one of her horses? Though, she figured her thoughts weren’t as saddening as some people here, she knew some people were drinking to forget a loved one, to get away from problems, to quite their inhibitions and become the party animal they had always wanted to be.
Being drunk just wasn’t really something Portia enjoyed.
She looked over at the young man that had bought her the drink as he introduced himself. Studying him, she noticed his paddock boots, dirty like hers. His name was not ringing any bells in her memory, so she ruled out the fact that he was in the racing world, and she hadn’t seen him around Crossfire (yet). Still, the large farm was the only one for miles, so he had to have been there a few times. When he inquired as to why she drank his generous present she shrugged and calmly looked at him,
Because it would have been rude if I sent it back to you, but you can have it now if you’d like.
She pushed the drink in his direction a little bit then figured she had already started talking to him, so why not just keep up the conversation?
You ride any?
In reference to his paddock boots, just trying to figure out why she hadn’t seen him before.
character;; portia
word count;; O.451
reservations;; BEN
notes;; fjdskaljfls
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Post by strawbk on Sept 24, 2010 13:16:41 GMT -8
"Because it would have been rude if I sent it back to you, but you can have it now if you’d like." Ben stared at the blue drink. To drink it would be almost taboo. America had that silly rule too, didn't it? Guys can only have beer and hard liquor. Appletinis, daiquiris, and anything colourful, fruity, or slushy was off limits. Screw that, he'd have a pina colada if he damn well pleased, but he wasn't going to go ahead and take the unwanted raspberry cocktail. He'd give her a little longer to come around to the bold offering.
Did he ride any? Straight answer, no. Ben took a moment to consider the question, and tried to remember the last time he'd been on a horse. It'd have been a bit over a month ago, in Melbourne. It had just been a laid back trail ride with a friend who wasn't into horses. Doubt she got into it. Nah, definitely not. She'd been a big city girl. Having a massive, sweaty beast with a mind of its own between her legs had been a bit much, understandably. Ben was no prodigy himself, to be fair. He hadn't gotten up on the back of a horse until he was almost fourteen, and although he wasn't a fantastic rider, he did like to think he had some skill in the saddle. He could stay on through most things, whatever that was worth. Now, did he have the patience, finesse, and talent to take a horse to grand-prix dressage? Absolutely not.
He did have an affinity with the equine race. He got them. He liked them for what they were. "Used to."
[/color] For a moment he thought of Holly, the little palomino mare he'd been so fond of back in Australia. Ben wasn't one to fuss and worry, even if he did miss the little mare. She was perfectly happy to be a lesson pony for the rest of her life, and he knew she didn't miss him one bit, not with all the attention she got from preteen girls starting their love-affair with horses. "Just got a bag of bones from Mexico though. Used to be a track pony, apparently."[/color] Yeah, that was definitely one of his smarter decisions in life. Impulse buying some shitbag horse from Mexico because he thought the gelding was 'interesting'. Life choices for the win, Benna. "I don't reckon he's something I'd want to sit on, though."[/color] Turning his face back to Portia, he nodded down at her worn leather boots. "I'm assuming you do?"[/color] How cliché was this? Ben, although depressingly sober, was in his element, but Portia clearly was not. Hey, chatting up strange horsefolk in a bar can't be everyone's cup of tea, can it? He flashed her a grin, draining his beer. "Got any horses up at Crossfire?"[/color] It was the only main barn in the area, so Ben figured it only logical that if she did have a few beasties of her own, that's where they'd be kept.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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Post by portia on Sept 26, 2010 16:19:40 GMT -8
I FEEL SO SMALL SOMETIMES Horses are a breed apart, aren’t they? Though, ask any dog, cat, snake, or other animal enthusiast and they’ll tell you that the animal they are in charge of has more personality than any other species they’ve come across. However, Portia always had to disagree with people, she believed that horses had more personality than any other creature, so few working animals had such a nature. Sure, the sheep dog had its plus sides, but she was a bigger horse person than she was dog. For her, training and being in charge of more than 10 fussy creatures was almost like running a child’s daycare center –tedious and exhausting.
Still, she loved her job and that was that.
Portia looked at the man as he spoke of once riding horses. Portia had ridden horses for a good deal of her young life, she found it hard to not work with them, even though they drove her crazy on some days. She shifted in her seat as he spoke of recently buying a horse from Mexico. Portia had acquired a couple horses from Mexican clients, contrary to the popular stereotype, the horses had arrived in better condition than some of the two year olds arrived in. However, just because they looked pretty did not mean they would run well.
And they didn’t.
A few races in, they started to place last in everything she entered them in, no amount of training, stamina training, and breezing could boost them, it was painfully obvious that two promising horses, sent to a promising trainer, had failed. Her first (perhaps among many more to come) failures, and they had settled badly in her stomach. While she made a personal oath to never touch anything meant for the racing world from Mexico, her personal experience did not stop others from purchasing such animals from across the border. Ben mentioned that his bag of bones was something he probably didn’t want to sit on, she shrugged and said,
Well, I can’t imagine you’d want to sit on the horse, by the sounds of it. Though, if you knew it’d not be the best, why’d you buy it?
Decisions starring lack of sense always confused her.
The bartender noticed her absence of drink, and he figured it was time for a new one, so he slid her a ‘usual’ her way. She gratefully picked it up and sipped on it, mulling over everything that had happened that day. One of her client’s horses had pulled up lame, possibly an abscess or a stone bruise, but her client had blamed the lameness on her, so that had put a damper on her mood for the rest of the day, she didn’t like it when her clients yelled at her, she was rather mild-mannered and disliked confrontation most of the time (yelling was out of her box). When Ben asked her if she had any horses at Crossfire, she suddenly felt at ease, in her element for the first time of the night, the one thing she could proudly speak of.
I do, I only own four horses, but I am one of the race trainers there, and I babysit thirteen horses total.
character;; portia
word count;; O.533
reservations;; ---
notes;; fldsajlfkjsa
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Post by strawbk on Oct 1, 2010 9:04:58 GMT -8
Why had he bought the scruffy bay horse? It was no labour of love, it wasn't that he'd found some broken animal and wanted to save it. The horse had saved himself, that much was obvious. He couldn't honestly say he felt a connection with the animal either, not like he did with his dog Jinx, or with Holly, his filly back in Tasmania. "He just... he'd earned his ticket to life."
[/color] He'd just left it at home, and nobody believed him. Ben didn't even like the horse's attitude, but he'd still felt compelled to get him out of the rough situation he'd been in. It was the kind of horse that would have done great in the wild. Sensible, surefooted, a good sense of self-preservation. He didn't need anyone. And as much as not being needed made him want to be needed, Ben knew it wasn't fair to change to stoic gelding. The horse was doing just fine the way he was. "Figured I'd just let him live it."[/color] On that note, Ben reminded himself to check and see how legal it was to, you know... just sort of 'forget' your horse in California, or Nevada, or somewhere with wild horsies. No point fussing about that now though. Portia was answering his question. Four horses of her own. The thought of the bills almost made him want to wince, but then she went on to say she had a total of 13 in her care. Damn, that'd be a lot of work. "Pretty impressive, I know I couldn't handle that many."[/color] Guess it's a good thing you're not a trainer then. Ben. Something she'd said moments earlier registered in his brain just then. Race trainer. Now that was not someone you met every day. Eagerly, he leaned forward on his stool. "How do you find it? I mean, I don't know a bloody thing about racing, but it always looks so, ..."[/color] He waved one hand in a vague gesture. "Exciting."[/color] Yes, that'd be a good word for it. Selectively bred horses running in a circle at breakneck speed. It was the races that made the big money though, the races that got so much publicity. It was an ancient sport, and one even non-horse-people could find interesting. {Better late than never?}[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] |
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