Dirty Little Beggar {Blaise/Carlee}

[donte4]

IGNACIO LUZ PORFIRIO
SOME SURVIVE TO LIVE WELL, SOME HARDLY LIVE TO SURVIVE

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The horse walked casually in the mid day heat, his hooves almost dragging along the tarmacked road. His head hung low and his lip was droopy and soft. The rider on top didn't have a much of a different appearance. His back was curved and he held the reins loosely in a limp hand. The other hand hung by his side, resting on his thigh. This one was mangled, covered with scars and missing a finger. The one holding the reins was his good hand, only a couple of cuts here and there. His legs went down into the stirrups, with not much length. The young lad only stood at about 5"10 but on his 15.3hh horse he seemed to match him just right. His heels had a relaxed manner about them, effortlessly kept pointing down. There didn't seem to be much wrong with his legs, if you could see them under his faded dreams you'd see scars and bruising, and if you went to the bone you'd see multiple fractures as a result of living without care. Overall this boy could have been handsome,without the mangling scars torturing his body and face. His face was probably the worst, it's the first thing you see, no one would probably look at his mangled hand, or the fact that he limped, not if they were so concentrated on his face. The biggest scar, it ran from the corner of his eye down and across his face to the tip of his nose. Like he was a page on dot to dot. It didn't bother him, but it so obviously bothered other people. It was deep, and it still was red, like a typical horror movie scar. It had been a bit of a horror how he got it. He fell off his mount when cows started stampeding, he fell under their feet.His horse then leapt over him, to follow the cattle in a daze of panic, catching his face with it's hind shoe and ripping into his face. He suffered many broken bones that day but the cut on his face was the worse injur he had.


As the unlikely duo plodded down the road, Ignacio could see a sign in the distance, not that he could read it from where he was. And I say unlikely because they very much are.This horse that he was riding had been taken to nationals in the show jumping circuit, whereas Ignacio had learnt to ride just when he was 12 and had ridden western for most of those years. Until he acquired this horse at a cheap $70. He was expecting something to be wrong with this horse, but he had been proved wrong. His old owner simply had lost all his money gambling and the horse was so cheap due to his age. At only 14 years old Ignacio didn't think it was even old. The sprightly anglo-arab still had a lot of bounce in it as he proved many times. Sometimes he heaved a bit of excitement into the horses life and as they spent nights out under the stars he would set out a couple of jumps for the next morning before they headed off again. These jumps usually consisted of broken tree branches or old rusty barrels. But they were the perfect challenge for Ignacio, as he really had never jumped before. It was safe to say the pair got along incredibly well, but time was edging by and Ignacio really needed to find a place to work and to keep his horse. Even at this young age he was aware that he couldn't live off air his whole life. Then the sign drew nearer, it read 'Crossfire Farm' He peeked curiously around the bend, which had a track leading up to the farm. His eyes nearly poked out of his head. The place was enourmous. He could see at least three barns from where he was standing, all pretty damn big. And he could see three schooling rings too. Surely they wouldn't want some toe ragged little beggar working there and ruining their image? He'd learnt a while ago tat if you don't ask you don't get, so that's what he was going to do.



He quickly dismounted his horse, feeling the need to change. He hurriedly changed his jeans, from the ones that had rips and dirt on them, to the clean fresh ones in his back pack. Then he whipped off his shirt, revealing his tanned dark skin and his muscles and replaced it with a checked shirt he normally used to go to church in. But he needed to look smart and presentable enough. He put his cowboy boots back on. And expertly re-mounted his horse. He nudged Tor forwards,up the lane. His eyes scanned around him, pretty much in pure awe of the place. It was nothing like he'd ever seen before. He could see a racing barn, race horses being walked and cooled down. He'd never seen a racehorse up close before. Him and a few friends when they were younger and still living in Mexico had sneaked past the barbed wire which separated his little slum of a village from the track. They had crossed through streams and leaped the 6ft wall, blocking the view of the slums. Just in time for the start bell. There was still a fence separating the track from the kids but it was close enough. They watched as the horses thundered past, pretending that they had won the betting, the kids had flailed around and whooped for joy. Then as soon as they had arrived they disappeared.


Soon enough Ignacio had reached what seemed like the car-park of this grand centre. Immediatly he once again dismounted and asked his horse to walk forward. It was luck, today he had shoes on, he either had these or his sunday best and when he wasn't working, going to church or riding, he had no shoes on at all. That was so he could keep his sunday best's his best and his cowboy boots at least intact. Without a mother to buy things for him, he had to struggle on his own. And you could clearly see that struggle. His clothes looked like he had been pulled right from the 1950's, they were battered and faded, nothing like the modern clothing of today. Plus he only really had three of each thing in his backpack. Three t-shirts, three shirts, three pairs of jeans and three pairs of underwear. He also had a suit for smart occasions, a jumper and a leather jacket. That was all. He didn't wear socks, he had no need for them. Also slung on his back was his faithful guitar, and his dog ever faithfully trotting at his horses heels. The dog had now come up by his heels, the mutt looking up at him. The dog was very useful, if he could catch a rabbit he would, which would probably be his only source of food. The horse was lucky, there was plenty of grass around, but Ignacio had to stretch himself. He'd taught himself how to go days without food and then have a little bit. It saved him money, and you couldn't buy much with $6 a week. So he often simply brought bread and butter. Which was what his main diet ever was, whenever he had the spare money and whenever it was cheap he'd buy his dog some proper dog food, only a small bag, but enough to keep him going for a week or two. This is why he needed a job, winter was coming and if he didn't find a place to work, he'd find it hard to stay alive. Plus his money fund was running out. He had just $8 left.



Unsure of what to do, he walked up to the barn. He threw the reins at his horse, he moved his head but didn't do anything. The horse stood stock still, knowing what that order meant. He hung his head and cocked a back leg, his eyes closing as his master left him. "Reuben, vaya se sientan!" He ordered his dog, pointing at the horses feet. Although he was scared to go in alone, he didn't want his dog distracting him, or frightening other horses and ruining his chances. Obediently the dog padded back over to where the horse was standing and sat down by his feet. Uncomfortable he lay down, in the shadow that the horse created, resting his head onto his paws. Ignacio looked back down the isle of the barn. "Hola, excúseme es cualquier persona aquí?" His Spanish tones spilled out into the empty barn. He was Mexican yes, and most of where he came from spoke Spanish, it wasn't exactly native but it wasn't the indigenous language that the Spanish themselves spoke. It had a few tweaked words here and there and obviously had a much more Mexican twang to it then the original version. Patiently Ignacio waited to be acknowledged, standing just outside of the barn. Jeeze it was hot here, but he didn't really notice, he was used to working in much harsher and warmer temperatures then this. It was either freezing cold and snowing, or like working in a desert.




ooc;;
notes;; he has arrived!
wearing;; Outfit
translations;;
1) Reuben, go sit!
2) Hello, excuse me, is anyone here?

[ashie]

OOC: UMUMUM. do you want Blaise AND Carlee?

[donte4]

ooc;; blaise would be best xD

[blaise]

nothing ever lasts forever

Slowly but surely, Blaise was healing. His broken leg and various cracked ribs had finally fully healed, and the stitches in his chest had been removed. His doctor had yet to give him full permission to jump, but he was given the green light to ride a horse he felt safe on. With a plethora of half ton beasts to choose from, he picked his trusty Olympic mount; the only horse he’d trust with his life and health. After all, he now had a child to think of and stay alive for. There was no way in heaven or hell that anyone could get him to leave Grace to raise their child all alone. It just wasn’t his nature. Sure, his father had been a sleaze who cared very little about what children he fathered so long as the sex was good, but Blaise had had enough time to experience the love of a parent through the heart of his mother.

She taught him the tenderness between parent and child.

Shame his father had been so reckless and was still mostly unaware that she was dead, living under the deluded impression that the woman had taken off and never bothered to call. But what was Blaise to expect from the man? Marcellus Garcia was someone who had divorced from his original wife to marry a well off American woman, someone who was so inactive in his son’s life that he still didn’t have any idea that he had fathered an equestrian Olympian. For the first few years of parental neglect after his mother died, Blaise had a hard time dealing with the lack of attention, but quickly numbed the pain and put all his efforts into his riding, driven and determined to snatch back his father’s attention away from the over-priced boobs and hourglass figure of his new wife.

When he got to the Olympics, no such thing came.

Patting the stallion on the neck, the pair wandered back from the trails after a few good hours of simply wandering around. It had felt good to ride again, good to connect with his partner once more. He had missed out on the last show, and was dying inside to get back in the ring and remind everyone who the top rider of Crossfire really was (so long as he didn’t show up his old Olympic coach he was good). Entering the barn he slowly slid off and walked Freeze into the crossties and began to untack him when he heard one of the horses out in pasture whinny loudly followed by the sounds of hundreds of hoof beats running to the road, the sudden commotion even had the older stallion interested, he perked his head up and looked out towards the parking lot and road.

Sighing and dropping the brush in his hand, Blaise feared that a horse had gotten on the road.

What he was not expecting to see was a dirty Mexican boy with a dog, horse, and dusty, tattered clothes standing in the parking lot of Crossfire Farms. The young man looked hopelessly out of place standing like a homeless man in the midst of high dollar horses and cars. He was not too interested until he heard him speak. It had been a long time since Blaise had been forced to speak his native tongue. Screwing up his face as he slowly worked to decipher what the man asked he said,
Sí, estoy aquí. ¿Usted hablar inglés?
So far so good, he did not know he still was able to talk so fluently. Perhaps it was just like riding a bike. Looking at the horse he couldn’t help but feel like he had seen the animal somewhere, frowning he nodded in the direction of the horse,
Es que su caballo o no tomar él?

Ok, maybe he was accusing the boy of stealing the high dollar horse.

It was ok, though. The two men had the same skin color, so it couldn’t be racism if he was discriminating someone of his own race. Gazing at the boy he wondered why the hell he felt like he was looking into a mirror into the past, the young man looked a lot like he did when he was younger; thin, gangly, lacking muscle. The only thing that was different was that this boy’s face was marred, while his was flawless. Deciding that he was not going to get shot he held out his hand and stepped forward,
Mi llamo Blaise. ¿Cuál es su nombre y qué le trae aquí?

---

character;; BLAISE
word count;; O.761
reservations;; IGNACIO
notes;; WOOHOO FOR USING A TRANSLAOTR.
’Yes, I am here, do you speak English?’
’Is that your horse or did you take him?’
’My name is Blaise. What is your name and what brings you here?’

[donte4]

IGNACIO LUZ PORFIRIO
SOME SURVIVE TO LIVE WELL, SOME HARDLY LIVE TO SURVIVE

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He didn't have to wait long, soon a man appeared at the barn entrance, and it surprised Ignacio. Not the fact that he was quick to reply. He expected that, there was going to of course be someone around. But what surprised him was his skin tone, his surprising likeness to himself. He hadn't really seen himself as a person, possibly looked as he was riding past shop windows, but this was different. As if he was looking into the future. Maybe he was just going off his head with delusion from the heat. And then the man spoke, Ignacio could see the clogs working in his brain, trying to get the correct words out. Did he speak English? He'd never been asked that question before. He could, he could speak a little. He'd never been properly taught how to speak the language and most of it was broken but he could get his message across. He had learnt by copying the old men from the ranch, trying to engage in their conversations wasn't exactly one of his past times but he realised he needed to speak at least some if her were to connect with the American people. "Si, I-I speak English, Sir." He replied, his voice straining to make the words out correctly. It was a little edgy and broken but, it was English nonetheless. Then what the Mexican said next made him defensive.


He had been accused of stealing many times, basically all his life. Every time he brought something or acquired something new he was always asked if it was stolen. And every time he always replied with a resounding no. His mother had tried to encourage him to steal when he was young, but he just could never do it. He lived in the slums and heck, everyone was just as poor as the next person, so how was it fair to steal off someone who was struggling to make a living themselves. The family barely scraped through on a meal a day, if that, mainly containing just beef rice. Or soya beans. On a birthday Ignacio was expected to save up any money he found or earned working for a rich white man and go to the market. There he would buy a small type of bird and he was then expected to kill, pluck it and give it to his mother to cook. That would be the birthday meal, fowl and rice. At Christmas it was more of a communal thing, everyone would chip in a couple of their hard earned pennies and the slums on the same street would buy a chicken or something of the like and cook it with all kinds of beans and such. This chicken was expected to feed about 30-40 people. Most of the children didn't earn the luxury to actually eat the chicken, just the smell was tantalizing enough. One Christmas his mother was feeling too ill to eat and so had given her share of chicken to Ignacio and her other son, Jason. The two boys were about to gobble down the amazing food when an elderly man from the slums accused them of stealing the piece from him. Even though his mother knew the true story Ignacio had still been slapped across the face and sent to their living quarters. He naively thought that would be that and went to go to bed. His mother awoke him, and left him with the elderly guy (Mr Machino) and rejoined the party. It was safe to say he didn't sleep well that night, his back ridden with red, sore, welts from the man's belt. Ignacio made sure that he would never steal, nor would he even take anything that he might get accused of stealing for. "No, no sir, I buy him. Con my own dinero, sir." He replied, looking over to his horse.



The terrible beatings of course didn't stop there. It was obviously acceptable for this old man to deliver punishment when he felt like it, most of the time making up stories of Ignacio stealing pears from his tree, or that he threw rocks at his dog. All lies. Again his mother knew they were lies, she knew her son, but her reputation got her nowhere in the hierarchy of the slums. And so simply had to hand over her child to be punished for his crimes. After his 7th birthday he learnt not to cry or scream when these beating occured, it was best to stay quiet and take it like a man. He had to grow up quickly. His brother Jason never got punished with him, for the fact that he was too young and also he was the favourite child of his mother. Even though Ignacio earned a couple of dollars a week, which he was expected to put in the family jar, he believed it was because of his father. Even though his mother never spoke of him, this told him that she deeply loathed the man. He had heard but once the mention that he was of the 'Garcia' family. But he had nothing else, except that he didn't live in the country. So Ignacio never even hoped that he would meet his father. Often he dreamed that he was a fancy Mexican man, living in a big house with running water and plenty of food. The thoughts always used to make his stomach rumble at night, but still he thought about it. He thought about how it would be to be in a family which loved him and cared for him. He didn't feel out of place exactly, but most of his friends had father and mothers to go home to. Most of the time when he left for home, he had his little brother to take care of and then go to bed. Knowing full well that his mother wouldn't be home until the late hours of the morning when he was already up and working again for the white man. He had to clean his house and do his gardening, he lived in a big mansion up on the hill, with green grass all around it and big heavy duty gates blocking anyone's entrance. His mother had gotten him the job after she serviced him and heard that he needed a working lad. So she sent him there when he was six and he worked there for five years until the man moved out and new owners came, already having servants they had no need for Ignacio. This made the family even poorer, his mother having to work even more dangerously. Which lead to her death. He knew she was dead as soon as she didn't arrive home by 2pm to feed them. He knew. He didn't go to the police, in fact he only heard the news that a Mexican prostitute was dead through word of mouth. That was his mother. He wasn't visited by police or social services instead he was left considered unimportant. This was when he was 12, he had to find a new place to stay and work.



He found a place, which took him on for a while before he came here. It was good there, he was not paid but he was allowed a meal a day and was allowed a stable. He lived in the stable, with his brother. And when he had a meal he always saved most of it for his growing brother. The meals were better then he'd ever had but still they were poor. The ranch was going bust and needed all the free help they could get. All their children were under 7 years of age and not much use working on the yard. But Ignacio was big and strong enough to work with the cattle. And although he'd never even seen a horse up close before, he was expected to ride out with the rest of the men daily. Years of sitting in the saddle he became a good rider and he was expected to look after the horses as well as the cattle. Although even in America, the beatings did not leave. If ever a horse was left tried up for too long, or a stable not mucked out in time he was beaten. Again with the belt,a nd again they never laid a hand on his brother. He was also allowed to go to the local school when he had the chance. And when they say go, it meant attend and see what happened. Most of the time he was not allowed to sit in the class room. The class room was deserving of the white children, no Mexicans. Instead he was to sit outside of the building and the window would be opened for him and he could listen in on the lessons. But not watch or join in. He was often beaten there too, the teacher would accuse him of not listening and take the ruler to his face, hand or ribs. Ignacio accepted this. Just as he accepted the accusation of stealing this horse.



As the man held out his hand, he flinched a little, expecting him to lash out across his face or something. But he did not, he wanted a hand shake. His tanned hand hovered in the air for a while before Ignacio took it and quickly shook his hand. "I Ignacio. I look for a job? Sir." He questioned, his English still broken. He dropped the man's hand, physical contact wasn't his thing, unless it was in a violent way towards him. He'd only ever hugged his brother once, when he had to leave him back at the cattle ranch. Then he looked back to the Mexican, Blaise. His name was Blaise. And almost as if to back up what he said he added "I good with horses, puedo muck them out, groom, errr walk?" He stated. He could truly do all these things, he just didn't know how to say it. He was pretty good on the ground too, having to muck out horses with a set time limit or face the belt was enough motivation for anyone. He waited awkwardly, he felt the man gaze to his face and then away. Maybe to his mangled hand? He did not know, but somehow he felt as if for once he wasn't being scrutinised like something on the bottom of someone's shoe. More like the feeling of curiosity.



ooc;;
notes;; gah even longer than before I swear haha! xD I luff Blaise
translations;;
1) Con my own dinero -With my own money
2) Puedo - I can

[blaise]

nothing ever lasts forever

Marcellus Garcia was never the glamorous type. Though back in Mexico he had been rolling in all kinds of depreciated pesos and other Mexican money, he had spent it all on useless things like alcohol and various drugs. Not once had Marcellus spent money on his wife and daughter in Mexico. Not once had Anaisa known a doctor or dentist. Sometimes Blaise wondered if it was just for the best that his mother and sister were gone. It wasn’t like Marcellus was going to give them any other kind of good life. His sister had been so withdrawn, so quiet, her naturally chatty side that it seemed all Garcia’s were born with had grown dormant in the years of neglect from her father figure.

America had brought no reprieve from the neglect.

In fact, it seemed that once he was in the land of beautiful women who were rich, his attention wandered farther and farther from his family. Still, his selfish actions never surprised Blaise. The man he had grown up knowing had never displayed any of the qualities his mother had told him about. The qualities that had drawn her to him in the first place. Once upon a time, Blaise had asked his mother why she was even determined to stick with Marcellus, what kept her with him. She had said that before the kids were born, he was a man with a great deal of class. He was not from the average Mexican family, a part of a wealthy heritage; he had been a gentleman with a great deal of charm and chivalry.

Obviously that did not last too long.

However, Blaise admired his mother for being so strong. His attention was stolen from his thoughts when the young man spoke in broken English; he wanted to cringe at how forced the language was and would have preferred to continue talking in Spanish. He was impatient wasn’t too keen to have to talk in English so slow just to get his point across. It did not shock him that the young man (who he discovered was called Ignacio) was looking for work, and while it was not in his power to place someone into a job, he was sure Carlee wouldn’t knock down his doors and shoot him for hiring more help. Folding his arms across his chest after Ignacio shook it he said,
Bien. ¿Cuántos años tiene?
While Ignacio’s age was not too important, it was always nice to know how many minors they had running around the barn.

Then, a sort of curiosity settled over him.

Looking at the horse he still felt like he was still staring into a window of the past. Knitting his brow together he said,
Ese caballo... ¿Ha sido en cualquier nacional muestra?

---

character;; BLAISE
word count;; O.465
reservations;; IGNACIO
notes;; ew.
’ Bien. ¿Cuántos años tiene?’ – Alright. How old are you?
‘Ese caballo... ¿Ha sido en cualquier nacional muestra?’ –That horse…has he been in any national shows?

[donte4]

IGNACIO LUZ PORFIRIO
SOME SURVIVE TO LIVE WELL, SOME HARDLY LIVE TO SURVIVE

[/font][/center]

Ignacio realised the revert back to Spanish, obviously slightly annoyed at his lack of ability. But it seemed that it didn't matter, he was happily going along with it. He watched as the older, taller man crossed his arms. He hadn't considered himself a man, even at 16 years old he'd still been called 'boy' or 'the Mexican.' Never had he been called by his name by employers. So he considered himself as much, not yet a man, still a boy, which he did look like one. He looked like a lad two years his junior yet, his hands were so wrinkled and his face so grainy that his skin already looked like a middle aged man's. That was from all the work he'd already done in his life time. Starting at the age of six, he hadn't stopped since. He'd literally worked everyday since then, he'd never had a proper day off when he didn't have to worry Every day was an opportunity to take money, which was why he would never take a day off if he was still living in poverty. Every penny, no matter how small, was worth scrounging. He lived strictly by the motto of 'see a penny pick it up.' His attention snapped back to the man standing before him. He really was pretty powerful it seemed. Glad to be back speaking Spanish he replied with ease. "Soy dieciséis, señor." Worried that he would be too young, yet unable to lie about his age.



Also, Ignacio had the habit of putting señor, or sir, on the end of everything he said. He had been taught that being polite was the only to get through without a smack from the men in the town. And the women you didn't even speak to unless they spoke to you first. This one old woman used to sit outside her slum and everyday as Ignacio, his brother and a friend walked to the market she used to shout abuse at them. Just shout and shout, not minding what she said. Most of the things she said Ignacio rose above, but then she started saying things about his mother and her line of work. Saying how all the niggers must know her by now. He snapped at her once, ripping down her washing which hung on the line out front and then running home. As soon as his mother heard what he had done he sent him straight back to apologise to the old lady. As an extended punishment apart from the fact he was laid into that night he was made to read her until she told him to stop. It went on for months, an hour a night or until she fell asleep. Then he got the news she had died, the woman had been deaf for years and probably hadn't heard a word he'd ever said to her. She had just liked the company. In that instant he felt sorry for her, regretting that he had made such a fuss of going to see her, although he never showed it to her. This incident made him appreciate everyone had their own opinion to life, just some people couldn't keep their mouths shut. And those who couldn't keep it shut would sure as hell get their comeuppance at some point.



He looked round again at his horse. Did he still think he had taken it? He walked over to his horse, grabbed his reins and gently pulled them over his head. He lead the horse up to Blaise, the dog staying where he was. "No conozco al señor. ¿Usted lo quiere?" He offered him the horse, out stretching his mangled hand which held the horses reins. If he thought he had taken the horse, he could damn well have him. He wasn't fully aware that he hadn't been asking for the horse, but he could sense a feeling of curiousness from Blaise. That, his tone of voice and his contorted eyebrows. Ignacio wouldn't mind if he agreed to take the horse, he was pretty much used to it. Nothing was ever his specifically. What's theirs was theirs and what was his, was also theirs. It didn't seem fair, he didn't once think it was. But he knew that life wasn't fair. While he was able to sleep in America, with some food in his belly, he knew that their was some kid dying of starvation back in the slums of Mexico. He always thought that however bad he was doing, there was someone far worse off than he. Maybe not in Mexico, but in other countries too. He didn't know of anyone in America who wasn't doing well though, well he hadn't met any other homeless guys yet. America was the land were dreams were made and yet, he hadn't seemed to have much luck as of yet.




notes;;
ooc;; gah so short. -eh sir, you wanna my 'hoss? xD
translations;;
1) Soy dieciséis, señor. - I am sixteen, sir
2) No conozco al señor. ¿Usted lo quiere? - I do not know sir. You want him?

[blaise]

nothing ever lasts forever

Studying the boy once more, Blaise was beginning to feel weirded out that it seemed as if he was staring into a time capsule, a blast from his past if you will. Though, a younger Blaise would have never been caught dead out in public like this young man was. His tiny little man heart throbbed for the boy, knowing what it was like to be so alone at such a young age. Part of him wanted to take him home and ask Grace if he could keep it, but he knew that with a baby on the way, she’d be less than willing to take in flea-infested strays off the street. Maybe Carlee’d be nice enough to let him sleep in one of the older groom’s quarters that hadn’t been used in years. So long as he fixed it up himself Blaise didn’t see a problem with the idea, but he was sure Carlee’d find a way to punish him for putting an underage possibly illegal Mexican on her payroll, just another reason for the IRA to audit her.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Not really, she’d probably skin him alive if he was the cause of something like that. Still, he couldn’t see harboring an illegal fugitive as too terribly dangerous. When the boy walked the horse to him asking him if he wanted it he shook his head and held his hands up, denying the horse,
No, él es tuyo es él no? Si es así por qué querría él?
And in all honesty, he didn’t need any more horses. Blaise felt he had enough four legged beasts on his hands already, to take another horse on would be a pointless quest, as he still had Diva to sort out, Tiny to sell, and Dom and Jade to train. There was no way that with his busy schedule that he’d be able to take another one in.

That and he wasn’t too terribly interested in the older horse.

He had simply been trying to figure out why the horse looked familiar. Walking back towards the barn he motioned to the boy to follow him and pointed at one of the stalls and said,
Usted puede poner su caballo en uno de los puestos y yo le dará un tour de la granja.
Looking back at his horse standing in the crossties he figured he should put the old stallion up. Putting up one finger to signal the need for ‘one second’, he walked towards Freeze and put him up in his stall. Walking back to where Ignacio was he looked down at the shorter boy and waited, before saying,
Yo no tiene el granero, Carlee Peters, pero todavía puedo contratar usted, somos buenos amigos.

---

character;; BLAISE
word count;; O.456
reservations;; GRACE
notes;;fjdklsafjsld
‘No, él es tuyo es él no? Si es así por qué querría él?’ – Nope, he is yours is he not? If so then why would I want him?
‘Usted puede poner su caballo en uno de los puestos y yo le dará un tour de la granja.’ –You can put your horse in one of the stalls and I will give you a tour of the farm.
‘Yo no tiene el granero, Carlee Peters, pero todavía puedo contratar usted, somos buenos amigos. ‘ –I do not own the barn, Carlee Peters does, but I can still hire you, we’re good friends.

[donte4]

IGNACIO LUZ PORFIRIO
I WAS BORN IN A LITTLE VILLAGE BY A RIVER AND LIKE THAT RIVER, I'VE BEEN RUNNING EVER SINCE

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He was a little taken aback when Blaise held up his hands and shunned the offer of the horse. He thought he had wanted it, he seemed interested enough anyway. Maybe it was just his little brain having to work over time. He wasn't used to having many things of his own. Nothing as expensive as a horse anyway. Heck, he'd offer Blaise the shirt off his back if he showed interest in it. Not that a man in Blaise's position would want his shirt. Ignacio studied the guy standing before him, he was wearing the same kind of modern clothing that he'd seen around this town. The fabric looked new, and soft too. Not dull and itchy like his own. As he thought about the clothes which drooped around his skinny frame he raised his free hand to itch his sides. His fingers ran along his ribs, visibly running along the indents where his ribs stuck out and then faded in and stuck out again. Damn his poorness. He couldn't wait to get back into town and sleep again. He'd found a good place. Outside th grocery store, he knew now that they would lock up and as soon as they had done that he was able to sneak under the overhang and sleep, knowing that he wasn't going to get too wet, because the over hang protected him slightly from the rain. Not that it was raining much a the moment. Is was dry, but in modern towns like this there were plenty of water fountains around which he could drink from. In fact the super markert did great cheap deals which he made use of. Day old bread seemed to be the top of his grocery list at the moment. At only 78 cence a loaf, it was pretty damn worth it. It would get him through a week, and he saved a load of money. Either way, he didn't answer Blaise's question as it seemed rhetorical. Instead he shrugged his shoulders and dropped his hand by his side.


Then the older man beckoned him inside, to follow him. He followed, his horse obediently walking beside him. The young boy smiled, running his free hand down the geldings neck, and through his unclipped fur. The dust came onto his hands, not that his hands were very clean either. The horse needed a good brush, that was for sure. But so did Ignacio. The horse seemed much more well in himself than Ignacio. The Mexican lad was stubborn like that. He would much rather care for others than himself, unable to put himself first it seemed. His dog, again another point, he would rather buy him a bag of feed, then himself a decent meal. He'd never tasted anything nice because of this. This let him down, because he'd also never take anything off someone that he couldn't pay back. If someone offered him food, water or anything else he'd always reply with a, thanks but no thanks attitude. No matter how hard the urged him to take it, he'd sit there with clenched hands and a smile and shake his head until they left him, or stopped pestering him to take their belongings. He really could not bring himself to take anything from others. His attention snapped back to Blaise, lost in the feeling of his horse's coat. "Gracias señor. Uh, I say Thank you." He spoke, realising that he knew the English word. Although he didn't mean to say say. He meant to say mean. (Not that that's not confusing). Yet who was counting?



He opened the free stable door that Blaise had nodded too and slipped Tor inside. He heaved the saddle off the horse's back, and took the bridle from his head. The horse seemed grateful for the burden being lifted from him. Awkwardly Ignacio put the saddle outside of the stable and hung the bridle on the head collar peg which was outside the stable. He peered over the door, watching as his horse set about shifting around his stable. The bed was already down and so he made himself comfortable. The horse's knees collapsed and folded down onto the straw, his body following and he folded into a lump on the floor. The horse rested his head upon the bedding, it was obviously nice to have a lay down somewhere comfortable. Ignacio looked to his dog, who was still outside, now sat up looking longingly at his master. Letting out a short, but sharp whistle, the dog leaped up immediately and trotted over. Ignacio held the door open and the dog padded right in, making himself comfortable by the horse's belly. Ignacio smiled and shut the door, and pulled the bolt across. Not that they would be likely to leave.



He looked as Blaise was just leading a horse inside the stable. He looked nice, like the horses he'd heard about, or seen out in the pastures of the rich white men. That's what he looked like. Something he would never in his wildest dreams be able to afford. He waited patiently for Blaise to finish and soon he was done, and coming back towards him. He was excited for the tour of the barn, but he didn't understand how he expected him to pay for the horse. Hopefully his pay would cover the stabling of his horse. And then any that he wanted to make for himself, he would have to find another job for. If he had the time. If he didn't have the time, then maybe he wouldn't go to school. He spoke again, his words, even though Spanish still confused him. So was he hired or no? "Señor?" He started, unsure of what he was saying. This whole, living where people wanted to talk to you thing, was sure going to be hard.




ooc;;
notes;; gah shortyyy. and he didn't say much sorry!
translations;; you can guess xD

[donte4]

Bump???

[blaise]

i know, i know. please be patient, im getting to it Dx

[donte4]

i have been! i was just making sure you hadn't forgotten xD

[blaise]

nothing ever lasts forever

Studying the young man he could tell that he was not used to talking to people this much, and the interaction was probably beginning to get to him. He frowned just a tad, if the boy was to work in a barn, he’d have to learn how to talk to people, and maybe he could send him to school with some new clothes and get him to learn some English. While the boy seemed to have a basic understanding of the English language, he knew that most boarders at the barn would be irritated with him if he couldn’t understand what they were saying and if they couldn’t understand what he was saying. Blaise knew that that sort of situation could only go so well, and it’d probably end up in Carlee being irritated and kicking the poor boy out.

Which Carlee would unfortunately do.

Looking into the stall he smiled softly at the sight of the horse and dog resting. Blaise was not sure how long the boy had been riding, but he was sure the horse was exhausted and he was sure Carlee wouldn’t mind having one more mouth to feed; it wasn’t like she was going to be worrying about money any time soon. If he had to he’d say that the horse was his (she’d be less likely to shoot someone that way). Though he said that he and Carlee were friends, it did not mean that she really treated him any differently. When he said ‘friends’ he meant they had a mutual agreement not to shoot one another or mortally wound each other. That’s just how Carlee seemed to operate best, with people kept at a safe distance from her personal life.

Who was he to judge? She was happy (or so he thought), thus he shouldn’t be one to worry.

Nodding at the boy he figured he was probably wondering whether or not he was going to be working on the farm,
Sí, estás contratados.
He looked back into the stall and figured Carlee would probably let the horse stay for free if he lived out in one of the back pastures,
Carlee probablemente le permiten mantener su caballo aquí para libre si no te importa él vive en uno de los pastizales todo el tiempo.
Blaise knew that pasture board was a lot cheaper, and if Ignacio was working for Carlee, she probably wouldn’t mind having the horse living in one of the pastures. Outta sight, outta mind, right? He walked off and gestured for the boy to follow.

Luckily, Blaise knew the farm by heart.

Gesturing to the barn behind them he said (in Spanish) that the barn they had just left was the main barn and most of the boarder’s horses were kept in there and that he’d be spending most of his time in there. Walking on he walked past the pastures and told the boy that the pastures had names on them for which horses went out where. He pointed to the far back few pastures and mentioned that his horse would probably be living in one of those. They passed the outdoor ring, the race barn, practice track, and a few more pastures. He told him that the outdoor ring was free for him to use. Rounding a corner they came back to where they started. Turning and facing Ignacio he asked,
¿Alguna pregunta? ¿Tienes un lugar para quedarse?

---

character;; BLAISE
word count;; O.
reservations;; ---
notes;;
’ Sí, estás contratados.’ - Yes, you’re hired.
’ Carlee probablemente le permiten mantener su caballo aquí para libre si no te importa él vive en uno de los pastizales todo el tiempo.’ - Carlee will probably let you keep your horse here for free if you don't mind him living out in one of the pastures all the time.
’ ¿Alguna pregunta? ¿Tienes un lugar para quedarse?’ - Any questions? Do you have a place to stay?

[donte4]

IGNACIO LUZ PORFIRIO
I WAS BORN IN A LITTLE VILLAGE DOWN BY A RIVER AND LIKE THAT RIVER, I'VE BEEN RUNNING EVER SINCE

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Ignacio looked up at Blaise and caught the grown man's eyes studying him. He looked down at his hands and nervously twitched his thumbs, like some little boy would do. Of course he was not that young any more, he was 16 and yet still without the confidence a boy his age should have. He looked up again as Blaise spoke, confirming he was hired. His eyes lit up as he spilt out a thanks. "Gracias señor, gracias." He repeated the thank you twice, not to be annoying, simply out of habit. He looked back towards his resting horse (and dog) and smiled. At least he had a place for them now, and at least he had some income.


Blasie then spoke again, and Ignacio nodded along with the comment. Stay for free? He wouldn't have to pay board? Who was he to argue. "Sí señor, él puede vivir afuera. Gracias señor" He smiled and looked back to Blaise, and then looked over his shoulder, diverting eye contact. He was not used to these intense social situations, well he wasn't normally acknowledged, and when he was he was hardly ever asked his opinion. Which annoyed him slightly, he thought he had good ideas, well some, but they were never voiced. Mainly because he had the confidence of a 7 year old girl, not a 16 year old lad. Again with the confidence thing, it affected him sure, but he didn't let it show. Just like he didn't let anything else show. It was his choice and no one would change it, well it was unlikely he would change his way.


He was then gestured to follow the elder Mexican, and obediently he did so, falling into step behind the older man. As he spoke Ignacio listened, carefully following the guided tour of the farm. He was impressed with the size of the place. Huge would be an understatement. He nodded when Blaise commented on where his horse would be kept, and again when he mentioned that he could use the outdoor school. He had never had to use a school before, but maybe he could start jumping? And possibly show what the horse could do? He was intrigued into how good his horse was, especially now that he would be on some decent pasture and not having to work as much. Pulling himself away from his thoughts he found that they were approaching the main barn once again. Blaise stopped and faced him. At his first question Ignacio shook his head, much too tired to talk any more and only wishing to talk where gesturing was not applicable. At his second question he hesitated. The truth was that he didn't have anywhere to stay, but he didn't want to be any more of a bother, or take pity from anyone. The typical Mexican stubbornness coming into play. But he wasn't sure what was worse? Lying, or becoming even more of a bother than he already was? He decided the latter was worse. "Si." He replied simply, not wanting to give himself away with details. He darted his eyes away from Blaise's gaze as soon as he spoke. Damn this lying thing was hard.




ooc;;
notes;; gah sorry for the length of time it took me to reply, talk about lightyears! but i did sorta forget i even had this post forgive meh?!
translations;;
1) Gracias señor, gracias. - Thank you lord, thank you
2) Sí señor, él puede vivir afuera. Gracias señor - Yes lord, he can live outside. Thank you lord.
3) Si - Yes