till i get a KO--{OPENN}

[jazz]

i know how it feels to LIE

Quiet and still in the early morning air, lit by the few stadium lights around the track, draped thick in fog, and wet from a recent rain. Just the way Miles loved the track. Few people could understand why Jazz always insisted on riding her horses before most of the world was awake, still deep beneath their comforting covers of warmth dreaming of missed opportunities and lost loves, but no one understood Jazz to begin with. No one knew that she was slowly going blind (a death sentence for any racing career, and her worst nightmare), no one knew that she could sometimes not see other horses in the early morning, she knew she was a hazard.

So she did her best to eliminate the problem.

It was strange to only have one horse to ride, but her recent move from the stables in New York to the stables in Texas had been a jarring one, a hard one. So few people seemed willing to hire her, even with her stellar track record, there should be employers lining up outside her apartment door begging for her skills; but there was no such surplus in work, and it was slowly killing Jazz. Racing was the only thing she knew, while she realized that she’d eventually have to give it up and retire, she didn’t want to face the music just yet, preferring to keep the dreadful future as far behind her as she could.

Even if it meant trying to outrun it on the back of a horse three times her size and ten times her weight.

And in the early dawn hours of a strangely cold Tuesday morning, she was simply going about her usual routine. She had tacked up Miles on her own, talking to the horse and her dog (seeing eye dog that no one knew what his purpose was). She spoke of her deepest fears, of her triumphs, and what she had for dinner; she asked if Miles was happy, ready to work. Portia had been instructing her to run him a mile, asking for a flat out run the last five furlongs. She was glad that Portia trusted her judgment on his speed and rarely asked her to work him in daylight.

She knew that would only end in disaster.

Now going out to the track, Captain padded along the two quietly, the German shepherd dutifully took his place beside the gap in the track’s rail as she steered the bay colt onto the freshly drug dirt, she could feel him recognize where he was and start to wake up. Clucking to him she first asked for a slow trot as they passed the ‘finish line’, making it around the farthest turn closest to the barns, as they approached a few horses nickered their morning greetings to each other, and Miles felt obliged to respond, Jazz sat up into a crouch and asked him for a canter, laughing at his antics,
C’mon Miles, you’ve got some stakes races to focus on, you can socialize later.

As always, he simply flicked a lazy ear back to her as she spoke, but focused nonetheless.

Cantering down the back stretch she noticed that she must have gotten on a little later than she wanted, squinting with her terrible vision through the fog she could barely make out a few people on the bleachers, assumedly clocker’s, and a couple of horses and riders already on the track. Hissing in irritation, as they rounded the turn to home, she sat lower into his neck and chirped at him, waving her whip in front of his face as she asked for him to pick up a gallop. Closing her eyes and feeling the horse come alive beneath her she took a mental survey of every part of his movement, searching for anything wrong, but was pleased to find that he was running like clockwork.

It was always a reassuring thing to have her horses running smoothly.

Snarling as one of the riders quickly came up in front of them, she swung Miles around ride and charged on past them, but Miles wanted to stay back and play, Jazz pumped her arms at him, asking him to grab the bit and growled,
C’MON YOU DUMMY, YOU CAN PLAY LATER!
Her shout was lost in the wind as Miles got his head back in the game and lowered himself to the ground as they charged around the track as Portia had asked her to be doing. Closing her eyes again she allowed her other senses to take over, the feel of the horse, the smell of his sweat, the sound of his hooves pounding against the ground, the taste of mint toothpaste distant in her mouth from when she had gotten up several hours before after a mostly sleepless night.

It was days like this when she wanted to never stop running.

But every good rider had to know when to stop. As the pair rounded the final turn back to home, she asked him for one final burst of speed, and as always, Miles gave her his all, leaning into the bit and tearing into the track dirt, as they passed under the wire, Jazz sat up in her stirrups and brought him calmly down to a trot, before walking. She was pleased with how he had run, and gave him his head, chattering away at him happily,
See buddy? You sure as hell know how to work when you get your freakin’ mind into it. Ya gotta start learning when your job is on and when your job isn’t on. I know you’re two, but sooner or later you’re gonna hafta get used to the fact that there are times when you won’t be able to play. The sooner you learn that, the better we’ll all sleep at night.
Jazmine laughed at her own joke and fondly patted his hot and steaming neck, Miles simply flicked an ear in her direction, patiently listening to his rider speak.

---

1OO5
notes: UHH. IDK? I was bored, lolz.

[Anthony James Lovasz]

To say the horse he was currently handling was the least sane of his mounts really was saying a lot considering the apparent lack of any form of sanity within the horse. The young horse had more problems than most people would be willing to deal with. No one knew for sure what had happened to him before his current owner was talked into buying him, but if there was one thing for certain, whatever his story was, it wasn't one filled with happiness and triumph like most stories you heard of racehorses. He had apparently developed some sort of anxiety about the track.. and just life in general. He was jumpy, un-trusting, high strung, on his bad days he was violent, on his good days he was terrified. He clearly had a lot of psychological issues, and most people would have put him out to pasture for the rest of his life where he could just live the sort of life that wouldn't cause him to be put into any situation where he might snap. But that wasn't the style of the young jockey who was said to be as reckless and insane as the horses he rode. Anthony Lovasz wasn't one to give up on any horse, no matter how bad the current situation looked, and he had been well known for bringing those worthless horses across the wire ahead of the pack.

Few people knew the name of the crazy horse that was currently doing everything in his power to disrupt anything and everything going on around him, but most eyes had turned to him. Not only were his wild antics drawing their attention but also his unique coloring. There was nothing especially different about the bay coloring or the white on his face, but what caught the eye of the observer was the white spots that were splattered across his body as if he'd been caught in the cross-fire of a very intense paintball war in which they only used white "ammunition." Birdcatcher spots were definitely rare enough, but they were practically unseen in the way they were displayed on the young horse who was currently dancing around his handler with wide, fearful eyes locked on the track. It looked almost as if he was terrified of the track for fear of being beaten or otherwise hurt, but was drawn to it in a way he couldn't resist. It was like he wanted the very thing which tormented him. One minute he was pulling back as if to run back to the barn, the next he was plunging forward in an attempt to get to the track more quickly. Were it not for the stud chain looped over his muzzle he probably would have just dragged Anthony away, but it was obvious he had respect of the chain.

These wild antics went on for some time, and although Anthony was keeping the horse out of the way and far enough from the track to not disrupt the horses that were training, as people walked past the pair irritated scowls were sent their way, none of which had any effect whatsoever on the jockey. He was determined to fix this horse, and none of their skepticism or criticism was going to change his mind. He could see that desire to run in the horse, and knew that all he needed was some time to come to the realization that no one was going to hurt him anymore.

After sometime the horse, Don Quixote officially but affectionately called Ottis, settled down enough that he was... sort of somewhat... well, not really safe, but settled enough that Anthony felt comfortable with bringing him onto the track and actually riding him... but then again, people had often questioned his decision making. He lead the horse forward carefully, making sure Ottis stayed decently relaxed until they got there, hoping he wouldn't explode, but not counting on it, all the while mumbling to the horse in Spanish, hardly realizing he was doing it.

Once they were safely on the track, he stopped and let the horse watch with wide eyed wonder as the other horses breezed by on the inside rail. It was still relatively foggy out this morning, which was a good thing, the less Ottis could see of the track the better. ¿Vea, eso no es tan malo, es? Tendrá que conseguir sobre este finalmente, si usted no empieza a correr y ganar él probablemente le enviará a la subasta. he said to the horse, adjusting the girth one last time and running his hand down the horse's trembling and already sweaty neck. He was in for hell again today, he could already tell... but that didn't mean he wouldn't ride.

While the horse was still pre-occupied with watching what was going on around the track, he quickly pulled himself up onto the animal's back and got his feet settled in the stirrups securely, tightening the reins, and ready for whatever the horse might throw at him. He'd been lounged for a while before Anthony took him out to the track just to get him warmed up a big before going out to the track in case he took off and couldn't be stopped at least the risk of injury was slightly lessened that way. It took a moment or two before it suddenly registered in Ottis's mind that there was a rider on his back, and as soon as it did, he jumped forward, ready to either take on the world and win a race or run in terror from anything that might try to get him... it was impossible to tell which. As soon as the pressure was put on the bit Anthony could feel the dull ache in his right arm and left shoulder starting... by the time he was done here he'd be in tremendous pain... but he'd been living with it for years now and to him it was just a part of his life.

Ottis settled for running sideways down the middle of the track, fighting the hold on the reins with every stride. An ever so slight commotion was stirred up suddenly on the rail when one horse cut another off and the rider hollered at her horse to get moving. As the horse swung wide and dashed around the other, it was as if something suddenly clicked in Ottis's mind and with a burst of power he straightened out and leaped forward to chase after the other horse. In the few races he'd run in before losing his mind, he'd been a front runner all the way, and it bothered him that the other horse had just taken off ahead of him. A little taken off guard by the switch from crazy to driven racehorse, Anthony let Ottis run for a few lengths before forcing him to slow down a bit. Of course, the horse was displeased with this and fought it until he seemed to have forgotten about the other horse that had been ahead of him and turned his head a bit to the side to get a look at one behind him, deciding to run against him instead. He switched over to a rolling gallop, relaxed but begging for more rein. Having no "trainer's orders" to follow, Anthony decided to go for it... after all, of the two horses he was riding, Ottis was definitely the less likely to kill him at a full gallop, since Nova was more likely to go from full gallop to exploding in the blink of an eye. So he let the reins slide through his fingers, and took hold of a bit of main, knowing if he didn't he'd end up in the dirt.

With a massive leap, Ottis was off, flying down the track, switching gears with every stride and pouring on more speed. It had been a long time since Anthony had felt this kind of power in a horse, and needless to say, he was pleased. Some would say it was poor style to just let your horse run until he decided to stop, but Anthony had a feeling that the longer he let his horse run as he pleased the more likely he was to realize that this was what the track was all about, not being beaten and bullied into doing whatever the trainer wanted. He surged past a few other horses that were being breezed, no doubt upsetting some of them, and just kept going and going until a froth had built up on his brown and white coat, and exhausted, he slowed to a well mannered canter and eased out to the outside rail. They really hadn't gone far, Ottis was far too out of shape to run like that for a long distance... once he was fit though, he could run like that for a long while.

He slowed to a trot, and as they came up on the girl and horse who had set Ottis off, returned to a walk, his demeanor completely changed now that he had throughly worn himself out completely. It was typical Anthony style to feel inclined to make conversation with the other riders, he was just like that, he has absolutely no qualms about talking to people he didn't know, even if they didn't want him to talk to them. Needs a little encouragement to remember he's a racehorse, does he? Anthony asked her light heartedly, of course referring to the horse she was riding. If there was one thing he'd learned about jockeys it was that nothing stirred up conversation like asking them about their horse, most of them, like him, were addicted to the track and the adrenaline of racing and all of them would much rather talk about their horses than any other topic of conversation.

[jazz]

i know how it feels to LIE

Another reason why Jazz liked working her horses when there were so few people out on the track was because when she was working them, she had a terrible habit of blocking the entire world out around her, her mind could only process one thing at a time, and that meant she did not have the attention span to focus on her horse running at top speed beneath her, an animal that could crush her within a moment’s notice if it felt so inclined to do so, and the focus to pay attention to the other riders on the track, she knew that her lack of diligence to others around her would perhaps eventually be her downfall (perhaps quite literally…if the blindness didn’t get to her first).

But she took pride in her unwavering attention to her mount.

Jazmine knew her horses back to front, she knew every single imperfection in their coat, she knew their habits of running, she knew what they felt like sound and lame, she could tell they were off before even getting on them, she knew things about her horses that sometimes even their owners didn’t know. She also knew how to get them running when sometimes others did not. However, it took her a long time to get to know her horses, she spent a lot of unpaid hours with them, either grooming or cleaning their stalls to tacking them up or simply sitting in front of their stall for hours on end.

While her methods were sometimes unorthodox, she felt (rather, knew) that it rewarded her with invaluable information that she could manipulate into rewarding results.

Now that she was no longer working Miles and the bay gelding was simply plodding around the outside of the track like a dead broke quarter horse. If no one had seen his workout, they’d probably believe that he was just another pony horse and she was just an outrider waiting for disaster. She looked around the track, by now the sun was coming up and more and more riders and horses were trickling onto the track, clockers sat frozen on the metal bleachers, trainers clung to the white side rails as they watched their charges work around the track, some of them looking apprehensive, some of them looking happier than usual. She did not see her horse’s trainer among the growing crowd of people and figured she’d just have to call the woman later to let her know how Miles had done.

Except, she knew that Portia would eventually ask to watch her work the horse, that meant she’d have to ride with other riders.

While the idea was potentially worrisome to her, she figured she’d just deal with it when she got to it. From behind, the sounds of a slowing horse made her perk up, Miles too. His head lifted a half inch in the air, only slightly interested with what was going on around him. Turning in her saddle she noticed a young man riding a bay horse with Birdcatcher spots littering his coat. He spoke of her horse and she simply smiled at him and shrugged, slowing Miles down a bit more so the two could catch up she said,
Ahh, you know how the babies are, he’s only been raced once and he’s a pretty slow developer, he’ll get into the groove. Besides, I know plenty of decent horses that didn’t mature until they were at least three. He’s got some time. And what about that handful you got there? I’m loving the Birdcathers. I’ve never seen so many on a horse, aaah. My name’s Jazz, I’m pretty new here, so I apologize if it takes me a while to get your name.

---

o622
notes: wooo, shorter post xD

[Anthony James Lovasz]

]A lot of good jockeys often had the ability to just ride horses on race day, jumping from one horse to the next just to see them again the next time a race came around and not before. It raked in money since they rode in more races, but Anthony wasn't like that at all. He would never just jump on a horse on raceday, in fact, he wouldn't even settle for exercising them for two weeks before the race. If he was going to ride someone's horse, he would be their regular rider, every time they set foot on a track, workouts, walks, races... he would be the one on their back. He didn't care what they paid him, hell he'd take less than what their previous exercise rider, it didn't matter. He would only ride a horse if he could know them inside and out, like the back of his own hand. Sure, he didn't make a lot of money, especially when you took into consideration that the kind of horses he rode were typically not owned by high end, high paying stables that paid their riders ridiculous amounts of money to ride their horses... but rather the stables he rode for were struggling on the brink of staying afloat, all they had were their psychotic horses. They could try to sell them, but they'd hardly fetch more than a few thousand dollars, if that, and then they would have nothing... so they hung on to those horses that could hardly be controlled, just hoping for a win. Unfortunately, most of them went under and the horses wound up at auction, not wanted by anyone. There were a few lucky ones that found a guy like Anthony, willing to ride for less than what their skill was worth, and bring those crazy horses to the winners circle.

This time, Anthony had been the lucky one, he'd come across a guy who had more money than he knew what to do with and would spend any money on just about any horse that Anthony suggested he purchase. So far three racehorses were under the name "Jamie Colburn," one of them had been purchased before Anthony came into the picture, the other two he'd found at auction... both from barns that had gone under... and suggested to Jamie that he purchase them... and of course Jamie did. He'd spend money on just about anything that was suggested to him... but there had to be a reason for it. The two Anthony had found were unique, one of them was splattered with bird catcher spots, the one he currently rode, the other was a bay with a few white brindle markings on his body... both rare, both good reasons for Jamie to buy them... both insane, and not considered worth anything to anyone one, both reasons for Anthony to ride them.

The other horse, Electric Avenue, was, as it turned out, just sore and overworked, irritable and and in need of some ulcer medication. Giving him some time off, letting him rest and recover, and getting him the needed ulcer medication, and his sanity returned. He was a gentle horse, when he was feeling good. The slightest soreness and he'd get ornery again, so they had to be very careful with him. They needed a trainer though. While Anthony was a fantastic rider and knew the horses better than anybody, and could tell just by looking at them when something was wrong... but he needed someone on the ground during workouts, someone who was more organized and could handle the paperwork. If there was one thing Anthony couldn't stand it was paperwork, his attention span wasn't long enough for it. the only time he could focus for more than 10 minutes at a time was when he was riding or working with horses.

There's always time. he said with a smile. Sure, horses couldn't very well race after they reached a certain age, but as far as Anthony was concerned it was never to late for any horse. Even if they wouldn't be raced, if it was running that was in their blood, that didn't mean they couldn't be fixed. He's a bit more than a handful, Lord only knows what they did to him before he came here, he'll snap out of it eventually. Yeah so he was optimistic, often overly so, but he would find an upside to every downside. Nice meeting you Jazz, he said with a smile, he normally didn't meet a whole lot of other riders because he tried to ride when most people weren't around so the horses he rode wouldn't bother the others, but occasionally he came across a few who preferred to have the track mostly to themselves, I'm Anthony. He wasn't worried about her not remembering his name, a lot of people didn't... after all, who would think that the guy who looked like he was from the States, and spoke with a Spanish accent would have an italian name? Plus, Anthony rarely worried about anything, that was just who he was.

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[jazz]

i know how it feels to LIE

Literally growing up on the streets of New York, Jazz had learned how to make her own way without relying on anyone else to help her. In fact, one of her earliest memories of ‘home’ had been an over pass under a bridge, and baths were taken in Central Park’s fountains. She had been an unruly, dirty, uneducated little girl until a woman found her and picked her up off the street. It was like trying to tame a banshee for the first few months. Screaming and kicking, Jazz’s behavior was equivalent to that of a wild animal that had just been caged for the first time in its feral life and was resisting to the timed meals and collar. In hindsight, Jazz had probably been overreacting, since if she hadn’t been taken in by her first ‘adoptive’ mother, she’d more than likely be dead and six feet (or maybe just three) under the ground with possibly a few bullet holes and a couple stab wounds to attribute to her untimely demise.

As a street child, Jazz hadn’t understood the boundaries of society that had been put forth and followed by the civilized population.

Stealing had been her only way to sustain life, and over the ten years she’d been on the streets, she’d learned how to pick pocket. Her subjects had no distinction in her mind. White, black, Mexican. Tall, short. Fat, skinny. Rich, poor. Famous, dangerous. Careful, extravagant. She had every sort of profile picked out and she went after whoever she felt like, of course that was how she met her first ‘adoptive’ mother, trying to steal an entire purse was a big thing, and she wanted to impress the other streeties, instead her clever plan backfired. In a way, she should have been sent to jail, but the woman felt a tad bit of sympathy for the dirty girl and took her in, cleaned her up and taught her how to ride.

It was to the woman who felt a bit of sorrow for the abandoned child to whom she owed most of her experience to.

Used to, back in New York, Jazz was riding ten to twelve horses a day, but with her recent relocation, the numbers of her mounts had drastically decreased, she was left with far too much time on her hands to study the horses she did ride and admire the horses she wanted to ride. Most of the time, she could be found watching what she could see of other horses working, it always calmed her and made her learn more about the other horses just in case she ever found herself in a race against them. Next to her, the man spoke, and like the good girl she was, she politely listened and smiled, nodding when the conversation called for a nod. Looking at the horse he was riding she chuckled and said,
He’s certainly got some fire beneath his feet, I wish this one would get into the groove quicker, his owners want to start putting him in classics and grade one stakes races, I just don’t think the guy’s ready yet…but I suppose we’ll have to see, right? And it’s nice to meet you Anthony, you’ve got some really quiet hands on you, it’s hard to find a rider now a-days who doesn’t think that through pulling they’ll achieve anything.

Oh how the racing world had changed.

---

o569
notes: still shorter than yours and lamer Dx

[Anthony James Lovasz]

It seemed like there were a lot of people in horse racing who started out in horrible living conditions. It was as if they had found a freedom from their suffering. It was never easy for sure, Anthony had hit roadblock after roadblock from the day he first set foot in a stirrup. Mexico was no place for a 12 year old to be racing horses, nevertheless, that was where he'd started, but there was nothing else for him out there, so he just kept fighting through all the pain. He could't even remember all the times he got hurt on the track in that first year of racing. The jockeys down there were a rough group and not accepting to new riders, particularly naturally talented ones who were so young they hadn't even hit 5' yet, let alone puberty. On top of that, no one liked how popular he was becoming with the owners and trainers. He was small and strong, and knew how to get a good ride out of a horse... and he'd ride for almost anything.

Unfortunately, his talent was going to waste down there, he was making almost nothing , and he was probably going to get killed down there. Luckily, though, a certain trainer based in California had come down looking for a horse, and returned with a 16 year old apprentice jockey. He learned nothing the hardway, and balked at nothing. They put him on never before ridden horses, violent headstrong horses, lazy horses, green broke horses... anything and everything. All they had to do was essentially point to the horse and he'd ride it. He really was practically fearless. Practically insane, yes, but he was earning points with every trainer that saw his willingness. Of course, he'd learned a lot of lessons the hard way, like any young jockey would, but he'd never forgotten any of them.

He'll catch on. Anthony said with a nod, He'll be ready when he wants to be ready, you can't rush them. Most of the horses Anthony was currently riding were a bit old to still be in training for the basics, but that made no difference to him. He would never give up on any horse that had the desire to run, even if they were already too old to race anymore, if they were the sort of horse that was born to run, he'd work them just like the younger horses. In his opinion, there was no such thing as too old to race, which was why he was probably going to get killed on the track when he was 50 something.

I learned that one the hard way. he said in regards to the quiet hands, A particularly finicky horse threw me mid race 10 years ago for it. Most of the lessons he learned the hard way were learned by being thrown off a horse and trampled or some other measure of serious injury. He was very well versed in the ways of injuring yourself on the track, he could probably write a whole book about how to hurt yourself in the world of horse racing. If there was a way to get hurt that he hadn't experienced yet, odds were he would before he gave up racing. They called him "Cucuracha" in Mexico rather than "bug boy" because he had fallen off, been thrown, trampled, kicked, bitten, and every other mode of horse related injury so many times, but he just wouldn't die, so they called him the Spanish equivalent of cockroach. They had intended for it to bother him, but there was really nothing in this world that could bother Anthony, so the plan had kind of backfired on them... not a lot of people had the same luxury as he did.