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Post by m4ry23 on Jan 23, 2011 22:46:49 GMT -8
 hold tight with a leather fist;Lane sat in a chair, facing the saddle stand in front of him which had one of his many trophy saddles on it. This one was a nice Billy Cook he had one three years ago at a roping in Decatur. The saddle was a 'Champion Header' saddle, he had won when he roped with his little brother. It had been an awesome weekend for the both of them, and they totally kicked ass the whole weekend. They always say you win some and you loose some, but they had won a few after that too. The couple as a roping team was unstoppable, but his brother was not interested in roping professionally, and decided to ride bulls and broncs instead. So Lane was partner-less as of now, but he usually caught a partner at a roping. He had enough connections to do so.
A tub of Saddle Butter, a bar of Saddle Soap, and a bowl of warm water with a blue worn sponge inside of it sat next to his chair on the ground. A dry terry-cloth towel lay close to the saddle butter and saddle soap. It was a cleaning type day, his tack needed and it actually enjoyed the smells of the leather and the soaps. It was relaxing and reminded him of the days he spent in the Leather shop with his dad as a kid, talking and learning while he greased saddles with his father. Family was important to him, family and horses, those were about the only things other than winning and money.
His hands worked like an old professional, rubbing gentle circles into the leather with the saddle soap and the terry cloth. His iPHONE lay on the table next to him, quietly playing Chris Ledoux. He didn't care about disturbing anyone, no one really hung out in the tack room anyway. They all didn't care about having clean tack or had mexicans that did it for them. He took care of his own tack, every time after he rode hard or in the rain and before a rodeo. He listened as he heard foot steps, voices, and horse hooves. He couldn't wait until he bought a ranch of his own that way he didn't have to be in a community tack room and his horses could be just on his property. He could afford that now, but he was not quite ready. He still had a lot of traveling to do and a lot of rodeos to win, so he couldn't leave some horses behind just to fend. This would do for now.
Lane glanced up when he heard someone enter the tack room, the song switching to Bareback Jack as the girl entered. He flashed a charming, white toothed smile her way. His green eyes complementing his olive, slightly tanned skin, and dirty blonde hair stuck out from the sides of his straw cowboy hat. A plain black tee-shirt clung to his thin yet muscular torso, and his cinch jeans were held onto his waist by a worn leather belt with a silver belt buckle that said 'NFR Tie-Down Roper, Champion' on it. His worn brown boots, with custom silver spurs hung low and the teal shaft was pulled over his pants, just because he put them on quickly. "Good afternoon," he said to the girl with red hair that had just entered the tack room. watch out when he starts to twist! |
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Post by courtree on Jan 24, 2011 17:19:49 GMT -8
 
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"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" she mumble to herself as she look over the colts head sleazy, a large hole in the jaw, and a rip down the neck cover. She take a sip of the green tea in her hand before she throw the rope halter over the colts head, giving him a light rub, leading him out of the pasture and up towards the barn. She push open the door and lead the colt through lazily, the paints shod hooves clunking quietly on the wooden isle way as she lead him towards his stall, and passing by the open tack room door without even looking in it. Dropping the lead rope and placing her mug in a safe spot, she pull off the colts blankets and neck cover, his full body sleazy shortly after, slinging them over the top of the colts open stall door, inspecting the rip in the neck cover before looking at the rip in his head sleazy. She lightly sighed to herself. This is the third fuckin' sleazy she bitterly think to herself. She turn to her colt, "No more turnout time over night for you dick face" she say giving the colt a rub on the forehead. He lightly push against her hand, and she push back, knowing it must be itchy. Taking the lead rope in her dainty hands, she lead the colt over to the indoor and let him inside, slipping the rope halter off before stepping out and closing him in. The colt stood there for a moment, slightly confused as to why she wasn't following. She do a noncommittal hand gesture and walk away going back to the blankets. The colt lazily step away from the door before bolting across the empty arena, ripping around at full speed. She knew eventually he would lie down and roll.
She reach the stall, grabbing the colts heavy turnout blankets and sleazy draping them over one arm, picking up her tea in the other as she head towards the tack room, the only sound of her moving being the slight ting noise of her stainless steel spur rowels, and the dragging sound of one of the straps from the blanket. She reach the door, stepping in without hesitation as a voice sound to her side. The day I have my own stables and don't have to deal with people in my tack room. MY tack room she repeated in her head as if it was reassuring. She lightly sigh to herself setting the blankets on top of the tack box. Truthfully she was surprised there was room in here for other people saddles. Josh had quite a bit of her stuff in here, though none of her trophy equipment. That shit was kept in her horse trailer outside, locked. She only ever went in there to search for a different bit if needed be, all the saddles and bridles being in a different cover bag of their own. It was sickening to look at them all without her dad there with her. She push the thought aside, gaze looking around the tack room, each of her saddles in here also with a cover bag on them, well cared for bridles hanging off of the wall, homemade tack box somewhere underneath the heap of blankets she had just thrown on it, other blankets hang off the wall as well, few brushes scattered on the floor. She should really go through it all one day, organize it a bit better.
She lightly shrug, why not now? Today seemed just as good as any other day she thought to herself before realizing she hadn't actually answered the guy who had spoken to her. Pulling at a covered saddle, she hoist it on her hip, pulling at another for the other side, grateful that the other saddle was lighter then the other. Must be her barrel saddle, the other was probably her roping one. With a saddle balanced on either hip, she make her way through the door, pale pools glancing at the guy, "I hadn't noticed" she answered, and even that surprised her. Normally she would have just ignored the greeting. She never spoke unless it was a question directed towards her. Whatever. Dropping the saddle against the stall walls on their horns, she head back in, grabbing at two more.
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count : seven two six tags : lane noted : -headdesk- blehh credited : KBIRD of caution 2.0 [/color][/font][/size][/center] |
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