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Post by High Point Stable on Jun 15, 2012 22:21:39 GMT -5
I like writing, so I figured I would. I'm not patient enough to add screenshots, so this will be at least 90% text. This will follow Caleah Evans, the owner of High Point Stable! I cannot promise you will find her easy to like, as she is vastly different from many of the characters I've seen on here so far.. but try!
"..Turning for home and it's Bright Kingdom on the inside, leading by a length and a half over Tickle Me Pink and Bridgeport Bridget. On the far outside - here comes Lady in Red but Bright Kingdom is holding on! A furlong out and it's Lady in Red and Bright Kingdom on the rail, Nadira Tal in third making a game effort but she's not gonna get there! At the wire and it's Bright Kingdom by half a length over Lady in Red! Nadira Tal third, Bridgeport Bridget fourth.."
"Which one did you claim?"
"The six."
"The six? 'Tickle Me Pink,' you mean?"
Caleah Evans turned her sharp eye to the track. The gray filly with the yellow '6' on a black saddle cloth crossed the wire toward the back of the field, seventh of nine, at least what she would estimate to be ten lengths or more in front of the horse in front of her. Without saying anything, she turned her head and fixed her male companion with a remarkably expressionless look.
"I know, Caleah," he said, attempting to forestall the mocking comment he knew was coming. It didn't work.
"I told you," she said smugly. "I told you Bright Kingdom was the better mare. I couldn't have spelled it out for you any more clearly than I did, but you still claimed a second-rate maiden with less than a thousand dollars to her name."
"She was lightly raced," the man - named Donny - said defensively.
"She's raced thirteen times, she's only three," she objected with a laugh. "That's not lightly raced. You claimed her based on her workouts. So what if she works well in the morning? She doesn't show up in the afternoon."
"Bright Kingdom was listed at a higher price, too," Donny retorted, folding his arms.
"What kind of businessman are you? It's called an investment. She clearly has the talent, with the right training she could make back triple her purchase price," she persisted with a laugh and a borderline pitying shake of her head. She gently patted Donny on the shoulder. "I don't mind flying out here from Arendale to help you pick horses, man, but you need to listen to me. You might know about money but you do not know about horses. Go get your filly, get out of my sight."
She laughed again and waved Donny away. He opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut his mouth again and walked away without another word, leaving Caleah alone, standing trackside with a racing program rolled up in her hands.
"Caleah Evans."
It was a statement, not an inquiry. She did not recognize the deep male voice saying her name and was far too interested in watching the horses in the paddock before the eighth race to turn her attention away from them.
"What?" she replied flatly, not even looking back at where she assumed the speaker had been standing. The speaker moved to stand against the paddock rail next to her. He was well over six feet and broadly-built, utterly dwarfing her. He was an older man with a weathered appearance and a sparse tuft of white hair on the very top of his head; Caleah could tell, however, that he was a horseman. She did not know how she knew, she simply knew.
"I heard you were buying," he said simply, without introduction.
"Not here," she replied flatly. "Not these horses. They are common."
"No, not one of these," the man said with a wry grin. "I agree, much too common. I heard you were looking for more.. flashy stock. I have a longtime client with a yearling colt he's looking to sell. Nothing wrong with him, just trying to reduce the herd. His farm is closer to your neck of the woods. Thought you might want to have a look at him; big, correct colt, nice hip, should be a decent runner. Owner bought his dam in foal for a few bucks at a bloodstock auction. She's bred well enough, the colt is sired by a black type winner."
"Do I know you?" Caleah asked bluntly, looking over at the stranger with a remarkably unimpressed look on her face. This man was a total unknown to her, but he was acting as if they'd met before.
"I doubt it," the man said, shaking his head. "I saw your mare.. Greatlocke, was it? Saw her run once, mentioned her to the owner of this colt, he apparently did some research. Mentioned you had a couple of funny looking horses. Was my idea to come to you about his colt, though."
Greatlocke.. She had been a promising mare, a lovely bay filly with four high white stockings and a bald face that covered her entire muzzle, lower lip and all - and those charming belly spots.. She had some speed in her, Caleah remembered, but Greatlocke was soft-boned and a major injury forced her to retire early. Complications from surgery to repair the injury resulted in the mare's euthanasia.. It was an unfortunate outcome, but the mare was not fit to be bred anyway - Caleah was a stickler for soundness, and an injury of this particular variety was an automatic strike against a horse.
She did not react to the explanation.It was a little strange to her but she'd dealt with much stranger things in her life, certainly.. A long, silent moment passed and then, quite suddenly, the man produced a business card from the inside pocket of his blazer.
"Here's my client's card, tell him Rick sent you for the white colt."
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Post by Vicentia Estates on Jun 15, 2012 23:51:03 GMT -5
I'm excited to read more of this! I love the writing and the explanations that aren't lengthy but give just enough background to help you understand what's going on without taking your hand and just leading you straight through the entire story, haha. In regards to her character, I can agree that it isn't something that's around here but Rena isn't my usual character by any stretch of the imagination and I've played characters who have far worse/much more vulgar personalities in many ways so Caleah is refreshing compared to the regular stories
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Post by High Point Stable on Jun 15, 2012 23:58:09 GMT -5
Thanks! This actually isn't my usual style at all - I had a look at the other writing on here and I tried to do something similar so when I posted something, it wouldn't be WORDS WORDS WORDS everywhere. I tend to be very long-winded, and that doesn't seem to fit with the style of the other people here. I'm pretty flexible like that. I know at some point this story is going to push the rating because that's how Caleah is; she's a very old character of mine (6+ years, in fact) so she isn't about to change. She is a little troubled, shall we say? Part 2 will be up sometime before I head off for the night.
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Post by High Point Stable on Jun 16, 2012 1:01:37 GMT -5
part two! One swear at the very end. You are warned
Though she wasn't really in the market for more horses at this point, Caleah was intrigued enough by the man Rick's invitation to the 'white colt' that she had to follow up on it. An appointment was made and in only two short weeks, Caleah found herself driving down a wooded backroad in the middle of what felt like nowhere with her assistant trainer in the passenger's seat and an empty horse trailer hitched to the back.
Just in case.
"It shouldn't be far now," her assistant said wearily, peering about for some sign of an opening in the trees, a mailbox, a driveway, anything that would indicate the presence of a farm. "Is this even going to be worth it?"
"It better be," Caleah replied shortly. A long trip resulted in frayed tempers and Caleah, who had a short fuse at the best of times, was downright dangerous after a day's drive. Her assistant knew better than to push his luck.
The pair both lapsed back into silence with only the quiet hum of the engine and the turning of the wheels to provide any sound at all inside the car.
It was less than fifteen minutes later down this same, wooded backroad that Caleah’s assistant, Evan, cleared his throat and pointed down the road.
“That it?” he suggested hopefully. Where he was pointing stood a sign with words illegible from this distance, but definitely of the variety farms hang at the end of their driveway. Sure enough, just behind it was a wide drive that looked quite like it desperately needed to be filled and leveled, from what she could see.
“Maybe,” she replied, leaning forward a little and accelerating in anticipation. Though she didn’t need another horse and was too tired to be truly enthusiastic about this trip, the idea that maybe, just maybe this owner had something outstanding made her want to hurry and see. Sure enough, upon approach, she could read the words, ‘Big Creek Farm’ and the number ‘632’ beneath that, exactly as she’d been told. She turned onto the driveway.
It was long and full of unavoidable potholes that made both Caleah and Evan clutch at the inside of the vehicle as if fearing they might be ejected from it. She could only hope none of these potholes were of the variety that would enjoy popping a tire; she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with that out here, in the middle of nowhere.
The driveway went on for quite a distance before the trees properly opened up, revealing what Caleah considered a relatively small property with fairly cruddy facilities. Just making her way up the drive, she could spot several broken fence boards in the front paddocks, which were almost completely mud. Her lip curled slightly at the sight – was paddock maintenance really so hard?
She pulled up to the old wooden barn and killed the engine. Evan did not ask for direction but waited for it, instead. It never came; Caleah hopped out of the vehicle and left him sitting quite alone while she waded through almost ankle-deep puddles in places to get to the door of the barn.
“Mr. Barley,” she called, glancing down the aisle of the barn. It was plain and dark and showed its age in the sheer volume of chewed wood and cobwebs in every corner. A glance into a nearby stall revealed full water buckets, hay in the corner, and clean shavings, but Caleah couldn’t help but feel like these horses were unfortunate in their owner’s choice of stabling.
But Caleah was quite the elitist.
“Mr. Barley,” she called again, this time with a stroke of impatience. No reply came immediately, so she shook her head with an annoyed huff and walked outside again, this time heading toward the back of the property. She figured if there was a white yearling on the property, she’d be able to pick him out easily in a sea of muddy bays and chestnuts.
She wasn’t wrong.
In the furthest field from the barn, she could see several horses – all yearlings – playing in a deep puddle in a dip in the center of their field. Two of them were bay, one was chestnut, one was a chestnut going gray, and the other was a filthy, stained white. Unmistakable. Without waiting for an invitation, she made her way through a maze of fencing to gate of the yearlings’ enclosure.
She whistled quietly, only so that the yearlings were alerted to her being there, if they hadn’t already noticed. Four of the five yearlings turned to look at her, including the dirty white one. Three of them decided she looked more interesting than the puddle – also including the dirty white one. Two of those came with their head low and ears forward, an amicable approach, possibly expecting treats or scratches.
The dirty white was not one of those two.
No, that colt hurried to the gate before the other two and as soon as he reached it, he laid his ears back and pinched his nostrils at Caleah in a clearly threatening manner. Unimpressed, Caleah did not back off at all, and when the colt tried to bite at her arm, she instantly swung a retaliatory slap right across his cheek.
He was momentarily stunned, affording her the opportunity to look him over. He had blue eyes and pink skin, but a closer look told her that he was not white at all – he was a very pale cream color, and his points were a faint brownish peach.
“Perlino,” she said to herself out loud when she came to this observation.
“What’s that?” replied a voice nearby, accompanied by the sick sucking sound of boots getting vacuumed into deep mud.
“It’s a color, Mr. Barley,” Caleah replied smoothly. “Is this the white colt you were looking to sell?”
“Yes ma’am,” the man said gruffly, moving around her and entering the field. He did not hesitate – when the colt approached him with pinned ears, he revealed a stud chain which was deftly wrapped around the colt’s nose before the colt could take a chunk of flesh out of the man’s wrist. As soon as he tried, the man rapped him hard on the nose with the chain and the colt, while eyeing the man a hair more respectfully, showed no sign of submission. That, however, was good enough for his owner, who led the colt out of the field and toward the barn, leaving Caleah to close the gate behind him.
When the trio arrived at the old barn, the man had the colt stand in the dimly-lit aisle, suspiciously glaring at him and holding the lead tensely, clearly ready to deal with the colt if he attempted something dangerous.
“His momma was just a regular brown that I bought at an auction,” the man explained. Caleah approached the colt without hesitation to look him over. “His sire is a bay. I have no idea how this one got white.”
“He’s not white,” Caleah said bluntly, grabbing the colt’s near foreleg and prying it off the ground despite his protests. He tried getting his hindquarters under himself and pushing himself away from her. Not only did she not release his leg, but she growled a sharp, ‘Hey!’ at him and gave him just enough of a push to make him stand right again. Like nothing happened, she continued, “He’s perlino. Out of a brown mare, by a bay stallion? Get him blood tested. You were probably taken for a ride.”
She dropped the colt’s foot and walked to stand in front of him, near the owner.
“What do you mean?” he inquired, sounding offended.
“I mean you can’t get this color out of a brown mare,” she said flatly. “Nor by a bay stallion. Either his sire and dam are not really brown and bay or you bought a mare with a surrogate foal.”
“The first thing I did was have him tested,” the man said with renewed confidence. “I have the paperwork. His parentage is confirmed. Look – I’ll go get it. He’s not registered yet, but he can be. Hold this-“
With that, he handed Caleah the lead and jogged out of the barn. Minutes later, he returned with several sheets of paper and several photos in hand, all of which he presented to Caleah.
“See?” he said, pointing to a bolded line on one of the papers. “Both sire and dam are a match. Here are photos of them, look-“
Caleah did look. The first photo was what looked like an ordinary dark bay or brown mare with a small snip and amber eyes. The second photo was not, however, of a bay horse. The golden undertones gave it away – though he was dark and not what one typically thinks of when they think buckskin, she felt she could safely assume the sire, at least, was a sooty buckskin. The mare, then, might be a smoky black..
Included in the paperwork was a pedigree. The colt was decently bred; a few black type winners spotted throughout, but no real superstars up close. She glanced at him over the paperwork and considered the yearling for a moment. He was a big yearling, if nothing else, he looked almost like an awkward two year old.. His attitude, though – he had started trying to bite his owner again.
“He’s kind of a shithead, isn’t he?” she observed.
“Yes,” Mr. Barley replied with a grunt and a hard shake of the lead shank, causing the colt to back several feet down the barn aisle. “Very much so. You would be doing me a huge favor if you took him.”
Caleah considered the colt again, walking around him, running a hand down his legs (which he objected to, but she ignored) and looking in his mouth (which nearly lost her a finger or two). He was definitely a bright-eyed, feisty fellow; despite the dirt and stains, he had lovely color and was certainly put together like a budding racehorse..
Taking several steps back again, Caleah folded her arms and with a smooth glance over at Mr. Barley, queried, “How much?”
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Post by Quinn Monroe on Jun 16, 2012 9:43:33 GMT -5
Do post a post a picture if you ever get time. He sounds stunning. Lovely story by the way, you're super talented in writing. *Bookmarks*
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Post by High Point Stable on Jun 20, 2012 21:10:23 GMT -5
A price was not easy to disagree on. Mr. Barley seemed to have the idea that the colt's color alone could convince Caleah to cut him a check worthy of being considered 'an arm and a leg,' but she flat-out rejected his price... repeatedly. She didn't even bother haggling, she just let him drop the price on his own with the reminder that she could get a better bred colt for less if she wanted, and eventually he suggested a price Caleah was willing to agree to.
Vet records and statements were looked over, a bill of sale was signed, a check was written, and Mr. Barley handed the colt's incomplete registration papers and lead shank to Caleah.
"I would suggest some Ace for the ride," the now former owner grumbled almost illegibly. "He's never been on a trailer before."
Loading was a fiasco in itself. Caleah did elect to give the colt a little Ace and try to teach him a thing or two about trailers and loading while waiting for the sedative to kick in, but the colt stubbornly refused to have any part of it and attempted striking at Caleah and Evan (who had come to assist) on several occasions. Patience seriously deteriorating, Caleah threw a towel over the yearling's head, effectively blindfolding him, and from there he was almost literally shoved onto the trailer.
Caleah found herself complaining loudly about unhandled yearlings the entire way home to Arendale, causing Evan to squirm uncomfortably in the passenger's seat.
The colt had mellowed out sometime during the ride, but whether that was from simply being tired of fighting or the Ace finally taking full effect was quite unknown. At any rate, when Caleah pulled the dirty white colt off the trailer, he had a little less fire to him and was more open to the idea of being led into the only barn on the High Point property whose construction was fully complete: the broodmare barn.
“Take this,” she called out to the barn at large, and at once, a groom popped out of a stall to her left and came hurrying down the barn aisle. “Bring him to the next empty stall, get him cleaned up and bedded in. He hasn’t been handled much so be careful.”
“Got it, boss,” the groom said while grabbing the colt’s lead. The colt briefly pinned his ears and wandered toward the groom like he was going to take a bite out of his arm, but seemed to decide against it halfway there and followed reluctantly until they both were out of sight of Caleah.
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Post by High Point Stable on Jun 20, 2012 21:11:42 GMT -5
Some mild language and even milder rough handling of yearlings in this one!
Over the next few days, Caleah couldn’t help but feel like she had wasted a lot of money on the colt’s purchase. When the sedative fully wore off, he was even nastier than he had been at his previous owner’s farm. Every morning, a groom would open the small square window at one end of his stall and hook his food bucket in place. Every morning, the colt lunged at the arm sticking into his stall and more often than not, he was able to deliver a devastating bite before the arm had completely withdrawn from his stall. On the first day, a groom had tried to walk into the stall to put a couple flakes of hay into the hayrack hanging on the wall. The colt charged the groom, who was lucky to escape serious injuries – a couple fat bruises and lingering soreness, nothing more.
After that, hay was merely thrown into the stall and if it landed in the hayrack, fantastic – if not, the colt would just have to eat it off the floor. Caleah did not penalize the groom for this; she witnessed the incident with the hay and made a note to correct the behavior once she was sure he was settled into his new home.
His disposition didn’t change. She had been hoping for some noticeable sign that he was acclimated with his new surroundings, but he gave none, so five days after his purchase, training began.
In typical Caleah Evans style, training started with curbing the colt’s nasty temper with the aid of a whip. One morning, she went out to the barn with two flakes of alfalfa in one hand and short stock whip in the other. Without saying a word to anyone in the barn or the horse standing in the corner of his stall, devouring his feed, she slid open his stall door and casually walked inside.
Immediately the colt turned on her, and just as quickly as he’d pinned his ears and made to leap at her, she cracked the whip directly to his left and snarled, “Don’t!”
As she’d expected, he spooked at the sound and hastily scurried to the left, away from the noise, nostrils hugely flaring and whites of his eyes showing briefly. He quickly assessed the situation and decided it was just a scary noise, so after a moment’s hesitation he lunged at Caleah again.
Again, she cracked the whip at him, though this time while taking two steps toward him – again she snarled, “Quit!” at him, and again, the colt spooked at the sound and squashed himself against the wall of the stall. She could see it in his eyes, though: this colt was beginning to understand. He wasn’t there yet, though.
Caleah took two steps toward the hay rack on the wall and the colt charged her for a third time. This time, since he seemed to have some idea what was going on but was still not taking her quite seriously, Caleah cracked the whip at him and let the tip of it sting his shoulder.
The effect was immediate. The colt realized he had crossed a horrible line and backed off in a hurry again, but this time he did not quickly challenge her again. She didn’t move from her spot in the stall, alfalfa still in one hand and the whip still in the other.
They stood there for a minute or two, staring at each other – Caleah with a firm glare at the colt, and the colt with an only partially defiant look back. After what seemed like forever, the colt let out an enormous sigh and dropped his head with a longing glance over to his half-eaten grain.
“Good boy,” Caleah said as soon as she saw the yearling’s posture change. “Good colt..”
She turned from him and tossed the hay into the hayrack. Even with her back turned, the colt didn’t charge her again – he stood solemnly to one side of the stall, watching her warily.
Caleah approached the perlino yearling and he turned his head away from her when she did, ears briefly pinning against his soft peach mane.
“Hey,” she growled, and that was enough – the colt didn’t flinch, but he’d learned his lesson well enough that he decided to submit. Caleah was able to touch the colt and rub along his neck and back without him reacting at all.
“Good,” she praised quietly, running a hand cautiously down each of his legs. He did not pick his feet up for her – not that she had expected him to – but he did not try to kick her, either. She murmured again, “Good… Don’t make me have to teach you again tomorrow.. You keep that shit up and I’ll have you gelded, pretty color or not.”
With a soft pat on the colt’s hip, she walked out of the stall and slid the door shut behind her.
“Sometimes,” she announced to the audience of two grooms standing outside the stall, “You have to just spell it out very clearly to them; can’t leave any room for them to question you. Most horses don’t need it like that but when they’re such an ass that you can’t walk into their stall without them trying to kill you, no mercy. Let me know if he’s still giving you trouble after today. I have to go work a couple horses.”
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Grace Rosen
Approved Member
Bleached and dyed her hair pink. Oh Grace ._.
Posts: 1,831
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Post by Grace Rosen on Jun 20, 2012 21:13:02 GMT -5
Love it all! Can't wait to read what else you got.
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