are we having fun yet? [Poseidon - For Sale]

[poseidon]

The coal black stud stood inside the twelve foot panels (erected for mostly his benefit) with some notable degree of impatience. A foreleg came up to clang against the corral and a pop on the nose from his handler sent him shuffling backward - not in fear, but moreover disturbance, his thick ears flattening against his solid skull. What a surprise. He was at auction. Again.

His cryer/handler climbed to stand on top of his truck, throwing his arms out in a dramatic, circus-like display; as if he were conducting some serious symphonics. He was a tall, willowy gentleman; looked as if he had not a single mean bone in his body. Truth be told, he probably didn't. Waving arms toward himself to beckon people in closer; he began telling the stallion's tale.

"Come one! Come all! Come boys and girls! Let me tell you about the most interesting stallion I have ever met. See him stand there -" (he pointed now to the extended panels and the towering animal within) "- see the way he moves! This stallion is a born performer, a born survivor. He was found in Cuba! Running with a herd of goats.. yes, goats. He was feral as all get out and they still don't know where he came from. They regarded him as a yearling, lassoed him, and brought him in for taming. Oh, but this boy didn't make it easy, no." His voice dropped conspiratorially and he leaned forward to emphasize the story. "Ya'see, Poseidon; he's a tough cookie to crack. They boarded him up in a nice stall, turned him out regularly.. but he's always been a pain and a half to work with. They sold him not even 6 months later; to a hard knock trainer. Trainer hated him. Kept him a year and passed him on. He wound up with a gal he really loved.. and she passed away of leukemia. This stud.. he's well.. A bit stubborn, and definitely opinionated. He enjoys his job, but not much else. He's horrible to people he doesn't like. And once he attaches himself to you.. well.. look out. Even if you didn't want a horse; you've got one. For life. They say animals don't hold grudges? Bull! This horse holds a grudge all his life." The willowy cryer jammed a thumb in Poseidon's direction and the stallion snorted, backing up to stare at him as if fully comprehending the conversation.

"He's got phenomenal scope. Amazing structure, conformation to die for. He clears near five foot easily - and can easily handle more, given a trainer to work with him. He's skilled in upper level dressage and is positively unflappable at shows. Nothing spooks him in the arena. As for breed.. well ... A blood test came back touting that he was purebred Brazilian Warmblood - and they still don't know how he got to Cuba. He's nearly 18-hands, this boy here. Every bit of it muscle. But what it boils down to .... is who wants to put up with the attitude?" The cryer held his hands out, shaking his head and dropping his arms to his side.

"I'll tell ya folks, it don't matter to me, but I know it matters to him. Poseidon deserves a home he can live with all his days. He came to me when his mistress' estate closed; and he's been with me for nigh-on a year now without much more than a pat here and there. If you think you want him; we'll start the bidding. Whaddya think?"

And with that he leapt off the truck and back to the ground, waiting patiently.

They Call Me Poseidon
17.3hh Brazilian Warmblood
Black -- no markings
Three-Day potential;
currently Grand Prix &
high level Dressage +
English equitation

[rain]

[ Character - Oliver Yarborough ]

Upon his arrival, the well clad Brit was itching to find a new piece of horseflesh to call his own. He had to leave his mount in Britain, which worked out considering her diagnosis with COPD shortly before his departure. She'd never had thrived in this environment, even he was having some mild climate shock. Truth be told, while he loved the heat, he loved it in doses. But, he had heard good things of this area and wanted to give it a chance. He hadn't been in town a whole two hours yet but he had a knack for finding his way around a place and soon wound up at the auction house. Truth be told, it seemed to be run rather haphazardly, allowing all who dropped in to manage their own deals. It was more a come-n-go sales lot, which he could appreciate. Having looked through the numerous stock types with a mild frustration, it was then he heard the beckoning call of a would-be ringleader and his attention diverted to its source.

Standing afar from where the announcer blazed his dissertation, Oliver listened with mild interest. He put little stock in what sellers had to say, they usually lied or over-dramatized an animal just to make a sale. Or worse, a better price. Still, he listened and sorted through what he thought was truth and what he found to be merely fluff. As the term 'warmblood' reached his ears, his interest piqued and he immediately pushed away from the wall he was leaning against to investigate the beast in question. Long strides carried his lean frame around the corner to the extended panels. He stepped around and peered inside, eyes popping at the beast within. In his typical evaluation-manner, his arms folded over his chest as he made a lap around the pen, eyeing the stud intently. Amazing structure? You bet. Conformation to die for? Damn right. Attitude? Nothing he hadn't dealt with before. At the thought, he chuckled as a reminiscing memory flooded back to him of a cantankerous red Trakehner mare who could jump the moon but hated all. They managed a working relationship at one time, but it was clear she held no one close to her heart. She was aware she couldn't jump alone, so if someone could pass her multitude of tests, she would tolerate them so long as they could keep up and she could continue to jump the moon.

Having made enough laps to dizzy himself, Oliver began chewing on his cheek in indecision. He wasn't a fan of studs, they were more trouble than they needed to be, and usually stuck to geldings and mares. At the option of purchasing and gelding the black brute, however, he inwardly cringed as he looked upon the big picture once more (and it was a BIG! picture.) To geld something so magnificent...well, you might as well toss ketchup on the Mona Lisa. No, if he was to invest in this stud, he couldn't do such an injustice to an amazing creature. Sighing, he resolved himself to the fact he had made up his mind before realizing it and then swept his gaze around for the same man who weaved such an elaborate tale of the devil behind bars.

[poseidon]

Although he wasn't an overly aggressive creature to begin with, he hated being taunted; and as some ridiculously unruly teenagers shoved their hands in the corral to get in the big stud's face: he launched himself at them. Teeth bared and crest arched, his wide, untrimmed hooves stomped inches from the panels as he squealed and threw himself bodily into the panels. The teenagers scattered. Mission accomplished, he reversed to stand directly in the center of his corral again; full of himself, a little bit of vinegar and a whole lot of piss. Dark ears remained plastered to his feathered dark skull and he stared sulkily at the ground, irritated at the circus around him.

Noting an interested party, the cryer stood and meandered over to stand a safe distance away from the grumpy stallion; eyebrows raised as he looked at Oliver expectantly. "Can I help you, Sir?" He called, lifting one hand to indicate that it was to Oliver he spoke. He really, truly, did not want to take this horse back home with him. It had taken a whole lot of tranquilizers to make him even half-way decent to unload; given the stud hadn't been out in a year (possibly more); he was a ticking time bomb - and at 18 hands, that would be one hell of a bomb going off.

At the sound of his current handler(captor?)'s voice, Poseidon's ears flopped forward and he eyeballed the correspondence suspiciously, a spark of intelligence hidden behind those dark, wide eyes. He was no plod, not dead from the neck up for certain - and not just your run of the mill asshole, either. A bag flapped from his left and he shot six feet to the right, tail fanning and head flung high as he glanced back to stare at the bag's wielder. Ah. Joy. A stupid teenager come back to retaliate. "Hey! Hey! This horse could kill you, you stupid shits!" The cryer shouted, scuffing a foot in their direction as the boys tore for the hills.

[rain]

Watching the stud's behavior with a mixed amusement, Oliver's attention spun to the same voice that was now no longer booming into the crowds (or sparse speckling of people here and there, as the case was.) He unfolded his arms, shoving both hands into his pockets now as he met the seller's side. "Heard your spat, care to ride him out for me?" He wasn't one for long dissertations over and over, he was one with a schedule to keep, even if he wasn't aware of it. Besides, the horse would speak louder than the owner pushing it off their hands. And clearly this stud had a voice of his own. He couldn't help but chuckle as the last teen was chased off in a flurry. He looked back to the seller again, waiting for him to either make excuses or comply with his request.


[ Yes, it's short and sucks, but I figure it's an opening for something amusing. ]

[poseidon]

The cryer stared at him blank faced. "Ride him?" He laughed out loud, spinning to look at the massive stallion with a slightly hysteric, almost panicked look. "I don't think I can. I'm just an auctioneer. I won't lie.. I don't know shit. But I can try to make him move for you, if you like." The man shrugged, throwing up his hands as he turned to wobble back to the corral, whistling shrilly to Poseidon -- who merely flattened his ears in response. Lifting up a leadline, he squeezed his pudgy self through the bars and ventured toward the big black Warmblood with a slightly nervous tick, sidling up to him.

Poseidon stood solid, staring down the minion as he approached. His ears flicked up at the sight of the leadrope and then flattened abruptly again, allowing the handler to get within two feet and begin to reach for him before he promptly spun on his hind and pivoted to plant his large black ass directly in front of the handler. Abruptly cocking a hind leg; the cryer jumped sideways, patting Poseidon's hip nervously. "Easy, buddy, easy." He cooed, half to himself and half to the horse. Inching his way to the stud's front end, he snapped the leadline onto the O-ring at the bottom of his halter.

Poseidon didn't flinch. Ears remained flattened, his head high.
A gentle tug from the cryer.
No response. The stud stood riveted to his current spot.
A harder tug.
Poseidon's ears flipped sideways and he whipped his head around to glare unnervingly at his would-be handler, who promptly jumped sideways and steeled himself. With another gentle tug, Poseidon pivoted on his fore and followed in puppy-dog fashion all the way up to the gate.

Tying him to the gate - stupid idea - the handler retrieved an English saddle from the cab of his truck and hustled around to tack up the big black, who stood boredly with his tail flicking ever so slightly. Waiting until the handler passed around behind him, his tail cracked with whip-like precision, smacking the man in the face violently (and painfully; given the swearing that ensued). Snuffing, he heaved a great sigh, sucking air in as he was cinched.

"Um... can you give me a hand with the gate? I'll take him to the round pen over there." He nodded toward the auction yard's tiny arena.

[rain]

Oliver stood back and observed in silence. He stifled a chuckle as he watched the stud's frustrated intelligence shine through. His silence was broken momentarily as the squatty man tried to reassure both himself and the big horse who could easily smite him (and was most likely very aware of that fact). "Smart little shit, huh?" Little? More like ginormous, really. He had little to say after that point and merely stood back to watch the slow process of getting the big stud ready for a work-out. He had half a mind to put up a hand and just tell him to pitch a number to him, but he had seen enough good horses walk out dead lame after a few minutes in either direction, so he decided to let him do his thing.

Clearly the man knew little on horses, as most people were that Oliver encountered, but he wasn't about to start giving free lessons. He simply stood back and was the silent observer all over again. He erupted in unabashed laughter as the stud snapped the pudgy man in the face. This was one sharp kid, no doubt about that. Oliver would have to stay on his toes, no doubt about that. And with his immense size, a pissed off Poseidon had the potential as a major force to be reckoned with. He had to take this all into consideration, and if the price outweighed his inhibition towards risk of bodily injury (or death) he would possibly have to pass on the magnificently pieced together puzzle of an equine.

Upon the request for assistance, Oliver stifled the urge to roll his eyes before striding over and throwing the gate wide for them. Tracking his gaze in the direction the handler suggested, his eyes fell on the arena at which time he nodded and stepped back. Normally, he'd meet them there as he was a fast walker, but he opted on hanging back to watch the big boy walk from behind him. He had a feeling he'd come with a hefty price tag, no point in cutting corners now.

[poseidon]

The cryer slid the bridle on over his halter - a rather uncomfortable looking situation; though the man was clueless to this and the black easily took the bit - and took a firm grip on the leadline - one just under Poseidon's chin, the other farther down the line - and led him out; half expecting the big stallion to explode and bolt for freedom. Placid now under saddle; Poseidon simply padded behind him. Saddles meant work. Saddles meant fun. Saddles were a Poseidon's best friend. Mind you, a best friend he hadn't seen in a year.

Once to the round pen and inside, the cryer pulled the stirrups down, disconnecting the leadline and throwing the reins up over his head. No turn out.. no lunging ... vastly stupid mistakes. Yawning toothily, the stallion cocked a hip, standing in park as he waited for the pudgy - and compared to him, short - individual to drag over a mounting block, clamoring up to the top step, settling one foot in the stirrup, and preparing to swing over.
Poseidon tensed; ears flattening abruptly. The weight in the saddle was nothing overly strenuous; but annoying to say the least. He backed a step and the cryer took the opportunity to swing aboard, booting the stallion lightly in the side with his heel - probably by accident - as he jostled for position.

It was On like Donkey Kong from that moment. Bolting forward, the black horse streaked forward at a dead run, pausing as he met the curve of the wall to pop up in a series of crow hops, leaping toward the center of the ring and spinning stock-style before jerking to a stop. Choking up on the reins, his would-be rider shrieked slightly at the sudden, nauseating turn and leaned back - too far back - and the stallion reversed, reversing clear across the pen and slamming into the opposite wall, startling himself forward with another crow hop and cow-kick. His front end was getting light the more his mouth was leaned on, front end popping up off the ground. Head flung forward, he jerked the reins free, snapping them through his handler's fingers.

Snorting wildly, he side-stepped clear across the pen to rub his rider's left leg against the wall, picking up a collected trot while he delightedly wounded the man on board. A mangled cry escaped his rider and stopping short, he flung the idiot forward, over his neck; where the individual landed with another short cry. Spinning, he bolted in the opposite direction; quickly coming full circle, attempting to avoid the prone figure and last minute jumping him instead. His knees snapped skyward, powerful haunches launching him heavenward, ears flattened and face determined. Jumper? Damn straight. And a good one.

[rain]

Amused did not even begin to describe the emotion that was sweeping over Oliver from the moment the whole debacle started. Internally, he knew he was about to be front row to a total train wreck and honestly, he could do for a good laugh. Watching with intense interest, Oliver hung himself bent in half over the mid-section of railings as he kept a keen eye out for points of interest. Even in the black beast's explosive temper tantrum, Oliver was watching for several opportunities for flaws. From the physical aspect, of course. Any average Joe the Rider would see this display and go screaming falsetto for the hills. Not Oliver, this was nothing new to him. So long as he didn't take a lame step, he could work with everything else. Not to say he couldn't work with a lame step, but he just wasn't in the mood for something that couldn't keep up with his ambitious nature.

As the black stud ate up the entire arena, Oliver was admittedly impressed with the range and variety displayed. Balanced, poised, elegant and graceful - even in a violent stupor. There was limitless power in the haunches and shoulders that were battling the incompetent boob along for the ride. It was when he was swiftly deposited in the dirt that things truly got interesting. His eyes bulged as Poseidon launched himself over the portly fellow eating sand. Sure, it wasn't a huge leap, but the black stud made it look like a decent oxer (which the guy could easily double for) and to add to it, he made it look like butter. Yes, to say Oliver was sold on him would be drastically understated. Satisfied with what he saw, Oliver quickly ducked into the arena and ran hurriedly to the grounded man, dropping to a knee by him. "Goodness, ol' chap. You alright? That guy is quite the firecracker."

[poseidon]

Fluttering to the back wall of the tiny arena, Poseidon snorted, stopping dead with reins dangling before him. Chewing on his snaffle, dark eyes lit on the two crouched in the corner together, suddenly bored with this whole situation. Shoving his over the top of the gate, he eyed the crowd milling around beyond the walls, once again behaving himself.

Struggling to get to his feet; the cryer was blushed red and obviously a little stressed. Stuttering slightly as brushed himself off, he stared at Oliver; rather glum. "Yeah. Well. Ugh; You're not taking him, are you? Damnit, now I gotta take that damn horse home with me." He looked almost on the verge of tears, collecting himself and taking a calming breath before turning to face the stallion - who was now pacing on the far wall, spinning this way and that. Already; his breathing was normal and he had a slight sheen of sweat all over but no trace of fatigue. He was a steam engine. He could go allllllllll day. Just needed to ask him to.

[rain]

Oliver laughed aloud as he assisted the other man to his feet, shaking his head. He could see how that entire act would put someone off a sale in a heartbeat. But Oliver wasn't just 'someone,' he was Oliver. The guy who would jump the moon if he could. And with a horse like Poseidon between his legs, it very well could happen. It all depended on how things went between the two of them. Oliver, being a persistent and stubborn individual, felt strongly there was a good possibility of success. Even watching all the fantastic feats above air, he knew his seat and was confident in his abilities, so when the defeated man admitted he was expecting Oliver to walk away, he slowly shook his head. "Actually, no. I'll take him." He didn't inquire as to a price, he'd let the dust-covered and bruised seller make that call.


[ Meh. Tired. Crap. ]

[poseidon]

His portly face bulged in sudden excitement and his eyes grew wide, gasping as he stared back at Oliver. "You're serious?" Thinking better of the rest of his sentence - knowing not to look a gift horse in the mouth - he flung himself out of the arena, leaving Oliver standing there with the gargantuan charcoal statue of an animal. "Thank Christ, man. $5,000. Actually, if you never make him touch him again, $4,000 and you can keep the tack." Not that it was that great of a deal - the saddle was used and worn, the leather lifting in some areas and warped in others - it had been rolled over dozens of times and the bridle had seen better days as well. The nervous driver was busy dusting himself off, all while the large stallion dryly looked on.

Round two. Ceasing his pacing, Poseidon's large eyes fixated on Oliver and he stood silently, squarely facing off against the newest intruder to his bubble of doom. His bridle rested uncomfortably on top of the thick halter, far too many creases in the corner of his mouth, bit pinching despite the lack of pressure on his mouth. Poor Posey. He had a mouth; and he had featherweight sides - it didn't take much to get his attention, although he knew how to throw his weight around and ignore certain cues. Heaving a sigh, his ears still flat against his head, he cocked a hip and rested in park position, droll expression plastered on his face.

[rain]

Now that the pudgy fellow was out of danger (for the most part) Oliver proceeded to ignore the rest of his statement after the number was pitched. A fair price considering the fit he was going to get himself into trying to work with this stud. Oliver was tempted to negotiate, but being a bit on the impatient side, was more interested in scribbling out a check and handing it over without another word. Which he quickly did. Billfold pulled from his back pocket, he jotted down a four and four zero's, signed it, folded it, and politely stuck it in the seller's shirt pocket. He didn't bother with a hand shake or 'pleasure doing business,' he simply walked away. Still within the arena, he frowned at the sight of the stud, displeased with the situation he was currently in. It was clear to Oliver how mismatched Poseidon's equipment was, from the snugged bitting to the high-sitting saddle that was undoubtedly pinching the poor horse's shoulders.

A few spare alfalfa cubes in his pocket, Oliver pulled one out and broke it in half, staring into his palms as he met the stud at the halfway mark before leaning against the railing. Patient Oliver had arrived to the scene and this was his bit to tempt the black mammoth. He picked idly at the stems in the small brick, flicking them here and there as he continued to ignore the stallion. Let's just see if this might work. If not, he'd go for a more direct approach, but for now, patience was a virtue.

[poseidon]

Ohhh, I get it. The 'let's ignore the horse so they're interested in what you're doing' schtick. Sure. That won't work. Inexplicably, Poseidon's forelegs trembled and he moved forward ... not so much interested in the food as he was getting this hellish bit out of his mouth. He covered half the distance between them before stopping short, an internal debate raging in his otherwise sensible head. His long - near ground-dragging - tail flicked over his wide haunches and he glumly directed his gaze at the ground; half-resenting his need for assistance in this current situation.

After a moment of consideration, he moved forward again; closing the gap between them to stand just in front of Oliver. The disgruntled, unpleasant horse flattened his ears, thrusting his dripping mouth upright and nostrils into Oliver's face, demanding some sort of action out of the man. He chewed on the bit for emphasis, the metal clanking against long wolf teeth. One hind leg came forward to kick at his belly uncomfortably, back end twitching as flies gathered on his unprotected legs.

Although he was far from exhausted; the possibility of playing hard to get while decked out like a circus act was entirely unappealing. For now, he would befriend Oliver; and see what the European was all about. It was an easy enough situation to live with. Ears still flattened to his head, he nudged Oliver impatiently again.

[rain]

The approaching hoof steps were immediately evident to the tall drink of water as he kept his gaze to the task in his hands. To say he didn't feel slightly successful was a subtle understatement. He was being sought out, not the other way around, and for whatever reason that may be, it told him this acquaintance was not starting with him forcing himself on this clearly intelligent animal. Ingelligent animals could distinguish the difference, which is why Oliver chose this approach to start with. Thankfully, it worked. Before he could even look up to regard Poseidon, a shadow fell over him and soon the muzzle followed suit as it was thrust into his face. Oliver couldn't help but laugh and deposited the pieces of cube into one palm before before slipping his free hand under to rub along the black jawline.

Removing the bridle seemed to be at the top of both of their "to-do" lists, acknowleding that as the bit was chomped in his face. First, considering the fact he had no lead on him and wasn't the most prepared for the situation he was currently in, he quickly unhitched the reins from the gagging bit rings and looped an end through the ring in the halter buried beneath the leather. Working in silence, his fingers deftly worked the chin strap of the snug bridle and released the buckle, traveling up to to the throatlatch which he automatically unbuckled as well. Snaking his hand sneakily up between the set of black ears, he pulled the headstall forward and dropped it only an inch to wait for the black mouth to release the bit. Considering all the chomping and chewing, he timed it accordingly and let the bit drop away from Poseidon's mouth. He eyed the bridle with a mild wrinkle of his nose, noting the cheap quality and breakdown of the stitching and leather. With a snap judgement, he flung it far from them and over the fence.

Now that the bit was free and gone, the palm holding the cubes were placed under the muzzle in a passive offering before moving away and working the buckles to the girth holding the ill-fit saddle in place. In no time, the giant black stallion was now mostly nekkid and with the same disdain he showed the bridle, he chucked the crap-tack to the edge of the arena. "That's gotta feel better, eh mate?" Thumbing the fraying leather rein that was now buckled to the halter, he cast a glance to his truck and trailer which were parked along the pens just a few yards down from where they were. Looking back to Poseidon, he added up the options of leaving the stud where he was to fetch the transportation, or risk taking him along with. He had no idea how he loaded and backing the trailer up to the pen was sounding a tad more appealing in the event Posey decided to throw his weight around. Then again, as he eyed the so-called 'arena's fencing structure, it didn't stand a chance to a beast with the stud's range.

[poseidon]

Poseidon's mouth gaped expectantly as his throat latch was released and he dropped his head, impatient to have his face back. Bit-free, he flung his head high as the cheaply made bridle was flung high over the arena walls, ears flopping forward lazily though completely unalarmed. He was, under some circumstances, unflappable. Of course, that was only some circumstances. Using one stiff, pokey lip to shove the alfalfa cubes off Oliver's palm - where they fell unnoticed to the arena flooring, as Poseidon had no intention of eating them - he huffed, cocking a heel as Oliver went about untacking the rest of him. Given his lack of grooming prior to being tacked up, he had one hell of a burr in his backside; the grit and sand beneath the saddle paddle feeling like miniature boulders shoved under the wool blanket.

Released, he threw himself sideways as the saddle fell to the wayside, pivoting in a neat half-circle around his new handler to place himself the farthest away from the ill-fitting saddle as possible. Tongue falling out the side of his mouth as he heaved a great sigh of relief, his upper lip popped out in a horse laugh, sucking in Oliver's scents; memorizing. Tucking the pink, gargantuan muscle back inside his mouth along with his yawn, he glanced expectantly at Oliver, tail swishing around his hocks with mild trepidation. Now what? Was the clear question.

Dropping his head to rub his muzzle against an extended foreleg, he gracefully stretched his skyscraper build in an awkward bow, face buried between his ankles as he went about making himself itch-free and comfortable. He milked this routine, going on as long as Oliver allowed him before popping upright expectantly. Now would come the trailer, no doubt; and the ride to his next home - or auction house, if Oliver was smart enough to see Trouble with a capital T. Truth be told, given his training he was rather good in the trailer. When asked, he loaded like a dream. When told, he pretty much always acted up. But then, that was the difference. Ask. Don't tell. Best yet, act like the US Military. Don't Ask. Don't Tell. Let Poseidon Do What He Wants At All Times. Okay.. maybe that last bit was a stretch.