Post by jagger on Aug 22, 2009 4:28:13 GMT -5
Abyss Speaking,
How may I help you?
How may I help you?
. The pre-set alarm on her cell phone went off promptly at 6am but it was highly unnecessary - she was awake, and had been, stewing over recent events. Punching the "cancel" button, she half-threw, half-placed the beat up silver flip phone in the cupholder of the borrowed truck, killing the ignition and jumping out of the diesel powered beast. It was gigantic compared to her; but then what wasn't? She moved to the rear of the trailer, the silver sundowner dewy in the morning light. She had attempted, a few days prior, to do multiple runs only to be interrupted by a headstrong yearling unsettling her mount - perhaps this time would be a teeny bit better.
Unloading her charge was a quick task, and even quicker yet was the precursory check of all of her tack - she had taken the time to dress the mare before loading; to save on time spent diddling around here. Why bother taking up space? Harriet loaded rather well, all said and done; trailered even better - one trip tacked up wouldn't kill her, despite her price tag saying otherwise. With a gentle pat to her animal and a soft, even sigh, the off-white albino stepped out onto the track. The toe of her boots stirred up a small tornado of dust that circled the rounded edge of her riding boot and settled in a kaleidoscope pattern, lace-like, across the top of the black leather. It was like coming home while simultaneously stepping out into the breezeway for the first time. It was Heaven.
She was statuesque despite her tiny structure; her tights fitting like a second skin beneath the hardly roomy breeches. A lightweight silver turtleneck protected her upper body; it too, leaving little room for wind resistance. No doubt, the jockey apparel left little to the imagination. Her barely golden, mostly white hair was french braided and tucked into her helmet, the chin strap holding the safety device in place. She was without goggles today - had she been with another rider, goggles would be a necessity given the rocks that could be thrown up from another set of hooves - but she found them cumbersome and annoying when riding alone. Abyss was annoyed often. Four-foot-nine and full of piss and vinegar.
Her right hand gripped the working reins of a rose grey filly; her charge for the next few weeks - Wild About Harry. Previously she'd referred to the mare as Wild, but Harriet just worked so much better - and truly, the filly seemed to respond to it. She wasn't much over three years old, sent to Abyss for an evaluation; which they had begun some days prior with single breezes alone. Pending this evaluation, the young mare would either be considered a good buy and used further for racing and the breeding program of her current owner, or she would be entered in a claiming race and sold to the highest bidder. Though she would remain neutral about it, Abyss was already hoping the filly would work out. She had a certain sweetness to her; and the tiny blonde could appreciate a sweet horse. In the end, if she didn't work out, perhaps Aby could purchase her. Yeah, right. If money grew on trees.
Switching her grip on the rein from right hand to left, she viewed the elegant filly with a fond smile, now free fingers - aside from the whip, which was a staple and practically glued to her fingers - flipping back to double-check the buckle on the girth strap and reaching out to tug the overgirth on the scrap of leather they wryly referred to a saddle. A brief tug and her stirrups dropped the appropriate five inches, curved slightly outward to lend the correct footing.. to be blunt, stirrups on a racing saddle were like tits on a boar hog. They really didn't do much. Sliding the rein over the filly's neck in a V formation, she allowed the young grey to dance in a circle as she prepared herself for a swing up, left hand gripping a handful of mane and the reins simultaneously. Her right hand fell to her hip and she pressed her back and shoulders against the filly's shoulder, matching the movement step for step. Taking two swinging steps in a spin back toward the filly; one to pivot and the other to kick - she kicked off with her right foot and jumped on the left, successfully launching herself into the air in one fluid, practiced move.
She settled gently into the saddle, her whip tucked between the leather and her breeches as she tied a double knot in the racing reins, her hands sliding through to grip them with a practiced, firm hand. Instantly, Harriet moved forward, anticipating her jockey's cue to move out. Abyss found this mild indiscretion at moving before being asked to mildly annoying - her place was not to train, it was to evaluate; and she had gotten used to the filly's little behavioral quirks. She directed the grey toward the gate, the rear doors open and the fore closed, and her dappled youngster loaded much better than she ever had before - smoothly and without much fuss at all.
With the timer set, the blonde flattened herself against the grey's neck, and in two heartbeats the gates flew open with a bang. Adrenaline surged through her as she gasped Ha!, sending the filly forward (though truth be told, Harriet needed no encouragement). Aby caught a mouthful - and an eyeful - of silver mane as it snapped back in her face, and pausing, tucked her head to blink herself clear again, glancing up and between the rosy ears as they were approaching the first turn. Faint music surged through her ear drums and she mentally sang along, arms working stride for stride with the filly as she pumped her for more. She was still sitting fairly high - she could get much lower on Harriet's withers, giving her more room to speed up - but she was intentionally holding back for a bit, waiting until they'd cleared the first half mile before really turning the mare loose.
Rounding the second turn, she took that instant to flatten herself against the mare's neck, stretching her arms forward to give the filly her head. Though the whip remained within easy reach, she never touched it - no need, no competition. Eagerly the filly took the excess rein and ran with it, ears flattened against her skull as her long strides ate up ground, her breath coming in ragged huffs. Abyss realized she was breathing in much the same fashion, and a demented little giggle tore out of her chest as she considered the similarities between herself and the filly.
They flashed past the training gate and Abyss stood in the stirrups, hauling backward on the reins. All her weight - which was only about 90 lbs - and the filly still fought it. They had completed half a lap before she drew the grey to a trot, turning her in a half-circle to head back the way they had come, back to the gate to reload and breeze again. Steam rose from the pair and the irony wasn't lost on Abyss - they were on fire - and as she posted, popping up and down with Harriet's gait, she sighed with utter bliss. She loved her job, truly, truly did.