. just wild about harry [open]

[jagger]

Abyss Speaking,
How may I help you?

. 5:30am: daybreak. The off-white albino stepped out onto the track; the toe of her boots stirring up a small tornado of dust. It circled the rounded edge of her riding boot and settled in a kaleidoscope pattern, lace-like, across the top of the black leather. 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 was held skyward, up over her head and onto the lunge rein of a rose grey filly; who's paperwork read "Wild About Harry" - though Abyss was choosing to simply call her Wild. She wasn't much over three years, sent to Abyss for an evaluation. 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 half-hoping the filly would work out. She had a certain sweetness to her; and the tiny blonde could appreciate a sweet horse.

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 three 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, Wild picked up a trot, anticipating her jockey's cue to move out. Reining the young mare in was no easy task; and though Abyss found this mild indiscretion at moving before being asked to mildly annoying - her place was not to train, it was to evaluate. She directed the grey toward the gate, pleased to find it had training levers - that was, levers one could set on ten second timers - she could load and reload the filly all day without ever dismounting or requiring help. The rear doors open and the fore closed, the dappled youngster loaded with only a mild head tossing and some popcorning.

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 and she caught a mouthful - and an eyeful - of silver mane as it snapped back in her face. She tucked her head to blink herself clear again, glancing up and between the rosy ears as they were approaching the first turn. THIS... was living. She couldn't help the cheery smile as she allowed the filly to run out for another furlong, finally drawing the reins up and sitting up slightly. The mare resisted this draw but slowed obediently, fighting it with an open mouth and a low head. This was only the first of several evaluating tests - any horse could run alone, but how they did in a pair, trio or flat out group was an entirely different story. Hips moving in rhythm with the mares gallop, she waited until they had finished the straightaway and were rounding the second turn 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.

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. In the early light the panting little mare was steaming, but the duo was happy. This was a good workout.

[harley]

DANTE HUTTEN

MAN'S BEST FRIEND,"Frannie"

JOSE, "jockey/warm-up rider/trainer"

This was it; the first ride on a real track. The not-so-young owner of a very young Thoroughbred filly pulled into the track's back parking lot, driving an older silver SUV, almost-new white two-horse in-tow, the trailer rocking with the little yearling's movement as the sudden lack of casual rocking from the course of the road. The trainer, jockey, warm-up rider was to arrive within the hour, and that left plenty of time to get the young filly ready to get out on the track.

Putting the vehicle in park with a swift movement of the wrist on the right side of the wheel, the emergency brake was then pulled on, and then finally the turning off of the gas-guzzler. The engine went to an idle, then off before the dirty-blond driver unbuckled the grey belt holding him out and opened the door, putting his booted foot on the running board and clambering out, slamming the door behind him.

Walking around to the passanger's side of the trailer, he opened the tack room door and got the leather lead line out, a silver stud chain on the end of it. The little bay has not progressed to a chain with rubber that was meant for her upper gums, she wasn't that high-strung just yet, but she already had the pissy temperment of a racing horse. Groaning as he walked to the back of the trailer, he swung open both doors and unclipped the rubber-coated chain used as a butt-rope. He left the door open and walked back around to the front of the trailer. He opened the escape door, warning the filly before stepping up and inside.

"God forbid if you bite me, you pissy little shit." He said in a gruff voice, slipping the stud chain over the filly's nose and under her chin. He unclipped the bungee cord used to hold her head in one place, and backed the filly up with a flick of his wrist. The filly raised her head, and already being fourteen hands, almost brushed the ceiling. Note to self- buy a head bumper for this shit.. The filly raced backwards, stepping down almost gracefully and pulling a full one-eighty twist to take a gander at her surrondings. The purple and gold polo wraps around her legs were still in place, thank the lord. Leading the young filly around to the tie place on the outside of the trailer, he quickly tied the rope in a safty-knot, despite the rope being a soft leather.

He ran a brush quickly over her body, the filly prancing here and there as he went. He pciked out her feet, making sure that any crap from the trailer was out before getting the racing pad and saddle he had bought for the filly. She had begun her training as a weanling, getting used to a bit in her mouth and something on her back, as well as a girth. A wet sponge was put into her mouth and squeezed, giving her first taste of water in a six-hour period. Tightening the girth on the racing saddle, he untied her and walked her in circles, debating on whether or not to lunge her. He chose not; that's what the trainer/warm-up rider/jockey was supposed to do.

He waved to a rather nice Hundai that drove into the yard. It was the trainer/warm-up rider/jockey, who was luckily already dressed. He himself was too heavy and tall to ride the filly, but this man at only four ten and just under one hundred pounds was perfect, and he was a licensed trainer as well. Thank the lord for that, eh? He got out the filly's racing bridle and put it over her face, the purple nylon matching her purple and gold polos to a tee.

Explaining a few things to the trainer/warm-up rider/jockey, the jockey/trainer for the day (whom was named Jose), mounted up and rode onto the track with little to no problems. The filly walked out onto the track like an old pro, going through her gates like a fully trained horse, and breezed down the outside of the track like she was racing. Dante had told Jose not to push her at all, just let her go as fast as she wanted to. After four furlongs, Jose slowed her down to a long-strided trot, posting in the short three-inch stirrups.

Dante nodded happily, clicking the stopwatch off. He had done well for not pushing her at all, for not using the whip as anything other than a threat touching her side. Brown eyes shone, heart fluttered. His little pissy shit had shown herself in the first workout on the track. Frannie had done it, she had earned a stall for life at that moment.

Just then, the filly jumped at something, almost discarding her rider. Sighing, Dante reminded himself that she was still young and jumpy, and not everything from her would be perfect at this point in time. Try when she was twenty and an old nag.

[jagger]

As they breezed back toward the gap, she maintained her position, eyes keen between the filly's ears. She saw the trailer and car approach out of her peripherals, watched as they unloaded a horse, and smirked slightly in anticipation. Maybe she'd have some competition today.. phase two of the evaluation. That would be most satisfactory.

Abyss towered in the stirrups, dropping lightly to half-post, half-pop off Wild's back as the gray dragged the reins through her fingertips. Jerking the nylon back, she popped the filly lightly on the shoulder in reprieve, grumbling disapprovingly and flicking the whip back under her arm. "Cool it, Harriet." She quipped; though the filly ignored her and broke stride in boredom, stumbling into a walk - another pop and a kiss sent her back into a trot, and they strode past the bay as if it were routine. Indeed it was - to a horse who had been on the track dozens of times before. Not so much for the younger horse.

The younger bay jumped out of her skin as they passed, nearly unseating the jockey on board; in return, Wild About Harry jumped sideways, ears heavenward and slightly peeved by the bay's behavior. Chuckling amusedly, Abyss craned her neck to gawk at them mildly as they passed; keeping her seat easily. There was a word for this: Superglue. Her ass never left the saddle and she was proud of that, given as many medical claims as she had on her insurance already this decade. Slender fingertips gathered mane and nylon and she tugged the stubborn blockhead of a mare around in a circle, hauling her to a stop beside the causeway. Her hands never left the reins nor relaxed; just as the gray beneath her never wavered from the quivering mess of a Thoroughbred she was. Fact of the matter was you could never - ever - trust a racehorse.

Flicking a hard gaze to - evidently, the guardian - of this young mare, she raised an eyebrow. "I'm running drills. Is that going to disturb your charge?" Despite being both tiny and pale, her voice cut out crystal clear and easy to hear, carrying despite the lack of volume. She was a power figure, and knew it; what little weight she had, she threw around, and her voice was a product of such. She needed to be heard sometimes. The Thoroughbred beneath her shifted and twitched from foot to foot; Abyss let her have her head, allowing the filly to dance from side to side, pacing forward only to be corrected and made to back, her mouth open and gaping in frustration.

[harley]

Watching the two horses interact, the older man nodded to the rider upon his own filly, his sign that the filly was done. She had done well with the other horse, she just needed socilization. Spending the week at the track would help this, and in six months she would be ready for her first race. She was only a year and a half, and the training was going slowly. Dante knew not to push the little mare, and if she got even the slighest leg injury, she would retire to a pleasant life full of green pastures and maybe a foal or two in the far future.

Nodding to the jock atop the grey, he raised a finger in hello. A whole hand might frighten her already skittish mount, and he didn't feel like making someone go out of work. "Well, I personally hope not. We were actually just leaving. First day on a real track. She's my first racer I've had as a weanling. Quite the booger." Dante nodded, brown eyes scanning over the older grey filly, small female jockey perched upon her athletic back.

The jockey had jumped off the young filly, walking her over to the gap, twitching the reins, a gruff look on his face. "She's feisty nina. Too much for me. No mas." With that, he threw the rubber-lined reins at Dante and huffed off, the dark filly not knowing what in the hell had just happened. The jockey took off his helmet and walked to his beaten-up sedan, short strides taking him almost no where. The bay's ears were perked in the direction of the car, jumping sideways when the rusty engine was started, huffing and snorting.

"Damnit Frannie!" The man said, one hand clenched on his chin, brown eyes turning cold. He used his body language to get his point to the youngster, and though the filly responded by sneezing on him, he thought his job was done. He had never laid a hand negatively on the little filly unless she bit of kicked on purpose, or was just being stupid.

[jagger]

"Unreliable little shits, aren't we?" She smirked slightly. It was true; jockeys were a pain in the ass - being a manager herself, she had dealt with that, and had been all the better for it as a rider. Kicking her feet out of the stirrups, she dropped lithely to the ground and straightened as the shocks of stiff pain shot through her pinned ankles, wincing slightly. Circling the front of her mount, she patted the bay's shoulder gently. She had effectively placed herself in a potentially dangerous situation - directly between the two Thoroughbreds - but given that Wild was too busy staring into oblivion to react to much, she had a feeling she'd be fine. "I certainly hope that wasn't your trainer."

The filly was indeed on the smaller side; but given that Abyss herself was a quaint 4'9", that left Frannie's withers just three inches below the top of her head - about eye level. Running a hand across the wide, firmly made chest, across the muscled shoulder and over the withers, her eyes evaluated the build of the young mare with a quiet appreciation for good horseflesh, gripping Wild's reins with renewed attention as the rose gray began her bored dance again. Her mount had quit her steaming though still had some cooling out to do - and by the looks of it; so did Frannie. Nodding to Dante, she stepped away and navigated her filly around the younger horse in a wide circle. "Did you need me to cool her out for you? Wouldn't be the first time I've led to Thoroughbreds at once."

She waited a half second for his reply before she started walking off the track - the ground outside the rail was considerably better footing for a short woman, less room for error. Flipping the racing nylons over the gray's head, she continued her predetermined path, unbuckling her helmet and sliding it off of her plastered white-blonde hair. Her fingertips worked at the end of the braid, loosening the tye and freeing it; allowing the thin locks to work themselves free as she walked. She thought for a half second that her abruptness might seem rude - and then dispatched the thought. Why worry over things she didn't truly care about?

[harley]

The mid-August sun was just rising over the horizon, giving the track a warm glow, the young light dancing against the horse's feature, elluminating their coats to a golden shade. The bay filly breathed out heavily, steam billowing out of her two enormous nostrils. Indeed some jockeys were 'unreliable little shits', but only usually the men. They had what Dante called, "little man syndrome". He just chuckled at the statment, choosing not to state his side of the conversation.

"Actually, he was." Was said in an almost cheery, bright voice. The woman speaking was a good one and two inches taller than she. Though he didn't mind the request about cooling the little mare, he felt as if it was his responsibility to cool down his own horse, since the short woman already had a young filly to take care of.

Looking down at her, his chin almost touching his chest, he spoke in a voice hardly heard by anyone. "Looks like you already have a youngin' on your hands, but thank you for asking." Leading the little bay filly to the hot walker, he quickly tied her to the cross-ties in her assigned stall and took off her tack and bridle, leaving the royal purple and gold polos on her fragile legs and replacing her nylon bridle with a chestnut-colored leather halter with a gold plate on the side stating her registered name in engraved, cursive letters.

Walking down to his barn's hotwalker, he attached Frannie's halter to it, patting her rump and walking along beside her to get her going. Once once she was steadily cooling herself off did he return to her stall to fill the hay net with three flakes of alfalfa, the purple and gold bucket with hay pellets and her (completely legal) supplements, and then checking the automatic waterer, which proved itself to work well. He got two bags wood shavings and cut open each plastic-covered bag with a pair of keys and spread them around the ten-by-ten box stall by kicking them around, reminding himself to get another half a bag for the middle of the stall, where the young filly enjoyed to have a pile of shavings to roll around in.

[jagger]

The cascade of ivory locks fell down about her shoulders in a waterfall ending just above her waist, slightly curled by the previous action of a braid. She was a shade paler than pale; not quite albino based only on the fact that she had some very little pigment to her skin and a slightly golden sheen to her hair - if viewed in the right light. She was lucky enough to avoid the issues that came with Albinism anyway; the deafness and blindness. She was probably a walking Cancer factory, however. Pale tended to burn often.

The taller man and his little filly passed her quickly.. her short strides were no match for the leggier male, though she was unconcerned by that. Wild fell into a polite pace beside her, throwing herself from side to side but never once shoving past her small handler. They reached the hotwalker about the same time Dante was readying Frannie's stall - though Abyss herself had trailered the young mare in and would, of course, need to trailer her out. She paused long enough to retrieve Wild's thin blanket, unbuckling the cinch straps and sliding the thin leather saddle off along with the thin nylon sheet that constituted a pad, leaving the mare's bit in place as she tossed the sheet on and secured it. With the racing saddle thrown over her shoulder, she clucked once, guiding the gray past the hot walker and the bay strolling around it.

"I'd watch out leaving a horse that young on a hot walker..." She called as she walked by on her way to the parking area. "I've trained a lot of Thoroughbreds who flipped out on walkers..." They were in the dirt parking patch in a few seconds, one slender hand reaching back to feel the mare's chest - still warm - before beginning short circles. Wild was one to not tolerate the walker - she rarely kept it at a walk - so all of her cooling out was by hand. In truth, Abyss preferred it that way. As they passed the trailer, she paused the mare long enough to prop her gear on the back of the trailer.

[harley]

Kicking around the shavings, Dante jumped at the break of the silence and poked his head out the door to see whom it was talking. It was the jockey from the track, with the grey filly. "Thank you, but she's been on one plenty of times, and I can see her from here. Thank you for the advice though miss..."The man stopped talking, and seemed as though he was searching his mind for a name. He knew the filly's name was Harriet, or that's atleast what the woman called her, but had the jockey ever said her own name? She couldn't have, the man was brilliant at remembering names and the faces they belonged to."...sorry, I didn't quite catch your name back there"

Eyeing the very calm filly of his own walking around in circles, he turned his attention back to the grey filly and the short, almost albino, blond-haired woman, watching the Thoroughbred's muscles flex and relax with each step. "Very nice filly, by the way. Looks like she's ready to race pretty soon." Her pasterns were the perfect length, though a little long for his own taste, but that's what made the racehorse. The longer the pasterns, the more shock absorbtion, which meant the horse was less likely to break down early, but it could result in some pretty nasty injuries after life on the track, and he himself was all for life after the track.

Frannie's pasterns were long as well, but she was the only horse in his price range in the old county he used to live in. She had excellent bloodlines, dating back to Man O'War and many other top-of-the-line racers, a half sister to Mine That Bird, the Kentucky Derby winner.

[jagger]

His voice floated out to meet her as they circled nearest the barn, the repetitive step, step, step beating a path into the dust and setting a nice rhythmic cadence. He apparently had asked her name - she only heard the latter half of the sentence and assumed the first half; calling back in a tone hardly above her normal way of speech. She was accustomed to making herself heard without shouting. "Abyss." What was it, nothing more, not short for Abysmal Bitch of Doom like some of her students and exercise riders had considered; and up until recently she hadn't even used a last name.

Her circles widened, but his next comment was well timed, the entire statement within her trip nearest the barn again. She considered the best way to answer that off-hand compliment as she completed the circle, musing to herself. "She's a 3 year old. Already on the track. I'm just evaluating her and sending her back." Nature of the beast, this business. She didn't own a horse of her own; she just borrowed and was paid to ride. Jockey life.

After half a dozen laps, Wild - or Harriet, depending on Abyss' state of mind with the filly - was cooled out and solidly bored. Retracing her steps to the trailer, she pulled her tack off the back and popped the doors open, slinging the partition aside and jumping up into the back to retrieve the filly's halter. She looped it around the wide neck and buckled it loosely, releasing the bit from the young horse's mouth and quickly rehaltering her. The bridle was discarded with the rest of the tack at the edge of the trailer, out of the immediate path. "Well, pleasure meeting you. If you need a jockey in the future, please consider me..." She was on auto-pilot, the spiel the same to everyone she met; blah blah blah, please consider my services, blah blah. "... I don't own a cell phone but I'm here nearly every morning.. " She went about her work methodically, checking the leg wraps on the mare and storing her tack with the lanky gray in tow.

Circling the filly once outside, she headed to the trailer, clucking as they reached the edge. Without hesitation, the rosey young mare popped up inside and wandered to the front to be tied.

[/size]

[harley]

"This is strictly buiseness"
Dante reminded himself silently, though he was in no way attracted to the hellish female midg-JOCKEY he quickly corrected. "Dante" He yelled back at the jockey as he stepped out of the box in the shedrow and glanced at his filly for a few seconds. Seeing she was happily plodding along, he got her tack and placed it on the saddle rack built into the wall outside of her stall. Searching her rather large purple grooming bag, he scoped out an old dish rag and leather cleaner.

Standing next to the saddle and girth, dishrag in-hand, leather cleaner being pured onto the rag carefully before the cap was slapped on and it was set on the ground infront of the stall. sighing, he set to work buffing the saddle in small circles, starting at the stirrup leathers and working his way up and over. He took out his hankee from his back pocket and wiped off the Dexter Ring Racing bit, which he had to use to get his little girl to stop, which he figured out she had low brake fluid in the round pen.

He spoke as he cleaned, taking the hankee and wiping it over the purple nylon headstall as well, making sure to spend extra time on the reins, which would need to be replaced in a couple workout's time. "Will do." He said, not taking his eyes off of wither his horse on the walker or his hands.

[jagger]

The tiny blonde make quick work of tying the filly, patting the velvety, sweat-crusted neck lightly and stepping to the back of the trailer. Dropping to the ground lightly, she closed the partition behind the elegant young horse, in turn swinging the double doors closed and latching them. A off-hand glance at Dante, and she paused briefly.

"Nice meeting you." It was the first directly sincere comment she had murmured during her duration here on the track. She was mildly peeved her ride had been so short; a quick glance out at the empty track left her with a wide, empty feeling in the bit of her stomach. Clearing her throat, she circled the truck to pop the driver's side door open, rummaging through her things for her keys.

[/blockquote]

[ way I see it, we can do two things. Dante can find a way to catch her attention again -or- I can post another Abyssy thread here riding Wild and we can go from there. ]

[harley]

OOC://Dante could bump into her in town or something a few days later after interviewing some people if that's OK with you.\\

[jagger]

werks.