Post by Dante on Sept 18, 2011 21:56:19 GMT -5
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DEVIL'S CRUSADE
workout with
TOBIAS LANCASTER[/b]
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10 AM. Tobias had been on the track since 4:30 this morning, having exercised Executioner's Apprentice at that ungodly hour. After that, he'd simply paid the parking fees and crashed in his car. The little man fit perfectly in the back seat. However, when it came time to ride he was up and ready again, this time to hop on not a grey, but a solid black colt. Devil's Crusade, nicknamed Crux, was waiting, perfectly awake and alive and unconcerned about slept-in jockeys regalia, though Skylark gave him a funny look.[/color][/b]
Tobias mounted, and Crux began to paw at the ground. It was time for a race, time for a run, and suddenly his aggression just ramped itself up. In he pasture, Crux was average. Put him on the track, and he became something else. He became a warhorse, not just any old (young?) black colt. Today's run would be easier on him than the last. Nine furlongs was more preferred by Crux, and still on turf, his favorite surface. Crux needed some shaping, but he'd soon be claiming the track as his own. It was all a crusade, in it's way. They trotted off the the gates, the sun shining down upon the coal black coat. It was almost cartoonishly black and shiny, unearthly. Like something loosed out of hell. But not quite as nuts as Lady Ophelia. And that was a very good thing.
Crux went into the gate with a little bit of complaining, but nothing that the experienced jockey couldn't hande. He settled Crux down a bit, and waited for the snap of the gates, which game a blink later, and off Crux went. He bolted right from the get-go, as though he assumed this practice to be like the last one, that was run hard, run fast, and don't look back. He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, when Tobias held him back a little, letting him conserve his power for a bit further down in the mock race. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another horse and rider passing outside of the track, and Crux tossed his head suddenly, and leaping forwards, broke all rank. Four and a half furlongs in, Crux wanted to go, and he was going to go! Tobias tried to hold him for another furlong, but gave up passing the five marker and let Crux's competitive nature take over. They couldn't see the horse anymore, but it didn't matter. He'd seen one and now he was on the warpath. On the track, Crux believed himself the immortal alpha-male of the universe. That was untrue, but whatever mindset made the colt run well, well, Tobias wasn't going to complain, he was going to keep him going with the curve of the track. He held him hear the inside, but not at the inside, as Crux snorted and pulled the reins, responsive more to the stick than any control that was trying to be exerted over his head.
This was something that needed work done, but he had the speed. And the speed was most essential, given it was a hard one to teach the horse. Personality gave them color and design, but speed was the biggest part of this game. Breeding helped that, but so did work. Muscle, respiration, those things could be trained to work at total efficiency. Efficient runners weren't born, they were made, and Crux was getting there. Tobias could feel the fluid motions of the colt. Fluid being the word. It was like surfing, or riding a roller coaster. You felt some bumps, but on the curves and drops? You only felt the momentum, not the bumps. In a machine, that was it. Here? Here, emotion could also be felt. Crux was an angry runner. His ears were pinned, as though daring any equine to try and catch him, and if they did, he'd try to eat them alive. He wasn't mad at running, he was mad at staying merely on par with the others. He didn't want to, and with some training, Tobias was sure he wouldn't stay merely on par.
They crossed the finish marker and Skylark in a solid time, and Crux was still snorting, eager for more. Now that he'd started, the guy didn't want to stop, which would be an asset as soon as he was turned onto a field, as long as he obeyed Tobias in the early stages. "Keep him going steady longer." Skylark said, expression blank. Just when Tobias thought he was in for it, the other man grinned. "Cuz it's in the bag everywhere else."
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 769
workout surface| Turf
distance| 9 furlongs
horse| Devil's Crusade
jockey| Tobias Lancaster
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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