Post by Dante on Sept 30, 2011 14:56:00 GMT -5
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DEVIL'S CRUSADE
workout with
TOBIAS LANCASTER[/b]
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“Stop eating that! Stop! No!” Connor slapped the sub sandwich out of Tobias’ hands and onto the group. There went his breakfast, his only real meal of the day. “Fatty.” Connor growled. “C’mon, Crux is ready.”[/color][/b]
“I thought we were running in an hour!” Tobias got up, thoroughly annoyed at the rude and crude trainer.
“There was a cancellation. Get.” Connor, who still looked like he’d woken up ten minutes despite it being nine in the morning, slouched off to the stands. Tobias gave a last, loving look at his sub, grabbed a tomato slice out of it, ate it, and ran off. Crux was waiting. The black colt shone in the morning sun, ready and eager to work. The sight of the colt made Tobias forget his sandwich. The well-shaped head and ears, attentive eyes, the saddle that soon he would be in, it was all intoxicating, it was enthralling, and he couldn't wait.
Tobias got a leg up from a nearby groom, and set off for the track. There was a bounce in the step of the two year old, and he liked that. Devil’s Crusade had energy, and energy he would need. The run today was short ; six furlongs was a speed and energy race, not staying power one. The turf stretched out before him, and Tobias knew the surface would be no problem. Crux was adaptable to either, and had no set preference. He could ride on turf for weeks, then swap to dirt, with little difficulty. Not that such an endeavor was wise, but with this colt, it was possible. All that need be done now was work out the kinks. Make him into a champ, a crusader, so to speak, for Prison Hill.
They loaded the black horse and blonde jockey into the gate, and Tobias lowered down his goggles. It had rained earlier today, which might have been the reason for the prior cancellation. This was going to get messy, he didn't doubt. And cold. Poor Tobias had no body fat at all; and unlike Crux, not a layer of rippling muscle, either. And he wondered why he didn't have a girlfriend.
There was a long moment of silence upon the track. Tobias could hear the colt breathing. In…out…in…out. He could almost see the nostrils flaring in anticipation, the slightly raised back hoof; hell, he could almost smell the track through Crux’s nose. For a brief sprint, their souls would effectively be one. One machine. One brain. One fast and furious unit. Then, the moment of silence was broken. The gates opened and they came barreling out of the gate, keeping slightly to the right of center. Crux ran in the middle to the front-middle for bits of the race. Going straight for the middle would be a good way to get boxed. No, Crux came from the outside middle to the front inside, a cut-off tactic of shorts, and it could work even in these small spirits. It seemed Crux was thinking it too. He didn’t pull or try to go to the rail, like their minds had joined. Water flew up from the turf and onto the two of them, plastering them and soaking the jockey’s silks. Tobias reached up with one hand, deftly pulled down the first layer of his goggles, and went onwards. Despite the wet conditions, Crux made good time. There wasn’t a point where Tobias worried the horse might slip and break something – his adaptability to surfaces was paying off in dividends here. Even if it wasn’t rainy come race day (which would be preferable for everyone) this extra work was akin to doing extra homework. You’d be more ready when the test finally came. He’d shown in his last race. Tobias hoped to up that.
The four furlong marker flew by, a bright red post, and Tobias brought Crux inwards. The colt obliged, and then again when Tobias gave him the rein, and a good slap with the stick, again and again. Now it was time to cut off and pull in front of, the ghost field behind them. Today wasn’t an ‘eat-my-dust’ kind of day, but that was because there was no dust to raise. No. Today was a ‘drown-in-my-spray’ sort of day, instead. And resultantly, as they passed the six furlong mark, that was exactly what happened to Connor. He’d been standing too close to the rail, and got a faceful of spray that the back hooves picked up from the turf and threw behind him. Tobias could barely apologize for laughing at him.
A few nasty words and hand gestures later, Connor had the slightly damp results. “He’s getting better.” The trainer nodded. “He’s doing way better than our first workout. You look like a drowned rat.” He added to Tobias, before giving Crux some lettuce, that Tobias realized just now he’d stolen from the breakfast he’d knocked to the dirt. Ah, well. Crux deserved it.
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WORKOUT STATS
words| 828
workout surface| Turf
distance| 6 furlongs
horse| Devil's Crusade
jockey| Tobias Lancaster
type| closed workout (do not reply)
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