Post by Brave on May 2, 2014 21:30:40 GMT -5
One says Fire, The Other says Ice
Agorion’s workout for Maiden Dirt
Criss Cross’s workout for Juvenile Turf
Saving Sanity’s workout for Maiden Turf
Agorion’s workout for Maiden Dirt
Criss Cross’s workout for Juvenile Turf
Saving Sanity’s workout for Maiden Turf
It was a warm day in early May, and things were looking up for the Myers family. When Rosaline’s father had first come to her with the idea of abandoning Blue Cross Dressage Barn and moving away to start a racing stable, she had thought him insane. Horse racing was an entire different category of Equestrianism, one that involved excellent strategy, vicious tactics and plain, stupid luck. For as far back as Rosaline could think, the Myers family had never had any of that. So she had shot him down, told him off for dreaming and gone back to doing what she knew how, flying lead changes and figure eights until her head spun. She knew though, and her father did too, that once the idea was out there they wouldn’t be able to ignore it. She lasted six months before she cracked, and together they sold off their champion barn in place of a spot at the bottom of the racing world, with little experience and no racing stock to their name. It was okay, though, because for once there was excitement and there was unpredictability, and it was so, so very fun, and Rosaline couldn’t remember the last time she had had any.
Racing was thrilling for the Myers, it always had been, and now that they attempted to actually enter what had always seemed to be an unattainable world, it was even more so. They spent thousands fixing up their facilities, and even more so looking and preparing for the horses that seemed to never make themselves known. They attended auction after auction, scanned advertisement after advertisement looking for what would lead them to victory and act as a stabilizing foundation for their trembling stables. Yet, like something out of a fairy tale, no matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t find the right ones. Experiencing their first taste of failure so soon in the onset of the game was more than off-putting, and Rosaline had almost pulled herself completely out of the operation, “I won’t do this again, Dad,” She had told her father after a particularly bad auction, “We’ve been down this road before and I won’t go back to it.” Then her father had finally stepped up and contacted Alexander Descartes and Stanley Newton, and with surprisingly little effort Blue Cross Estates suddenly had hold of two well known and reputable equestrians. With a head trainer and jockey at the estate, suddenly things didn’t seem so bleak.
When they finally did find their horses, it was completely unexpected. They hadn’t even actually been looking, Descartes had just been out conducting whatever business it was that he attended too, when Oliver had gotten the phone call. “Drop everything. I found them,” He had said, and they had all listened and trekked an hour and a half out of the city, trailer in tow, to see just what it was that Descartes had found. They arrived and there wasn’t even any horses there, and Oliver had been ready to start up a screaming match at the fact when Descartes had calmly explained that they were in separate locations, to be shown off on different days, but that they were showcasing a promising colt at a stable track about an hour away. The prospect of the colt had seemed to snap everyone to their senses, and they had all climbed back into their cars without argument, too excited and too nervous to observe the animal that was supposedly their salvation.
They pulled into a run down shack of a stable, one clearly on it’s last legs, and walked over broken fences to meet an aging farmer and an unfit jockey trying to wrangle some wild demon animal, and that was enough to set Oliver off again in a panicked rage until finally, finally Stanley stepped in with a smile and a calming hand and the beast before them just melted into a quivering and curious and absolutely gorgeous colt with the finest dapple coat they had ever seen. He was a brilliant specimen, the kind crafted by ancient gods from wind and sand and fire and light until they were too perfect and too beautiful to be looked at for more than short periods of time. He had words in his eyes too, the words according to Descartes, and when Rosaline looked at him she believed it. If any creature had words of victory scorched into it’s eyes and painted into it’s skin, it was the colt that stood before them, muscled and gigantic and so very proud.
Rosaline’s prepared to offer any some of money for the horse right then and there, but that would be irresponsible, because there are papers to be seen and registrations to be checked and authenticity to be doubted before they can even attempt to bring him home, and before all that happens they have to actually see him run. Newton is the one that takes him to the track, skeptically and a little nervously at first, because he doesn’t know this animal, but the horse was adamant enough to lash out at the other jockey when he tried to place a hand on them, so they retracted and let Newton do his thing. He shifts himself into the saddle uncertainly and crosses his reins and glances around before spurring the creature on and just like that they are sold, because the horse must have invisible wings with the way he moves.
The farmer sells him for a bargain, because he’s convinced the devil is in him and he wants him gone, and maybe the devil is in the horse, with it’s lashes so mean, but there is also an immaculate speed in the animal that is not capable of stemming from such an evil source. They get him for a steal, and as they lead him into the trailer to take him home, Rosaline has never felt so right in what she is doing. Then they find the two fillies, still spectacular but significantly less, and everything just works out perfectly, because here they are with three beautiful Thoroughbreds and a load of races ahead of them and everything is suddenly so very real. In the end, it is easy to name the horses, the last piece of the puzzle missing before they can officially take them out to the track. The Palomino becomes “Saving Sanity,” because maybe that’s what this endeavor is doing, and the white filly is dubbed “Criss Cross” because not paying tribute to their new home would be disrespectful. At first they want to name the colt something hardy, like “Blue Baller” or “Blue Wings,” but all those names are ridiculous and unable to capture the fantasy of the horse. They settle on “Agorion” because it means the bringer of good things, and it’s the only name of worth they find, because they could use some good things right now.
The track conditions are perfect as they pull up, all three horses quivering with the knowledge of impending speed in the back trailer, and it’s then that Rosaline knows that yes, they have done the right thing by coming here, and no matter what happens, things are going to be okay. All three horses are officially registered, and all are booked with upcoming, debut races for themselves and the Estate.
They’ve been here pretty much nonstop the past month, arriving every two days with a different horse, spending time getting them fit and seeing how they like to run and making sure they can handle the gates. Things have gone well for all three, with the exception of Agorion who nearly clawed himself attacking the front gates the very first time, but he settled down nicely, and today is the first time they are going to run again another horse, as well as each other. There’s excitement in the air, with the horses standing straight and erect and completely interested as they are unloaded and their gear is checked and they are mounted, Newton opting to ride Agorion and spare one of the two exercise riders from certain death. Then Descartes is gathering them around, giving the three jockeys clear directions on how to ride each horse, “Newton, you’re going to let Agorion put himself dead last as he always does, let him ride it out by Sanity’s flank until the last leg of the race, then really kick him into overdrive. Sanity is going to break fast and settle in behind Criss Cross, where she’s most comfortable. Keep her going strong at Criss Cross the entire time, about half way through make the move and send her off, before Agorion manages to make his own move. As for Cross, she’s going to fly from the gate and lead us around the entire track. When Sanity moves, move with her, don’t let her slip by or it’s lost, Cross should have enough in her to hold out even against Agorion, if she sets a fast enough pace he won’t even have it in him to push past her by the end. This is a full blowout, people. Run it like you would a race,” And with that they’re off into the gates where they stand, momentarily suspended before the gates spring open and they turn from docile animals into creatures of the wind and sky.
They do as they’re told, with Criss Cross breaking from the gate hard and fast, her body moving fluidly into a position along the rail where she guns it into the first turn. Sanity springs from the gate lithely, at an average pace, falling smoothly into place at Cross’s side. It’s Agorion that provides the first flaw, lumbering out of the gate more like a panda than a horse, and it takes an extra nudge from Newton to place him into correct position. From there he sticks to his outside position at Sanity’s side, riding out the track and preparing to make his move. It becomes a harder fight when Cross turns the pace up another notch, forcing the others to follow the white filly or be left behind, and suddenly it’s a mad dash as Sanity tries to move past her, and they’re locked in a deadly duel, pushing faster and faster until they’re racing at full capacity, happy to leave Agorion behind in the dirt. They’re neck and neck, heading for home when a flash of dappled grey soars by them, and it’s more the jockey’s shock than the horses that slows them. Agorion eats up the track, flying more than running, and it’s all the other two can do to try and keep up as he breezes by them for the win. The other two stumble in more or less together, but no one’s really paying attention, because they all just ran a hard race but Agorion just blew them away, and no one really knows where it comes from, but it’s clear that if Sanity and Cross are going to run up against him, they’re going to need different tactics. For now, they are in separate races, and it’s a problem that can be solved at a later date. Instead they simply cool down the horses, which all walk about amiably, even Agorion for a moment, and the Myers and Descartes look on from the sidelines in complete and utter awe.
“He’s a monster,” Descartes says, laughing, “Those two fillies tore up that track and he’s still an absolute monster,” And the other’s laugh along with him, because it’s just wonderful how things have turned out. “So you’d say we’re going to do okay with them all?” Oliver had then asked, still somewhat concerned even after such a performance. Descartes had just nodded, chuckling a bit, “Mr. Myers, it is in my firm belief that all three of them are going to do slightly better than alright,” He says, and that’s enough to pacify them both as they simply sit back and watch the horses they have somehow come to own, and neither can remember how or why they were ever happy with dressage. Race days, all three of them, rapidly approach, but for now they are simply content to be happy, and for now that’s okay, because their horses are going to be legends, and the Myers have finally done the right thing.
Racing was thrilling for the Myers, it always had been, and now that they attempted to actually enter what had always seemed to be an unattainable world, it was even more so. They spent thousands fixing up their facilities, and even more so looking and preparing for the horses that seemed to never make themselves known. They attended auction after auction, scanned advertisement after advertisement looking for what would lead them to victory and act as a stabilizing foundation for their trembling stables. Yet, like something out of a fairy tale, no matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t find the right ones. Experiencing their first taste of failure so soon in the onset of the game was more than off-putting, and Rosaline had almost pulled herself completely out of the operation, “I won’t do this again, Dad,” She had told her father after a particularly bad auction, “We’ve been down this road before and I won’t go back to it.” Then her father had finally stepped up and contacted Alexander Descartes and Stanley Newton, and with surprisingly little effort Blue Cross Estates suddenly had hold of two well known and reputable equestrians. With a head trainer and jockey at the estate, suddenly things didn’t seem so bleak.
When they finally did find their horses, it was completely unexpected. They hadn’t even actually been looking, Descartes had just been out conducting whatever business it was that he attended too, when Oliver had gotten the phone call. “Drop everything. I found them,” He had said, and they had all listened and trekked an hour and a half out of the city, trailer in tow, to see just what it was that Descartes had found. They arrived and there wasn’t even any horses there, and Oliver had been ready to start up a screaming match at the fact when Descartes had calmly explained that they were in separate locations, to be shown off on different days, but that they were showcasing a promising colt at a stable track about an hour away. The prospect of the colt had seemed to snap everyone to their senses, and they had all climbed back into their cars without argument, too excited and too nervous to observe the animal that was supposedly their salvation.
They pulled into a run down shack of a stable, one clearly on it’s last legs, and walked over broken fences to meet an aging farmer and an unfit jockey trying to wrangle some wild demon animal, and that was enough to set Oliver off again in a panicked rage until finally, finally Stanley stepped in with a smile and a calming hand and the beast before them just melted into a quivering and curious and absolutely gorgeous colt with the finest dapple coat they had ever seen. He was a brilliant specimen, the kind crafted by ancient gods from wind and sand and fire and light until they were too perfect and too beautiful to be looked at for more than short periods of time. He had words in his eyes too, the words according to Descartes, and when Rosaline looked at him she believed it. If any creature had words of victory scorched into it’s eyes and painted into it’s skin, it was the colt that stood before them, muscled and gigantic and so very proud.
Rosaline’s prepared to offer any some of money for the horse right then and there, but that would be irresponsible, because there are papers to be seen and registrations to be checked and authenticity to be doubted before they can even attempt to bring him home, and before all that happens they have to actually see him run. Newton is the one that takes him to the track, skeptically and a little nervously at first, because he doesn’t know this animal, but the horse was adamant enough to lash out at the other jockey when he tried to place a hand on them, so they retracted and let Newton do his thing. He shifts himself into the saddle uncertainly and crosses his reins and glances around before spurring the creature on and just like that they are sold, because the horse must have invisible wings with the way he moves.
The farmer sells him for a bargain, because he’s convinced the devil is in him and he wants him gone, and maybe the devil is in the horse, with it’s lashes so mean, but there is also an immaculate speed in the animal that is not capable of stemming from such an evil source. They get him for a steal, and as they lead him into the trailer to take him home, Rosaline has never felt so right in what she is doing. Then they find the two fillies, still spectacular but significantly less, and everything just works out perfectly, because here they are with three beautiful Thoroughbreds and a load of races ahead of them and everything is suddenly so very real. In the end, it is easy to name the horses, the last piece of the puzzle missing before they can officially take them out to the track. The Palomino becomes “Saving Sanity,” because maybe that’s what this endeavor is doing, and the white filly is dubbed “Criss Cross” because not paying tribute to their new home would be disrespectful. At first they want to name the colt something hardy, like “Blue Baller” or “Blue Wings,” but all those names are ridiculous and unable to capture the fantasy of the horse. They settle on “Agorion” because it means the bringer of good things, and it’s the only name of worth they find, because they could use some good things right now.
The track conditions are perfect as they pull up, all three horses quivering with the knowledge of impending speed in the back trailer, and it’s then that Rosaline knows that yes, they have done the right thing by coming here, and no matter what happens, things are going to be okay. All three horses are officially registered, and all are booked with upcoming, debut races for themselves and the Estate.
They’ve been here pretty much nonstop the past month, arriving every two days with a different horse, spending time getting them fit and seeing how they like to run and making sure they can handle the gates. Things have gone well for all three, with the exception of Agorion who nearly clawed himself attacking the front gates the very first time, but he settled down nicely, and today is the first time they are going to run again another horse, as well as each other. There’s excitement in the air, with the horses standing straight and erect and completely interested as they are unloaded and their gear is checked and they are mounted, Newton opting to ride Agorion and spare one of the two exercise riders from certain death. Then Descartes is gathering them around, giving the three jockeys clear directions on how to ride each horse, “Newton, you’re going to let Agorion put himself dead last as he always does, let him ride it out by Sanity’s flank until the last leg of the race, then really kick him into overdrive. Sanity is going to break fast and settle in behind Criss Cross, where she’s most comfortable. Keep her going strong at Criss Cross the entire time, about half way through make the move and send her off, before Agorion manages to make his own move. As for Cross, she’s going to fly from the gate and lead us around the entire track. When Sanity moves, move with her, don’t let her slip by or it’s lost, Cross should have enough in her to hold out even against Agorion, if she sets a fast enough pace he won’t even have it in him to push past her by the end. This is a full blowout, people. Run it like you would a race,” And with that they’re off into the gates where they stand, momentarily suspended before the gates spring open and they turn from docile animals into creatures of the wind and sky.
They do as they’re told, with Criss Cross breaking from the gate hard and fast, her body moving fluidly into a position along the rail where she guns it into the first turn. Sanity springs from the gate lithely, at an average pace, falling smoothly into place at Cross’s side. It’s Agorion that provides the first flaw, lumbering out of the gate more like a panda than a horse, and it takes an extra nudge from Newton to place him into correct position. From there he sticks to his outside position at Sanity’s side, riding out the track and preparing to make his move. It becomes a harder fight when Cross turns the pace up another notch, forcing the others to follow the white filly or be left behind, and suddenly it’s a mad dash as Sanity tries to move past her, and they’re locked in a deadly duel, pushing faster and faster until they’re racing at full capacity, happy to leave Agorion behind in the dirt. They’re neck and neck, heading for home when a flash of dappled grey soars by them, and it’s more the jockey’s shock than the horses that slows them. Agorion eats up the track, flying more than running, and it’s all the other two can do to try and keep up as he breezes by them for the win. The other two stumble in more or less together, but no one’s really paying attention, because they all just ran a hard race but Agorion just blew them away, and no one really knows where it comes from, but it’s clear that if Sanity and Cross are going to run up against him, they’re going to need different tactics. For now, they are in separate races, and it’s a problem that can be solved at a later date. Instead they simply cool down the horses, which all walk about amiably, even Agorion for a moment, and the Myers and Descartes look on from the sidelines in complete and utter awe.
“He’s a monster,” Descartes says, laughing, “Those two fillies tore up that track and he’s still an absolute monster,” And the other’s laugh along with him, because it’s just wonderful how things have turned out. “So you’d say we’re going to do okay with them all?” Oliver had then asked, still somewhat concerned even after such a performance. Descartes had just nodded, chuckling a bit, “Mr. Myers, it is in my firm belief that all three of them are going to do slightly better than alright,” He says, and that’s enough to pacify them both as they simply sit back and watch the horses they have somehow come to own, and neither can remember how or why they were ever happy with dressage. Race days, all three of them, rapidly approach, but for now they are simply content to be happy, and for now that’s okay, because their horses are going to be legends, and the Myers have finally done the right thing.