Post by Brave on May 6, 2014 18:57:23 GMT -5
Fleet Street's Oblivious Stakes Workout
If there was one thing Madeline Walker wanted to do, it was win this race. She wanted to prove herself, not only to Descartes and Newton, but to the Myers, who had been kind enough and had had faith enough to entrust her to win for Blue Cross Estates. Madeline had never really had that kind of faith in her life before, and with the absence suddenly filled, she wanted nothing more than to keep it there for as long as possible. See, Madeline hadn’t ever really had any older positive influence in her life throughout it’s entirety, and she had taken to horse racing more out of need then want, but now that she had seemingly found something good she had started to relax a lot more in the saddle, and suddenly found the sport enjoyable.
Simply put, she loved Fleet Street, absolutely adored him to no ends, and the young colt seemed to pick up on that. When he first arrived Descartes had been nervous, because the colt has flighty and mean and balked whenever a hand was touched to his skin. Then a day later he watched Madeline give him an apple and a good rub down and suddenly Madeline had gone from riding no horses to riding not only Fleet Street, but Apollo Bear too. She loved both of the creatures to death, but Fleet Street was secretly her favorite. She had always adored black colts -- had raised her own with her father’s help, only for the little creature to meet a sad end -- and the adoration she felt for obsidian equines had not failed to pass over the sleek midnight frame that Fleet Street bore. It was a strong color for a horse to wear, a proud color that identified his ties to his sire, Night Stalker, and foretold of his unconquerable ability on the track. And so, she didn’t just love riding Fleet Street, she felt privileged. Here was a fantastic colt, and she was expected to take him to greatness.
They were heading to the track for a quick slam session before the young colt’s return to racing, he had been off the track for five months now and Descartes wanted to make sure he was sound before jumping back into the sport. Now, unloading from the trailer onto the familiar track, the young colt seemed almost happy, his head lifted regally, ears perked forwards as he glanced about, almost as if to say “Well it’s about time” and Madeline couldn’t have agreed with him more. Then a groom got too close, however, and the colt retreated into his shell, his ears going flat as he turned and snapped viciously, narrowly missing the groom’s arm, and it was a mad dash to get the colt back under control, Madeline leading the charge as she ran her hand along the colt’s neck until he calmed to the point of simple jitters, and trotted nervous circles about her. To the side, Descartes and his son Christopher discussed, Descartes casting insecure glances at her and the colt every so often. Eventually Fleet Street settled down enough to be led to the track, and Descartes wasted no time in waving them forwards before heading off for the rail, leaving Christopher to fall into step beside her.
“What are you doing here?’ She had questioned her fellow jockey immediately, unsure as to why he would be making an appearance at her workout. The 29 year old had simply smirked at her, his shoulders rolling back as he stuck his hands into his pockets, shrugging deeply, “Oh, just waiting for you to mess Fleet Street up enough that they add him to my roster,” He had responded cheerfully, and though his tone had been playful, something within Madeline bristled, “Coming from the one that just rode Firefall into a fourth place finish? I could have done a better job with the colt blindfolded.” She had retorted hotly, and had then blushed angrily as Christopher held his hands up in mock surrender. “Calm, calm,” He had snickered, as if he found the loss amusing, “ We both know that wasn’t Firefall’s length, he’s a distance colt not a sprinter. Next time he’s a guaranteed place. And besides, you shouldn’t talk that way to the jock that just rode Predator to the estate’s first victory,” He had responded, his tone all too snide, and Madeline had simply tugged Fleet Street onwards and onto the track, away from the irritations of Christopher Descartes, who sat down brazenly by his all too irritated father.
“Alright Miss Walker, you’re going to give him the gas today and see what he does with it. Keep him straight and keep him clean, and we shouldn’t have any problems,” Descartes had told her, and she had immediately nodded her head and approached Fleet Street, who waited patiently for her to be helped up by the nearby groom, who immediately offered her a leg up. From there the colt always took a minute or too to adjust to her presence on top of him, and from there she walked him towards the starting line and without hesitation gunned him into gear, her heels pressing firmly into his sides as she cued him to go. He wasted no time as she lifted herself off his back, simply coiled, sprung, and took off like the gun shot he was.
If there was one thing she enjoyed the most about Fleet, it was that she never had to ask for more. The colt seemed to know what she wanted before even she did, and responded immediately to any cue she offered, alert and motivated as he thundered down the track. Madeline held him back a bit as they made the first turn, not wanting him to over exert himself when there was no horse for him to stalk and judge pace by. She could tell it confused him by the way his gait wavered, as if unsure on how much he should give, and she immediately went to help him, setting a strong pace as they approached their first straightaway.
Fleet Street moved as he lived, like he was born to do so, and as he approached the middle of the straight away she really kicked him into gear, pushing him to lengthen his strides and increase his speed. At first he offered some resistance under her, but as she encouraged him he relaxed and sped up, his body moving faster and longer as he stretched out, reaching that extra inch in an effort to cover more ground. She heard and felt his breathing even out beneath her and tapped against him encouragingly, a silent praise for his efforts as they rounded the far turn, only slowing down enough to scrape by it before going full out for home. She could feel it, the moment the colt took off. It was a magnificent moment, one where she felt him totally relax as he threw his body out in either direction, extending as far as he could. It was like flipping a switch, one minute he was at medium speed and the next he picked up into a full out run. His body moved as she imagined a spring, reaching out to its breaking points and snapping together as a result, his body inhaling and exhaling his exhaustion like it was nothing.
They crossed the line in record time, the colt straight as an arrow and tall as a tree, his eyes focused on the finish line with a determination she had not yet seen him express. It made her heart soar at the image, and suddenly she had never been happier. Together they slowed to an easy canter, cooling off, and she reached out a hand to rub his velvety coat, singing praises as they turned and headed back at a brisk walk toward Descartes. The head trainer greeted them with a shrug and a firm nod, which was the highest praise Madeline had ever seen anyone receive from him, and she couldn’t help but beam as she slid from the horse, helping the groom pull off his saddle and sponge him off as he cooled down, looking more content then she had ever seen him. From the side, still leaning on the fence, Christopher watched him, a slight smile on his face. “Not bad, Walker,” He had told her as he passed her by, giving her a falsely sweet pat on the head. Madeline had simply rolled her eyes and pushed him off with an irritated sigh, but her eyes sparkled. Not bad? They were more than not bad, they were a winning team, and soon everyone would know it.
If there was one thing Madeline Walker wanted to do, it was win this race. She wanted to prove herself, not only to Descartes and Newton, but to the Myers, who had been kind enough and had had faith enough to entrust her to win for Blue Cross Estates. Madeline had never really had that kind of faith in her life before, and with the absence suddenly filled, she wanted nothing more than to keep it there for as long as possible. See, Madeline hadn’t ever really had any older positive influence in her life throughout it’s entirety, and she had taken to horse racing more out of need then want, but now that she had seemingly found something good she had started to relax a lot more in the saddle, and suddenly found the sport enjoyable.
Simply put, she loved Fleet Street, absolutely adored him to no ends, and the young colt seemed to pick up on that. When he first arrived Descartes had been nervous, because the colt has flighty and mean and balked whenever a hand was touched to his skin. Then a day later he watched Madeline give him an apple and a good rub down and suddenly Madeline had gone from riding no horses to riding not only Fleet Street, but Apollo Bear too. She loved both of the creatures to death, but Fleet Street was secretly her favorite. She had always adored black colts -- had raised her own with her father’s help, only for the little creature to meet a sad end -- and the adoration she felt for obsidian equines had not failed to pass over the sleek midnight frame that Fleet Street bore. It was a strong color for a horse to wear, a proud color that identified his ties to his sire, Night Stalker, and foretold of his unconquerable ability on the track. And so, she didn’t just love riding Fleet Street, she felt privileged. Here was a fantastic colt, and she was expected to take him to greatness.
They were heading to the track for a quick slam session before the young colt’s return to racing, he had been off the track for five months now and Descartes wanted to make sure he was sound before jumping back into the sport. Now, unloading from the trailer onto the familiar track, the young colt seemed almost happy, his head lifted regally, ears perked forwards as he glanced about, almost as if to say “Well it’s about time” and Madeline couldn’t have agreed with him more. Then a groom got too close, however, and the colt retreated into his shell, his ears going flat as he turned and snapped viciously, narrowly missing the groom’s arm, and it was a mad dash to get the colt back under control, Madeline leading the charge as she ran her hand along the colt’s neck until he calmed to the point of simple jitters, and trotted nervous circles about her. To the side, Descartes and his son Christopher discussed, Descartes casting insecure glances at her and the colt every so often. Eventually Fleet Street settled down enough to be led to the track, and Descartes wasted no time in waving them forwards before heading off for the rail, leaving Christopher to fall into step beside her.
“What are you doing here?’ She had questioned her fellow jockey immediately, unsure as to why he would be making an appearance at her workout. The 29 year old had simply smirked at her, his shoulders rolling back as he stuck his hands into his pockets, shrugging deeply, “Oh, just waiting for you to mess Fleet Street up enough that they add him to my roster,” He had responded cheerfully, and though his tone had been playful, something within Madeline bristled, “Coming from the one that just rode Firefall into a fourth place finish? I could have done a better job with the colt blindfolded.” She had retorted hotly, and had then blushed angrily as Christopher held his hands up in mock surrender. “Calm, calm,” He had snickered, as if he found the loss amusing, “ We both know that wasn’t Firefall’s length, he’s a distance colt not a sprinter. Next time he’s a guaranteed place. And besides, you shouldn’t talk that way to the jock that just rode Predator to the estate’s first victory,” He had responded, his tone all too snide, and Madeline had simply tugged Fleet Street onwards and onto the track, away from the irritations of Christopher Descartes, who sat down brazenly by his all too irritated father.
“Alright Miss Walker, you’re going to give him the gas today and see what he does with it. Keep him straight and keep him clean, and we shouldn’t have any problems,” Descartes had told her, and she had immediately nodded her head and approached Fleet Street, who waited patiently for her to be helped up by the nearby groom, who immediately offered her a leg up. From there the colt always took a minute or too to adjust to her presence on top of him, and from there she walked him towards the starting line and without hesitation gunned him into gear, her heels pressing firmly into his sides as she cued him to go. He wasted no time as she lifted herself off his back, simply coiled, sprung, and took off like the gun shot he was.
If there was one thing she enjoyed the most about Fleet, it was that she never had to ask for more. The colt seemed to know what she wanted before even she did, and responded immediately to any cue she offered, alert and motivated as he thundered down the track. Madeline held him back a bit as they made the first turn, not wanting him to over exert himself when there was no horse for him to stalk and judge pace by. She could tell it confused him by the way his gait wavered, as if unsure on how much he should give, and she immediately went to help him, setting a strong pace as they approached their first straightaway.
Fleet Street moved as he lived, like he was born to do so, and as he approached the middle of the straight away she really kicked him into gear, pushing him to lengthen his strides and increase his speed. At first he offered some resistance under her, but as she encouraged him he relaxed and sped up, his body moving faster and longer as he stretched out, reaching that extra inch in an effort to cover more ground. She heard and felt his breathing even out beneath her and tapped against him encouragingly, a silent praise for his efforts as they rounded the far turn, only slowing down enough to scrape by it before going full out for home. She could feel it, the moment the colt took off. It was a magnificent moment, one where she felt him totally relax as he threw his body out in either direction, extending as far as he could. It was like flipping a switch, one minute he was at medium speed and the next he picked up into a full out run. His body moved as she imagined a spring, reaching out to its breaking points and snapping together as a result, his body inhaling and exhaling his exhaustion like it was nothing.
They crossed the line in record time, the colt straight as an arrow and tall as a tree, his eyes focused on the finish line with a determination she had not yet seen him express. It made her heart soar at the image, and suddenly she had never been happier. Together they slowed to an easy canter, cooling off, and she reached out a hand to rub his velvety coat, singing praises as they turned and headed back at a brisk walk toward Descartes. The head trainer greeted them with a shrug and a firm nod, which was the highest praise Madeline had ever seen anyone receive from him, and she couldn’t help but beam as she slid from the horse, helping the groom pull off his saddle and sponge him off as he cooled down, looking more content then she had ever seen him. From the side, still leaning on the fence, Christopher watched him, a slight smile on his face. “Not bad, Walker,” He had told her as he passed her by, giving her a falsely sweet pat on the head. Madeline had simply rolled her eyes and pushed him off with an irritated sigh, but her eyes sparkled. Not bad? They were more than not bad, they were a winning team, and soon everyone would know it.