Post by Kenren on Mar 13, 2015 20:06:37 GMT -5
Mourning Passion & Savita Tusaint
Barely A Sound & Vivien Charron
Chiquato & Desmond Drake
Barely A Sound & Vivien Charron
Chiquato & Desmond Drake
After so much time keeping the horses almost exclusively working at Valkyrie since the farm had opened, Cole had decided he was going to start taking his entire string for seasonal workouts at the competitive tracks. For the summer feature, he's decided on The Wire - next season he'd likely take them over to Green Horse Fields. The horses had been populating the stalls for about a week already, and seemed absolutely at home at the track they so often visited. It was also a more exciting environment for horses and staff alike - there was always a quiet bustle at the track, always other horses out for their morning works. It was causing the horses to really bring their A-game in the different atmosphere, and it was giving the public a look at their horses as well. Cole wasn't really much for the fuss of reporters, so Minske had mostly taken over that duty. And there was a lot more attention, since they were out in the open - but Minske didn't mind it any. He liked showing both reporters and the public their horses, and giving them as much information possible to promote both their stable and their horses. It was busy work all around, but it was fun nonetheless.
Some of the horses were loving the attention, but some really weren't the type. That was why, despite him probably being one of the most trademark horses for them right now, Mourning Passion was slated for the first work of a busy morning. It was still dark out, with only the lightest fingerlings of light coming over the horizon, and the track lights were still on to illuminate the grounds. There were only a few horses out, but the sounds of their breathing and the beat of their hooves filled the air. While the jockeys had their meeting with Cole to get their instructions, Minske, Jena, and a few of the farm hands worked on getting the horses ready and bringing them out for the first work. They'd rock-paper-scissore'd to see which lucky soul was stuck with Chiquato, and tough-as-nails Jena had gotten the honor. She was going out first, keeping the bully of a stallion away from Mourn especially - nobody wanted to see what the result of that confrontation might be.
In pictures Chiquato looked stunning - strong, dark, and incredibly forward-moving. All of these things were true, but when you saw him in motion he looked a lot less regal. At least to the staff who had to deal with him. Jena had roped a hand into doubling up on the stallion, with her leading on one side and the man leading on the other. The stallion was gaping his mouth, thrashing his head and practically cantering in place against their hold. They were both set back hard on their heels, fighting the highly aggressive bully of a stallion. He kept swinging himself sideways, trying to knock into one of them - it was awful, and he was just plain mean-spirited so there wasn't a wholle lot that could be done in a short amount of time. He was being worked on, but since he was so uncooperative it was a long process.
Barely a Sound was taken out next, led by one of the hands. The filly was one of the biggest sweethearts they had, and was huge in public relations - she was one of the few that would let anyone pet her without any worry of her biting. She was a very pretty horse, with a dainty head and legs to match, and unlike Chiquato she had the personality to make it a full package. The daughter of Barely A Moment might not be the flashiest horse on the track, but she was incredibly willing and had a never-quit attitude that would eventually do well by her. She wasn't too bothered by Chiquato's antics as long as she wasn't too close, so she was the perfect buffer between the wild bay and Valkyrie's star.
Mourning Passion thought himself a horse without equal. While that thought had some fault, he would never be convinced of it. The big black horse walked with supremely confident strides, head high and regal and domineering on the end of Minske's lead rope. He didn't rush, didn't fight - it was as if he was watching Chiquato with condescension. Mourn had started the year off with his own grand style. He'd won his first and second races out, landing himself at grade one. His third race is what could only be considered a fluke - the stallion stumbled up front and just never fired down the stretch, allowing horses past him that he would have romped over in any other race. He had been incorrigably unhappy coming out of that race, staying in an absolutely vile mood for days. Minske had no doubt that he knew he'd lost. The stallion had a slow simmer of fire in him, one that made him think that he'd hate to be his competition in his next race. The black was out for blood now, and it was that very attitude that had gotten him to where he was. The attitude that drove him to win both the Kentucky Derby and the Speedway Stakes - and he wasn't even close to done.
The cantankerous stallion reached the track ahead of the others, and Desmond was there to be mounted on the move before the stallion really had a chance to react. Reins immediately gathered, he took the stallion onto the track before he could cause any trouble. To get things moving before he began acting too fresh, the other jockeys were on their horses and moving in seconds. Minske moved to the fence with his father, who had dished out the instructions for the three-furlong breeze. The stallions were both a little headstrong as they warmed up, and Whisper was a bit of a calming agent - her steady nature kept the others from acting up too much. As the bystanders watched, the horses were moved to the rail - all three in a line for this short of a work. Speed was everything here. When they reached the start, the horses fairly lunged up to speed, stretching and surging and bumping as they rounded out of the turn. It was clear from the start that the younger filly wasn't a match for the big males - it was clear a moment later that Chiquato was outmatched as well. It was as if Mourn was proving a point, putting down the undignified, hot-headed beast running beside him. He inched away, slowly but definitively, and even though Chicken dug for more speed, he just wasn't a match for the Tempered Passion son, not yet - Mourn was still gaining as he passed the three-furlong mark, two lengths ahead of the other stallion. Whisper was gamely a length behind Chiquato, not giving another inch until Vivien began easing her up. He hadn't pushed her to her limit, Minske could tell, but she'd still performed well for him.
Mourn looked absolutely beyond strong when he was pulled up, only a few dark stretches of sweat after the sprint showing on his coat. No, he wasn't done - he was just getting started.
Some of the horses were loving the attention, but some really weren't the type. That was why, despite him probably being one of the most trademark horses for them right now, Mourning Passion was slated for the first work of a busy morning. It was still dark out, with only the lightest fingerlings of light coming over the horizon, and the track lights were still on to illuminate the grounds. There were only a few horses out, but the sounds of their breathing and the beat of their hooves filled the air. While the jockeys had their meeting with Cole to get their instructions, Minske, Jena, and a few of the farm hands worked on getting the horses ready and bringing them out for the first work. They'd rock-paper-scissore'd to see which lucky soul was stuck with Chiquato, and tough-as-nails Jena had gotten the honor. She was going out first, keeping the bully of a stallion away from Mourn especially - nobody wanted to see what the result of that confrontation might be.
In pictures Chiquato looked stunning - strong, dark, and incredibly forward-moving. All of these things were true, but when you saw him in motion he looked a lot less regal. At least to the staff who had to deal with him. Jena had roped a hand into doubling up on the stallion, with her leading on one side and the man leading on the other. The stallion was gaping his mouth, thrashing his head and practically cantering in place against their hold. They were both set back hard on their heels, fighting the highly aggressive bully of a stallion. He kept swinging himself sideways, trying to knock into one of them - it was awful, and he was just plain mean-spirited so there wasn't a wholle lot that could be done in a short amount of time. He was being worked on, but since he was so uncooperative it was a long process.
Barely a Sound was taken out next, led by one of the hands. The filly was one of the biggest sweethearts they had, and was huge in public relations - she was one of the few that would let anyone pet her without any worry of her biting. She was a very pretty horse, with a dainty head and legs to match, and unlike Chiquato she had the personality to make it a full package. The daughter of Barely A Moment might not be the flashiest horse on the track, but she was incredibly willing and had a never-quit attitude that would eventually do well by her. She wasn't too bothered by Chiquato's antics as long as she wasn't too close, so she was the perfect buffer between the wild bay and Valkyrie's star.
Mourning Passion thought himself a horse without equal. While that thought had some fault, he would never be convinced of it. The big black horse walked with supremely confident strides, head high and regal and domineering on the end of Minske's lead rope. He didn't rush, didn't fight - it was as if he was watching Chiquato with condescension. Mourn had started the year off with his own grand style. He'd won his first and second races out, landing himself at grade one. His third race is what could only be considered a fluke - the stallion stumbled up front and just never fired down the stretch, allowing horses past him that he would have romped over in any other race. He had been incorrigably unhappy coming out of that race, staying in an absolutely vile mood for days. Minske had no doubt that he knew he'd lost. The stallion had a slow simmer of fire in him, one that made him think that he'd hate to be his competition in his next race. The black was out for blood now, and it was that very attitude that had gotten him to where he was. The attitude that drove him to win both the Kentucky Derby and the Speedway Stakes - and he wasn't even close to done.
The cantankerous stallion reached the track ahead of the others, and Desmond was there to be mounted on the move before the stallion really had a chance to react. Reins immediately gathered, he took the stallion onto the track before he could cause any trouble. To get things moving before he began acting too fresh, the other jockeys were on their horses and moving in seconds. Minske moved to the fence with his father, who had dished out the instructions for the three-furlong breeze. The stallions were both a little headstrong as they warmed up, and Whisper was a bit of a calming agent - her steady nature kept the others from acting up too much. As the bystanders watched, the horses were moved to the rail - all three in a line for this short of a work. Speed was everything here. When they reached the start, the horses fairly lunged up to speed, stretching and surging and bumping as they rounded out of the turn. It was clear from the start that the younger filly wasn't a match for the big males - it was clear a moment later that Chiquato was outmatched as well. It was as if Mourn was proving a point, putting down the undignified, hot-headed beast running beside him. He inched away, slowly but definitively, and even though Chicken dug for more speed, he just wasn't a match for the Tempered Passion son, not yet - Mourn was still gaining as he passed the three-furlong mark, two lengths ahead of the other stallion. Whisper was gamely a length behind Chiquato, not giving another inch until Vivien began easing her up. He hadn't pushed her to her limit, Minske could tell, but she'd still performed well for him.
Mourn looked absolutely beyond strong when he was pulled up, only a few dark stretches of sweat after the sprint showing on his coat. No, he wasn't done - he was just getting started.