#horse's equine endeavours

[just-a-honse]

day three of horse

i am being offered a carrot

i sure hope there isn't any benadryl in this

[theroyalthornoliachronicles]

La Flamme de Minuit Victorious at Prix de Thornolile

In a heart-stopping display of skill and speed, La Flamme de Minuit emerged triumphant in a gripping race during the highly anticipated Prix de Thornolie. The race, which unfolded over a five-furlong distance, captivated spectators and showcased a fierce battle between its top contenders, La Flamme de Minuit and Griffon Rouge.

Set against the picturesque backdrop of Thornolia's vibrant l'Hippodrome Épitoise de Thornolie, the event drew a crowd of enthusiastic onlookers, including Thornolia's esteemed famille royale. Monseigneur l'Épin, a distinguished figure in the equestrian world alongside his father, graced the occasion and presented the victorious horse with the inaugural Coupe de l'Épine d'Or, a trophy specially crafted for this prestigious race in celebration of its inclusion in Thornolia's first ever Saison.

La Flamme de Minuit, a majestic equine with a fiery spirit, proved its mettle under the expert guidance of trainer Francois Delacroix and the skilled jockey, Pierre Leblanc. The horse's exceptional speed, agility, and determination captivated the audience, who eagerly anticipated a thrilling showdown between the top contenders.

As the race commenced, the thundering hooves of La Flamme de Minuit and Griffon Rouge echoed across the racecourse, creating an rousing atmosphere. The two horses showcased their remarkable athleticism and unwavering spirit, engaging in a neck-and-neck battle that left spectators on the edge of their seats.

The five-furlong race unfolded with breathtaking intensity, as La Flamme de Minuit and Griffon Rouge pushed each other to their limits. The crowd roared with excitement as the horses charged towards the finish line, their determination and skill evident with every stride, but it was La Flamme de Minuit who surged forward around the last corner, galloping across the finish line and securing victory. Griffon Rouge, displaying remarkable tenacity, finished a close second, leaving spectators in awe of the fierce competition between these equine powerhouses.

Adding an extra layer of prestige to the occasion, Monseigneur l'Épin presented La Flamme de Minuit and Pierre Lablanc with the first-ever Coupe de l'Épine d'Or. The Monseigneur also looked to be in extremely high spirits, leaving many to wonder if more thrilling news is on the horizon. This magnificent trophy will forever serve as a testament to the horse's remarkable achievement, as well as an enduring symbol of Thornolia's rich equestrian heritage.

As the sun set and the crowds dispersed, the echoes of this thrilling five-furlong race lingered in the air. La Flamme de Minuit's remarkable victory in the Coupe de l'Épine d'Or will be remembered as a shining moment in Thornolia's racing history—an exemplification of the unwavering spirit and indomitable strength of these magnificent creatures.

And let us not forget our Monseigneur's endeavours to find a wife during this inaugural saison. With the upcoming bal masqué in honour of his upcoming birthday in mere days, many wonder if he will soon be making an announcement. Though should we? He's been far too indecisive, and it may be a bit hard to believe he's made any sort of decision, though we believe it safe to say that it does appear to be between Mademoiselle Aubert and Mademoiselle Valery. Today's event left many questioning the Monseigneur's motives once more, but we suppose only time will tell.

Previous | Beginning | Next

[my-timing-is-digital]

send  👫  for  a  reunion  starter

After the conclusion of Clemens' debacle, and his and Guinan's subsequent departures, the android repositioned the transreceiver in his supposed prototypical device for the horseless carriages and settled himself at the desk, monitoring the instrument's workings deliberately. Assiduously, he observed the rhythmic oscillations of the metal indicator, which functioned in a similar fashion as an analogue seismograph. Thus far, his device had not measured any time shifts, and would not for the next 39 minutes...

A long-awaited, arrhythmic scratching sound instantaneously tore his attention to the contraption. Excitedly, the pen attached to the end of the indicator recorded the occurrence — the device finally measured the time shift he had been anticipating —, and based off of the particulars printed on the sheet of paper, he could accurately determine the epicentre of the spatial distortion. Data consulted a map of the town to confirm the location, and without a moment's hesitation, he leapt to his feet and vacated his room. He navigated himself down a flight of stairs with mathematical precision and hurried outside where he supplied the bellboy, Jack, with sufficient 19th century currency to have him procure a carriage, preferably drawn by two equines — to multiply the carriage's power.

The ever-efficient hotel employee immediately scurried off to the stables and returned within several minutes, gesturing gleefully at the wagon he had snatched from an agitated colleague. Prior to mounting the box, Data expressed his gratitude for his services and pressed an additional sum of money in the boy's hand. He had never rode on horseback, let alone piloted a vehicle that was pulled by two of them, but he had judged it advantageous to observe others operate this form of transportation, in case he would relay on its services in the foreseeable future — he was glad he had pursued that particular endeavour.

Data armed himself with the reins and managed to set the equines into motion, gently instructing the animals to accelerate. The terminal words of farewell that emanated from the bellboy were left behind in a cloud of dust...

The carriage careened through the streets, teetering uncomfortably toward his destination: the local hospital. And it was not until he was in close proximity of the aforementioned facility that his positronic subprocessors sensed the familiar hum of 24th century technology, or rather, the wavelengths of a tricorder that was broadcasting signals on all frequencies. While he narrowly circumvented a collision with another horse-drawn carriage, he inferred that the others must have successfully ferried themselves across the frontiers of time and were here to assist him.

When the carriage swept around a corner, the tricorder transmission started to grow stronger and more prominent; his conjecture was confirmed when he sighted the others filing out of the hospital, and he promptly surmised that the occurrence of the time shift might have been a joint effort between them and the two individuals with the ophidian. Unfortunately, he could not initiate his interrogation, for his friends appeared to have antagonised the local police force.

'Data!' Commander Riker's loud, sonorous voice lacerated through the air, alerting him, unnecessarily, of their presence.

The android pulled on the reins to render the equines stationary adjacent to the pavement, allowing his friends to embark the vehicle.

'Doctor,' Data said, his own voice extraordinarily tranquil. He extended his hand for to grab and join him on the box seat while the others clambered into the carriage. 'It is good to see you again.'

'Go, Data! Hurry!' Captain Picard ordered, an urgent accentuation vibrated in the words he had enunciated.

'Aye, sir,' he replied compliantly, providing the horses with the objective to proceed down the street, with the intention to escape the police and take temporary refuge in the countryside until the coast was clear and they were certain no reinforcements would be ambushing them upon their return...

[thingummies-and-whatsits]

Lewis Fic Recs: In Other Lives

Alternate universes, near to ours. As usual this is far from exhaustive, so please feel free to add to the list!.

Distinguishing Features by divingforstones

6,594 Words, James/Robbie, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Evil Twin AU. Robbie notices something different about James, though no one else believes him. There's just... less of him, somehow. A unique premise, brilliantly executed, as an exploration of what it means to truly know and care for someone.

Dreaming Spires by Hekate1308

6,027 Words, James/Robbie, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Academic AU. James becomes a professor at Lonsdale College, and gets a chance to meet the renowned Professor Robert "Call Me Robbie" Lewis. This fic does a great job reworking each character into the new setting while remaining true to their personalities. Robbie especially is an ideal teacher with the warm affection and support he shows his colleagues and students.

The Theologian's Tale by Ygern

17,254 Words, James/Robbie, Rated E, No Archive Warnings Apply Academic AU. In the depths of his grief over Val's death, Robbie spends the nights before his departure to the BVI with a young theology student. Fate brings them together again and again over the years, and though bad timing and missed chances get in the way, the connection they made that first night never completely fades.

For the Love of Gummy Bears by redvalerian

2,445 Words, James & Robbie, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Priest AU. Casefic. In a world where James never left the seminary, Father Hathaway brings Inspector Lewis a clue in a missing child case. James is just as sharp, even when not a detective, and the bond between him and Lewis still feels like home, even when they've only just met.

In Another Life by loves_books

2,409 Words, James & Robbie, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply Musician AU. Robbie, once a drummer for the band Endeavour, returns to the music scene—and to Oxford—for the first time since Val's death. During sound checks, Robbie notices the young guitar player who'll be opening for them, and discovers how much they have in common.

Equine Nine by McG

18, 215 Words, James/Robbie, Rated M, No Archive Warnings Apply Horse Trainer AU. After the death of his wife, Robbie returns to the UK to work as trainer and yard manager for the notoriously prickly James Hathaway. The author's knowledge of and passion for horses really shines through, and the details of the horse world are immersive without ever becoming overwhelming.

The Graveyard Shift by redvalerian

602 Words, James/Robbie, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply Hospital AU. Outsider POV. Established relationship - or is it? In this humorous oneshot, two nurses have a discussion about their colleagues behind the on-call desk, and a trip to the grocery store turns out to be quite revealing.

Só um beijo (Just A Kiss) by Ygern

8,655 Words, James/Robbie, Rated E, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hairdresser AU. When Innocent orders a rumpled Lewis to get a haircut before his speech the next day, he finds himself drawn to the hairdresser with the soothing voice. With the added bonus of getting to see James play with his band.

Thus the Quiet-Coloured Eve by misbegotten

3,333 Words, James/Robbie, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply. Coffee-Shop AU. Robbie tries out a new coffee shop and slowly falls in love with the owner. Such a comforting fic, the setting allows James to remain his usual self but without the added weight of detective work pressing down on him. Plus his guitar is an extra treat.

Competition by iloveyoudie

270 Words, pre-James/Laura/Robbie, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Coffee-Shop AU. Laura and James watch the new guy at work in Laura's cafe, and decide that sometimes sharing is better than competition. This short little fic hints at so many tantalizing possibilities between them!

The Haunted Bookshop by owlbsurfinbird

2,178 Words, James & Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply Bookstore AU with a hint of the supernatural. A mixture of melancholy and gentle hopefulness. A gentleman enters James’ bookshop one Samhain and finds a book that’s been waiting there for him for ten long years—and with it the possibility of a friend.

[sladebloodstock]

Empower Your Racing Dreams: Benefits of Race Horse Syndicates

Are you captivated by the world of horse racing, dreaming of owning a racehorse and experiencing the exhilarating rush of the track? The syndicates offer a unique opportunity to indulge in the excitement of horse racing while sharing the ownership experience with like-minded individuals. 

In this blog, let’s delve into the benefits of race horse syndicates, exploring how this shared ownership model can empower individuals to fulfil their racing dreams.

Access to High-Quality Bloodlines

Race horses provide a gateway to high-quality bloodlines that may otherwise be out of reach for individual investors. The allure of owning a racehorse with exceptional lineage is a dream for many racing enthusiasts, and syndicates make this dream more attainable. 

By pooling resources with other participants, individuals can access top-tier bloodlines, elevating the overall racing experience and increasing the potential for success on the track.

The advantage of tapping into superior bloodlines through syndicates is undeniable. It opens doors to pedigrees that boast a legacy of racing excellence, offering the promise of competitive prowess and the potential for lucrative victories. 

Whether it's the thrill of watching a prized horse sprint towards the finish line or the pride of seeing a champion offspring continue a lineage of triumph, race horse syndication paves the way for enthusiasts to engage with esteemed bloodlines in the racing world.

Reduced Financial Burden

One of the most significant barriers to individual horse ownership is the substantial financial investment required. Syndicates alleviate this burden by allowing participants to share the financial responsibilities associated with ownership. This shared financial commitment makes the prospect of owning a race horse more accessible and affordable for a broader audience of racing enthusiasts.

The benefit of reduced financial burden extends beyond the initial purchase of the horse. Ongoing expenses such as training, veterinary care, and race entry fees are distributed among syndicate members, mitigating the financial strain that often accompanies sole ownership. 

By embracing the concept of cost-sharing, race horse syndicates democratise the ownership experience, making the pursuit of racing dreams a feasible endeavour for individuals who may have otherwise been deterred by the financial demands of the sport.

Professional Management and Expertise

Syndicates provide participants with access to professional management and expertise in all facets of horse ownership and racing. From training and conditioning to strategic race planning, syndicates offer a level of guidance and support that can significantly impact the success of their equine investments.

The value of professional management and expertise cannot be overstated. Seasoned trainers and experienced caretakers oversee the development and performance of syndicate-owned horses, leveraging their knowledge and skills to optimise the potential of each equine athlete. 

This professional oversight instils confidence in syndicate members, assuring them that their horses are in capable hands and increasing the likelihood of achieving competitive success on the racing circuit.

Shared Experiences and Community

Beyond the tangible benefits of ownership, race horse syndication fosters a sense of community and shared experiences among their participants. Enthusiasts who join syndicates connect with like-minded individuals who share a passion for horse racing, creating a network of camaraderie and mutual support within the community.

The social aspect of syndicate ownership extends to sharing experiences such as visits to training facilities, race days, and social gatherings centred around the world of horse racing. These collective moments not only enrich the ownership experience but also create lasting memories and forge bonds among syndicate members. 

The sense of belonging to a community of fellow racing enthusiasts adds an extra dimension of enjoyment to the overall syndicate experience, transforming the pursuit of racing dreams into a shared adventure.

Final Words

In closing, syndicates offer a compelling pathway for individuals to engage with the world of horse racing, providing access to high-quality bloodlines, reducing financial barriers, offering professional guidance, and fostering a sense of community.

By embracing the shared ownership model of syndicates, racing enthusiasts can embark on a journey towards realising their racing dreams with newfound empowerment. The allure of race horse syndicates lies not only in the thrill of the sport but also in the shared pursuit of racing dreams, making it a truly empowering and enriching endeavour for all involved.

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[rideonruffian]

COSMIC ENDEAVOUR (AUS)

Northern Meteor- Crevette, by Danehill

Photo (X)

[horsepisszine]

HORSE PISS ZINE NEEDS YOUR EQUINE EMISSIONS

Hey! Are you trans? Do you have something to say about gender, sexuality, or the whole mess of feelings surrounding such things? Can you write, draw, or in any way produce something printable?

HORSE PISS ZINE is a new publication accepting submissions of prose, poetry, fact, fiction, words and/or images, to be published online and potentially via a limited print run. Our goal is to provide a space for works by trans people, for trans people, about being trans, in a way that protects both creators and readers. We have a particular interest in approaches to gender that do not cleave easily to standard cis-palatable narratives of transness.

Works will be accepted under a revenue sharing model where contributors will receive a proportion of any profits made. Contributors will have the option of being named, pseudonymous or anonymous, and works will be given to sensitivity readers with relevant cultural competence where possible. We will not reject any work for having an "incorrect" understanding of gender, but we will endeavour to provide useful content warnings for any content that readers may find triggering.

We accept both pitches and complete works. Just e-mail submissions@horsepisszine.co.uk and we will get back to you as soon as we are able. Please be patient; we're DIY and disabled so it may take some time!

[oughttobeclowns]

Review: All The Fraudulent Horse Girls, The Glory

Review: All The Fraudulent Horse Girls, @TheGloryLondon Maybe a "queer equine fantasia" won't be to everyone's taste, but it oughta

Perhaps a queer equine fantasia won’t be to everyone’s taste but the artistic ambition and endeavour behind All The Fraudulent Horse Girls makes it worth tracking down at The Glory “I am Emma Stone the horse, I have no affiliation to Emma Stone the actor” From the moment our narrator Audrey bursts through a lifesize magazine cover to deliver a peppy lipsync to ‘Strawberry Kisses’, you just know…

[of-nodus-tollens]

The Paths We Wander

Summary: Sometimes you need to wander the paths and re-pave the roads. And sometimes, you acquire an annoying, snot-nosed genius as a little brother, and you make do with that too. ("Those Who Matter” from Lucy’s POV.).

Word Count: 4534 | Rating: General | Pairings: None

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Lucy was a mistake in every sense of the word - the product of a one-night fling between the infamous Howard Stark and a casual waitress with a pretty face. The next day found an empty bed, save the Stark Special Bracelet and a note that was more suited to a cliche romance novel than the promise it made out to be. Rosie tossed out the note but kept the bracelet. She’s got plans to travel after all and she’ll need all the money she can get.

These plans were derailed, however, by Lucy, who even as an infant must have known she was the cause of her mother’s unhappiness as she hardly cried or fussed but instead observed the world with an unnerving quietness.

Rosie did not believe herself capable of raising a child or have the means to do so. However, knowing firsthand what the system is like, she refused to willingly submit another child through it. She sent Stark a letter out of courtesy, knowing it will probably be thrown aside without being opened, but hoping nonetheless. And then she did what she has always done best, going at it alone.  

Just as predicted, Rosie was just another in a long line of women who claimed to have a Stark child, and with his new happy marriage to Maria Carbenello, any sordid history will be buried and forgotten.

So starts the next five resentful years of Rosie’s life as she worked the unforgiving system and lifestyle of a single mother. To be fair, she raised the child the best she could - fed her, cleaned her, kept her away from her extracurricular activities, ones she claims she will drop once she has enough funds. Lucy was already self-sufficient at four though, cleaning and cooking for herself and picking up after her mother. People came and went, often ignoring the child or casting a quizzical look her way before disappearing into the bedroom.

~*~

Maria Stark can be described in many ways - cool, aloft but always a source of stable support for her husband. She knew of his past indiscretions and in the face of Maria’s unwavering loyalty, the media ceased the constant questions that fuel the rumour mill. While charismatic, Howard is more bravado and fireworks; Maria, on the other hand, is the diplomat with a keen eye on reading people. She’s no stranger to sorting fact from fiction, having been through the socialite scene herself.

So when a gaunt woman with haunted eyes approached her on the streets, slim frame slipping through security like a waif, she managed to press an envelope into her hands, voice harsh and broken as she whispered, “Please help her.” She was gone before Maria could ask any questions.

The envelope contained a piece of paper with a name, address and the unforgiving words - Howard Stark’s daughter. The infamous Stark Bracelet sealed the deal.

~*~

Death found Rosie in the arms of her child, who did not understand why her mother was cold and unresponsive. The coughs which had plagued the room for months have dissolved with a final breath into a heavy silence. Lucy had covered her in a thin moth-eaten blanket and stretched her arms over her in an attempt to warm her up.

It was this sight which greeted Maria two days later after she had debated the merit in indulging in the woman’s plea. She recoiled at the stench of rotting food and waste and of course, there was the body in the room. Maria stepped back outside to regain her bearings, her gag reflex threatening to take hold. But no, women in her position do not throw up in public. Placing a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, she stepped back in to tend to the still breathing child. Against her better judgement, she shrugged out of her coat to lay over the shivering girl, who blinked blearily back at her and mumbled something. Maria crouched down with as much dignity as one can in such an environment.

“...not eating it. She’ll get hungry.”

Maria would be a liar if that didn’t break her heart a little bit. It would be so easy to hate the child before her and be justified in it but she was before Maria’s time and the mistake was not the girl’s fault. So Maria made sure the child was cared for when the emergency services arrived, then went home for a hot bath, a confrontation with Howard and a stiff drink or three.

~*~

It was no secret that Edwin and Ana Jarvis had always wanted a child of their own. In their younger days, they thought they had all the time in the world until they didn’t; until the bullet that tore through Ana took away their chance of creating a family, replacing it with grief over something that will never come to be.

“We still have each other,” Ana reassured her husband over and over again whenever she sees the guilt in his eyes during the quiet moments when his hands tighten slightly over hers. And it was true - their love (as cliche as it is) held them together and preceded them through the years.

Edwin found solace in Howard Stark’s son, Tony, the intelligent, precocious and stubborn boy who he regards with much fondness. Ana, on the other hand, fell in love with the equine variety on Maria Stark’s family ranch where she eventually moved to when city life got too much, enjoying the quiet hums in the morning before the sky turns purple, and the dusting of stars before she turns in for bed. Edwin had wrinkled his nose at the smell and dirt; he even swore the horses eyed him funny… but the tea did taste better with the fresh air, so he relented.

To say they were taken aback when the Starks approached them about adoption was an understatement, even more so when Maria explained the circumstances behind it and the paramount need to keep it discreet. Howard had kept oddly quiet during the conversation, staring instead into his scotch as if he wished to drown in it. There was no judgement in Maria’s tone, calm and grounded as she is. She emphasised there was no pressure, just an offer they can refuse. No mention of the sensitivity of the topic or the trust of one of their oldest friends needed to be said, it was a given, and by the same token, nothing would change despite the decision.

It was not easy bringing a small human being into their home. Lucy was by no means a handful, in fact, she was the complete opposite of Tony who is a bundle of energy on the best of days. Lucy was quiet and guarded, watchful of her surroundings and cautious around people. Edwin knows how to deal with Tony - understands his temperament, reads his unspoken words loud and clear, there was always something to work with. It was awkward, to say the least, not knowing where you stand with a child, especially one intent on hiding herself away.

It wasn’t until Ana saw her peering around the stable door while she was brushing down the chestnut colt that she quickly asked, “Would you like to help?”

At her hesitant nod, Ana showed her the basics of bringing down a horse before getting her a box to stand on to reach. “You know you can talk to us right? You don’t have to be scared.”

It was an innocent question in an attempt to bridge the gap with a child. There was a brief pause, “I’m not scared; I just didn’t know I could.”

Ana has read that every child communicated differently. She just didn’t realise somewhere along the line, a child has been taught to ask for permission to talk. It made her blood boil and her heart ache.

Edwin returned home that evening to a slightly burnt roast, a floor full of books and Lucy asking question after question about horses. The smile on Ana’s face as she gazed from the child to him warmed his chest.

~*~

Lucy learns quickly that Edwin loves making jokes, bad ones.

“Why do you smear peanut butter on the road? To go with the traffic jam!”

Ana sighed fondly, “Edwin, please stop traumatising our child.”

~*~

And like riding a bicycle, the Jarvis’ and Lucy came into their own, stumbling through the terrain that has been mapped out beforehand and re-paving new roads. Not that Lucy understood any of that, just that she was around people who did not mind her presence, who did not scowl when she spoke, who actually welcomed her opinions.

Jarvis discovered Lucy’s love for solving puzzles when she asked for the cereal boxes to complete the word and number games. She soon graduated to the more difficult ones in the newspapers. The ones she struggles with would be waiting for him when he arrives home in the evening to solve them together. It was these quiet moments together that he looked forward to, so when he noticed the puzzles were becoming less problematic, he bought back a stack of advanced code-breaking books for them to work on together and eventually, created their own personalised codes.

Ana would teach her the working of the stable, how to look after the horses and muck out the stalls, bringing the horses in for the night. She was hesitant in teaching Lucy how to ride, her mind reaching for the worst-case scenario, but knew it would be worse if she didn’t. She didn’t regret it - being able to ride out across the fields and taking on some of the well-known trails became their fondest memories, especially when they would go camping and Edwin would cling to Ana from his perch behind her, claiming the beast would be the end of him. He would survive of course but if the mud flicked at him by the horse was any indication, they were none too pleased with him either. Lucy and Ana tried not to giggle too much at his expense.

Then there were the quiet nights, where the Jarvis’ were wrapped around one another on the porch swing, watching Lucy running barefoot in the grass, waving a glass jar frantically through the air in an endeavour to catch the eluding fireflies. Ana snuggled further into Edwin’s arms. A smile of content on her face as Lucy shrieked in excitement, jar glowing from afar. If all the pain and heartache led to this, then it was worth it.

~*~

Lucy has only ever heard stories about Tony from her father with exasperated fondness and it was obvious that he cared about him. She'd be lying if she didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy, but at least at the end of the day, Jarvis would come back home to her and Ana.

She met Tony during the summer holiday of ‘83. Howard and Maria had a conference to attend so Tony was dropped on their doorstep. Lucy wasn’t fooled, she can tell he was here on his own volition, to suss her out if his constant shadowing was any indication. She barely spoke to him despite his incessant need to ask questions, which only seem to egg him on more.

“He is being deliberately insufferable! Why is he even here?” she demanded of no one in particular.

It was her father who answered, head bowed over a book as he tried to crack their latest code. “Give him a chance. Talk to him.”

“I just want him gone,” Lucy huffed petulantly. She knows she’s being difficult and doesn’t care.

“Lucy,” her father’s tone was patient and gentle and can bring the meanest man down to his knees. “He doesn’t have many friends either, just give him a chance.”

“He’s not here to be my friend,” she muttered darkly. She was self-aware enough to know she was feeling threatened. At his look, she threw her hand up, “Fine, I’ll talk to him.”

~*~

He’s not really your father.

Tony knows how to push buttons and Lucy was waiting for the right excuse. She had landed the satisfying first punch and from there it was a free for all. There were a lot of voices and yelling and then hands were grabbing at them to pull them apart. They were both out of breath, arms and legs still twitching from the adrenaline. Tony glared at her through his good eye. Any satisfaction she felt was overshadowed when Edwin led Tony away to have his wounds tended to, a look of utmost disappointment cast her way. It was probably worse than the dressing down she received from her Ana later on when she was assured Lucy was not badly injured, save some bruises and grazes.

“You know better than this. What possessed you to do this?!”

In an uncharacteristic switch, Ana was pacing the room while Edwin sat quietly in his armchair, looking anywhere but at Lucy. This is it. She had ruined it all. She bit her lips, refusing to answer to her fears, one which had been gnawing at her since she knew of Tony’s arrival and had burrowed into her to create a distorted nest of… whatever this is.

Ana was waiting for an answer she couldn’t give. She stumbled to her feet, ready to make her retreat. She never made it to the door. Edwin had enveloped her in a hug and the cracks in her facade shattered as she sobbed into her father’s embrace.

“We love you no matter what, with whatever doubts you have. Nothing will change that.”

And just like that, the weight fell off her shoulder and her chest felt lighter.

~*~

No apologies were made in the aftermath of the brawl. Lucy and Tony’s interactions were stiff and stilted, tripping over the elephant in the room. If there was anything they could agree on, it was that whatever grievance they have should not cause the Jarvis’ any distress. It was an awkward calm that was broken by the arrival of Howard and Maria Stark.

Tony’s demeanour changed with the arrival of his parents, taking on a more rigid exterior, his flippant attitude dialled up by ten. Lucy got a first-hand look into one of America’s most famous households… and she felt relieved and guilty. Howard ignored her which was fine by her (even if it did smart a bit); Maria at least nodded at her in acknowledgement.

~*~

To say she eavesdropped on their discussion is completely redundant when the entire neighbourhood could have heard the commotion. Needless to say, Howard and Tony Stark do not get along.

Lucy deliberated her next move before she followed Tony’s footsteps, taking a detour on the way. She found him behind the barn, feet knocking a steady rhythm into the barrel he was sitting on, eyes rimmed red and staring off into the abyss,

When she handed him the rifle wordlessly, her own slung across her back, his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Is this a stand-off?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Given our recent encounter, can you blame me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult, I’ve got better things to do.”

She didn’t have to wait long as he eagerly hopped off and followed her to the outer fields where cans lined the fence. She showed him the basics before taking a few shots herself, showing off just a little. Tony had a few misfires but picked it up soon enough, pinging a few in quick succession before giving an exhilarated whoop and casting her with a genuine grin.

And if that was the end goal, then Lucy had done her bit. She can walk away knowing that she did a good thing and ignore the warmth in her chest.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s nothing, don’t let it get to your head,”

She brought out more bottles and cans and they took turns in shooting them down.

“I didn’t mean what I said the other day,” Tony spoke up.

“Yes, you did.”

A pause. “Yeah, I did, but not like that.”

Deep down, Lucy knew that. “Might help if you weren’t so mouthy, kid.”

“I’m only two years younger than you,”

“A kid and a brat then,” a beer bottle flew backwards, “But neither should be treated the way you were,”

Tony was suddenly fascinated with the trees on the eastern side, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s why we’re here, and why I’m probably going to have my head handed to me if we get found.”

“The Jarvis’... your parents, they’re cool,”

Lucy took a moment to appreciate the olive branch Tony is offering - an acknowledgement and an apology.

“They are. You’re welcome to borrow them once in a while but you gotta return them at the end of the day,”

A smile. “Deal.”

~*~

From there on in, Lucy would occasionally tag along with Edwin to the city when Howard wasn’t around. She helped scare off Tony’s nanny in a brilliant rendition of ‘The Ring’, taking Tony’s technology to an all-time high. The absence of a nanny meant more frequent visits from Tony when his parents were absent, and they would spend the time watching Doctor Who and working around the ranch. Tony would tinker with the machinery around the house, fixing most and improving others, and in one case almost setting the stable on fire. The ruckus caused a stampede of panicking horses. The dress-down they received was nothing short of spectacular.

Tony was chagrined while Lucy was more annoyed that she was getting yelled at when she was hardly involved. Tech was hardly her thing and she barely understood any of Tony’s ramblings half the time.

“You need to watch out for one another. You,” Ana indicated Lucy, “have a duty of care. And Tony, you need to have her back.”

They blinked at one another, perplexed, but it was one of their first lessons in their odd sibling dynamic.

~*~

There were days when the memories of her mother’s failing health and her ultimate demise plagued her. If someone was willing to help those who were deprived of it… maybe her mother could have been saved. The worst part is that it wasn’t just them, no, they were part of a much bigger problem.

So when the time came for her to apply for college, she chose medicine and got accepted into Tufts University School of Medicine.

~*~

If Lucy had hoped that Tony and his father’s relationship would improve once he got into MIT, she was sadly mistaken. Distance does not always make the heart grow fonder. Tony started socially drinking despite her protests. So they came to a compromise, minimal drinking on his part and she will pick him up afterwards. This resulted in many late nights where Lucy would show up in her pyjamas, her mind filled with words and body parts, Tony snoring loudly in her ear, the smell of alcohol filling her car.

James Rhodes' presence invited some respite, an extra pair of eyes to subtly navigate Tony’s drinking habits (more often than not, Rhodey gets roped into it too. Lucy wished Tony would put his charisma to better use). He never asked who she was to Tony despite the questions in his eyes and that more than anything made Lucy trust him enough to tell him. That and the fact they were in the midst of rescuing Tony from a kidnapping. Rhodey’s response of “There’s two of you?!” reassured her of her decision.

Notwithstanding the drinking and the occasional kidnapping, Tony excelled in academia and proved his ingenuity more than once. However, it never seems to be enough for Howard, who Lucy would dearly love to punch. She knew Tony well enough to sense something was not quite right after he won the MIT robot design competition, despite putting up every appearance of being on the contrary. They celebrated then went their separate ways.

When the phone call came, it was Rhodey.

Tony was barely conscious when she got to his room, trying to get an answer out of him through his alcohol stained speech. That’s when she spotted the bottle of Ambien.

He seized.

The trip to the hospital was a blur of panic and swearing, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. By the time he was given the all-clear, she was shaking with adrenaline withdrawal and exhaustion. He was sleeping, blissfully unaware of the mechanical whirs and beeps around him.

Feeling confined, she ducked into the corridor, just as Howard was making his way towards the room, his steps short and clipped.

Lucy shut the door behind her and stepped up to meet him, arms crossed, a human sentinel before a human wrecking ball. He barely glanced at her as he made to brush pass her; she moved to block him again.

He finally acknowledged her presence, annoyed. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re the last person he needs right now. Although it’s good to see there are some things you are willing to show up for.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are but I would advise you to consider your words wisely.”

“You know precisely who I am but that hardly matters, because the person that matters here is Tony, your son. Not a side hobby or project you look in when you have nothing going on.”

“How dare you -”

“I dare because no one else seems willing to. Because you’re Howard Stark and you’re ruining one of the best things of your life. Tony is brilliant and looks up to you but you can’t seem to look beyond your own God damn nose to give him the time of day and you will live to regret it one day.”

“I am paving the future for him so that he won’t have regrets to live with.”

“You have a funny way of showing it - you’re so focussed on the what-ifs that you’re missing the right now, Your son needs you in the here and now. Your constant belittling of his every achievement or success is not going to end well for you.”

“He needs to learn humility and you need to learn your place.”

“Sir, with all offence intended - you need to get off your hypocritic high horse and start taking responsibility for your own actions because for all that you have done in the world, regret is going to be one of your biggest problems.”

Howard’s face has begun to take on a remarkable shade of red, vein visibly throbbing at his temple. He lifted his hand as if to strike her when Edwin’s voice broke through the moment, “Sir, I would advise against laying a finger on my daughter’s head. I can assure you the consequence would not be kind.”

Edwin’s usually polite tone was lined with steel, calm in a way that did not match the storm in his eyes.

Howard seems to come to himself and stepped back, “Jarvis, I -”

“Lucy, please wait for me in the waiting room.”

Lucy did not argue.

When Edwin joined her later, she braced herself for a lecture but instead, he wrapped her in a solid embrace. She wasn’t sure whether to apologise or not.

“I was going to have a word to him but it looks like you beat me to it,” he gave her a wane smile and Lucy saw the years on his face, lines worn into his skin. “As proud as I am of you, let's refrain from any more of these encounters in future shall we?”

Lucy gave a watery laugh as she agreed.

~*~

The sadness she felt for Howard and Maria Stark’s death was sadness for her parents who had considered them close friends and for Tony, who despite the strenuous relationship he had with his father, would have cared to some degree, especially with Maria. She mourned for the woman who rescued her when she had every reason not to. For that, Lucy would be forever grateful to her.

She remembered the ache following her own mother’s death, and the loneliness - if there was something she could pass on, she would insist that no one should be alone during this time. So she snuck into Tony’s room and offered whatever little support she could.

~*~

Lucy refused to cry when Ana and Edwin passed away within months of each other. They were happy and at peace together and “lived a life better than ever imagined”. Lucy knew it was selfish to feel abandoned, but there she was a five-year-old child again, feeling the earth tremble under her feet.

She reached out to Tony and found only an empty shell and the hole in her chest grew wider.

~*~

She found herself in Cambodia, where she explored and threw herself into the outreach medical work. It was gruelling work, especially as Cambodia has just endured the genocidal rule of the Khmer Rouge, where millions were killed. Hospitals had been levelled; medical supplies were virtually nonexistent. The public health fallout from years of devastation included tens of thousands of children and adults maimed by the landmines and unexploded bombs that remain hidden in the countryside, rampant PTSD, and a childhood malnutrition rate of 40 per cent. Diseases that can be easily treated back home causes deaths in the thousands. It was an eye-opening experience that widened Lucy’s world and prompted her to return home to complete her residency.

Going back home forced her to face her own problems, so trivial compared to what she had witnessed. Tony had taken up Howard’s mantle with ease if the media was anything to go by. Her proudness was dimmed by the hurt and the conflict of what Stark Industries does. Presents flooded her mailbox and though she knew it was Tony’s way of apologising, she cannot shake off the betrayal of what was left of her support and the world she once knew.

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Rhodey, I’m just not ready to talk to him.”

“It has been a year,”

“You’re one to talk,”

Lucy and James Rhodes had ducked out of the hospital for a quick respite, trying to absorb the warmth of the coffee in hand. Residency was kicking her ass and she was sure it was reflected in the way she looked. On the other hand, Rhodey was all decked out in his Air Force uniform, looking every bit the lieutenant colonel he is.

“You’re his family,” Rhodey pointed out.

“So are you.”

Rhodey sighed, resigned, “I’m just worried about you,”

“Well don’t. I’m fine.”

“You disappeared. For a year.”

“I went travelling and I sent you a postcard. Listen,” she grabbed his hand to stop him from lecturing, “I’m not going to deny that it still hurts and I wished things turned out differently. He’s still my brother and I still love him, but I just can’t right now…”

He squeezed her hand in response, “Okay, I’ll let it be for now.”

~*~

The reprieve lasted a month before Rhodey had enough and essentially bought Tony and Lucy back together. She may have started on this path alone, but that doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.

The Jarvis’ (and maybe her mother) would have been proud.

[innerexplorer]

On the intensely private person

In this age of social media, discovering a private individual, about whom there can be nothing dug up from the depths of the internet, is truly like finding a unicorn. Turns out, I don’t really care for unicorns. Maybe I prefer a plain old horse, one I can reliably Google and find on whatever the horse version of Instagram is. This equine/internet metaphor is rapidly falling apart, but, you understand.

I recently encountered one of these rare creatures. The only way to discover things about them was to — shock horror — actually speak to them. This would have been all well and fine, had they not been an intensely private person. What do I mean by this? Well, a conversation with them was an obstacle course that I don’t quite have the physical strength to get through. Getting to know them like drawing blood from a stone. Not only was their social media presence nonexistent, but they had put up a firm and fierce wall which made attempting to befriend them a challenge.

Nevertheless, I persisted. 

I tried every tactic in the book: asking leading questions, making assumptions about them aloud and waiting to see whether they were challenged or confirmed, making up excuses to speak to them just to see whether I’d glean anything from the interaction -- everything short of essentially stalking them. Every nugget of trivia I managed to extract was mentally stored away, and I’m sure that the sum total could be counted on two hands. It was a time consuming, and near hopeless, endeavour.

As a person obsessed with personality tests and paying close attention to detail about those around me (particularly those I like), all I saw in this person was a challenge: a feat to be achieved, a code to be cracked. That in itself is wildly unhealthy. I reduced them to more of a mission than an individual with (I can only assume) a rich inner life of their own. 

And, as a chronic oversharer, I saw them as a spectacle of sorts; a sparkling, mysterious wood nymph of the forest. I am at such odds with the intensely private person, such an open book committed to disclosing almost every idea or experience I have. If social media didn’t exist, I’d pick up a blade and carve into a wall, ‘Drinks with the girls!’ on a night out. I’d mass produce canvas prints of my selfies and hand them out on street corners. I need to share, whereas intensely private people I guess don’t?

Exhibit A was closed off, quiet, and guarded. Normally, I’d take no enjoyment from such qualities. I like easygoing people; those who are laidback, open with their opinions and happy to share their experiences. At a bare minimum, I like those who not only answer my questions, but ask me them in return. In fact, if anything, I need to consciously remind myself of the need for balance in a conversation, and to not make it an opportunity to talk at length about myself. Perhaps that’s what drew me to this mysterious individual; not only were they intensely guarded and unmovable, but they were never going to indulge my desire for attention. Attempting to know them was a pleasantly humbling experience for someone as self-interested as me. 

Ironically, the ‘more’ (to lose the term very, very loosely) I learnt about their life, the more apparent it became that this was perhaps not a person worth knowing. Not that they were awful, or anything; just simply that, we, as individuals, did not mesh. But then again, that should have been obvious from the difficulty of trying to conduct a simple conversation with them. Both to my advantage and detriment, if I’m in, I’m all in, but this simply wasn’t worth it.

I’ve accepted that I may never really know this person, and that’s okay. Although I don’t understand their desire for privacy, they’re certainly entitled to it. What I need to remember is that just because a person is so private, it doesn’t mean that every little tidbit they choose to reveal is any more significant than anything a more open acquaintance would share. I had literally reached the point of being captivated by a statement as mundane as, ‘I’m half German.’ To anyone else, I would’ve said, ‘cool... and?’ but glorified this information because of its elusive source.

So, in honour of intensely private people -- may we respect them, may we leave them be, and maybe one day, even know them.

[just-a-honse]

day eighteen of horse

today me and harold the horse wed

we received 20 bales of hay as a wedding gift

yipee

[thecinematichorse]

When endeavouring to tell live action stories from the perspective of animals, film-makers generally choose between three approaches. They can follow their subjects from a documentary-esque perspective (like director Jean-Jacques Annaud’s astonishing nature-drama The Bear), assign them voices and make their mouths move (Babe) or provide narration articulating their thoughts and feelings (The Adventures of Milo and Otis).

Director John Tatoulis chose the latter – with an interesting twist – when adapting author Elyne Mitchell’s beloved children’s novel The Silver Brumby, resulting in a classic 90s Australian outdoors movie that plays like a bedtime companion piece to The Man from Snowy River. Narration from actor Caroline Goodall sounds rich and florid for a good reason: her character is Mitchell herself, writing an ornately worded book from the horses’ point-of-view.

It is a strong female-led picture, with a framing device that doubles as means to explore the relationship between the author and her young daughter Indi (Amiel Daemion). Tatoulis oscillates between them and the story Mitchell is telling, introduced to Indi on a stormy night and involving a bushman known only as the Man (Russell Crowe).

The Akubra-wearing alpha male is trekking cross country in pursuit of the coveted silver stallion. After it rescues his mare from captivity, he becomes dead-set on revenge – not as dementedly obsessive as a Captain Ahab type but no less determined, partial to gazing vacantly into the distance and yelling ��you silver devil!”

But Crowe’s character never develops into much more than a cipher. Focus remains squarely equine over man, and the film is better for it.

Visions of horses in their natural environment in Victorian high country are well-matched to Mitchell’s narration, drawing a quaint but captivating effect that avoids the goofiness of a talking animals movie. The writer speaks from their perspective (“she taught him how to recognise the scent of man, and his dog, and the smell of his fire”) as if she has a direct line to their hearts and minds, explaining their emotions and articulating trials and tribulations. These are generally two-fold: surviving the elements, including other creatures and the extremities of a snow-covered winter; and evading humans.

[my-timing-is-digital]

A soft, acknowledging hum ensued Avyra’s response to his queries. Perhaps he would obtain the answers to his questions himself, through observation and practical experience. In the meantime, his yellow eyes remained plastered to her and the equine, endeavouring to process the visual data pertaining to the way in which she was operating around Obi. Always willing to learn. Always developing his subroutines. Always expanding his knowledge and acquiring new information on matters he was presently unfamiliar with. It was an intriguing procedure.

    As instructed, the android kept his distance from the animal, and looked in awe as the sizable horse emerged from his confined residence; it was a remarkable sight to behold.

    ‘Ah. A halter is utilised as a safety precaution. Mhm. But your statement does implicate that you require riding equipment in order to actually ride him? Something that will support you and prevent you from falling off should he decide to travel at warp speed?’ he glanced down at Avyra as she escorted the equine as well as the android to whatever location was next on her list. ‘Thank you for your elaboration; I shall proceed to operate within my pre-established parameters.’

Intriguing. Did equines not hold well-developed friendships in high esteem, like humans? Were they solely interested in the individuals that frequently distributed treats and other nutritious supplements and did not care about others? Additional research on this matter was clearly indicated.

   ‘I do not have the intention to ride him — I would not know how,’ he informed Avyra, glancing down at her. ‘I am not programmed to collaborate with animals. Do they require the same approach as humans? The parameters that have been set to facilitate moderate physical contact, will not exceed human comfort levels; it will preempt me from accidentally injuring humans as well as non-human species. However, I can adjust the parameters if necessary.’

   His yellow eyes were still trained on the other Cadet, a slight frown wrinkled his forehead as he observed her while she pulled a mask, or harness of sorts over Obi’s nose and ears. Why?

   ‘Enquiry: What is the function of that’ — he grappled to find the right words to accurately describe the object she had put on the horse’s head — ‘contraption? Is that equipment you require to ride him?’

[outdoorfunctionalwear]

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[partheniaspace]

Horse Insurance and You – All You Need to Know About Being Covered

Whether you’re a rider, trainer, or owner of an equestrian business; it is vital you have adequate insurance. Not just to protect you, but to protect your horse too. But financial issues – especially when it comes to specialist insurance – are complicated. How do you know what kind of cover you need? How can you make sure that every eventuality is accounted for? And how do you know you’re getting the best deal? In this article we will look at the different kinds of insurance you need, depending on your needs: Equine Business Insurance If you’re involved in or run your own equestrian based business, you will need coverage that protects you from a number of things. Firstly, you will need to make sure any policy covers the same things as standard business insurance. This should include: • Business owner coverage • Property insurance • Liability insurance • Product liability insurance • Errors and omissions insurance • Business income insurance The point of these aspects is to protect both you and any employees. As an equestrian business, you should make sure your policy protects you should anything happen to the horses in your care. You should always get a policy from a specialist agency that understands your needs. If your business involves the breeding of horses, you will need a policy that also covers you for this. You should be able to get coverage for stallion and mare infertility. For companies like yours, you must weigh costs against risks and possible losses. Ownership Insurance As a horse owner, you will need more than just standard pet insurance. You should endeavour to find a policy that covers mortality and theft, colic and non-elective surgeries and more. While this will bulk up the cost of your policy, you could also look for one that covers you for accidents, sickness and disease. Unlike in the world of equine business, horse ownership is not an investment. The insurance companies will see it as a liability, thus charging you high rates. You will therefore, want to insure your horse for its value, and protect yourself with liability cover. What to Look for In a Company To make matters more complicated though, not all insurance companies offer horse insurance policies. This means you will have to be prepared to shop around, but we have prepared some tips to make this easier for you. Firstly, always use a company with a rating of A+ or higher. You should also speak with fellow businesses and horse owners to check their reputation. After all, you want to work with an insurer who understands your needs and requirements. Finally, you need to know more than what is covered by your policy. It is, in fact, more important to know what isn’t covered. Ask every company to clearly outline these so-called “exclusions” to help you make an honest and informed decision.

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