Best Buds {open}

[Declan Cunningham]

Declan grunted and shoved Demon's rump, laughing as the horse shifted back toward the center of the aisle. The big gelding was cross-tied in the aisle, in dire need of a good grooming after two days' relaxation outside in the pasture. "Silly Demon," Declan crooned, his Irish accent somewhat distorting the words. The gelding's ears flicked toward his human companion as said human brushed caked mud from the sleek hair of Demon's coat. "So eager to get dirty and make me work that much harder to keep you clean." As if in response the horse turned his head, drooling across the shoulder of Declan's black shirt. The young man laughed again and stroked the gelding's cheek before shoving his head away and resuming the rhythmic brushing. Small bits and chunks of mud littered the floor beneath his riding boots and he curled his lip. He was going to have to sweep the aisle again.

[Frank Grant Wright]

From the pasture, Frank lead Anarchy from his run. He was talking to Gretchen on his cell - she was waiting on to feed store to get a delivery in, and she hoped to quicken the employees pace by having a tie to him - the manager. Anarchy lengthened his walk, following his owner obediently, "They won't go faster, why do you think they're working minimum wage at a feed store?" He apologized for their incompetence before hanging up. Gretchen was a young woman who wanted her feed. He couldn't blame her - the boarders would burn her at the stake if their expensive mounts didn't get a meal. He was covering for her until she got back. Thankfully it was a slow day.

He nodded a greeting to Declan. The only way Frank knew him is that he was irish, and he was the other instructor here at Stargate.

The dark bay hanoverian stood quietly in the crossties, ears flicked towards the other horse. Frank was rarely off work in time to ride him when people were around. They usually ended up making a few rounds on the flat and jumping a few verticals around 9:30 at night. Needless to say, Anarchy wasn't too use to looking at a horse opposite of him when he was being groomed. He leaned into the curry that removed the itchy debris and dry sweat from his coat. Anarchy was a party animal in turnout. The hard bristle followed over his curried pelt, sweeping away dead hair and skin. The soft bristle returned to coat to looking natural and clean. For a stallion, he was well behaved, completely oblivious to anything else but his job. Frank decided taking that $40,000 out of his savings for college had been well worth it, whether his family had or not.

As Frank saddled the dark bay, Anarchy began to scrape the concrete aisles with his shod hoof, looking back innocently when simply reprimanded by Frank with a small "Stop it." Frank unclipped the crossties, unbuckling the halter, and slipping the snaffle bridle on. He gathered the reins, hanging the halter on Anarchy's stall, and made his way towards the arena, "Gretchen's going to be late." He would atleast let her employee know of her absence.

[Declan Cunningham]

Declan nodded, surprised that the other had even bothered to speak to him. As he watched his retreating back he shook his head. Riding at home in Ireland had always been so pleasant; everyone was nice there, and showed genuine interest in their horses. Here... Wright was always attentive, and Gretchen, but some of the other riders treated their horses with as much regard as a plastic bag, only useful when its purpose was served and unimportant otherwise. It made him heartsick to see such disinterest in something that played such a huge role in his life.

Declan's final task completed, he dropped the face cloth in Demon's grooming bucket and hung it on its designated peg before letting the gelding into his box, closing the door and simoultaneously setting a carrot on the door's edge. As the horse munched the carrot Declan stroked the velvety muzzle and then kissed it gently with a promise to return the following day to practice.

Outside the barn, he sighed and leaned against the doorway for a moment before heading for his car. Family dinners were always uncomfortable, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing his parents' rigid attitudes, caused by being near the other. However, it was unavoidable, and so, sliding in behind the wheel of the Volvo, he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

[Gretchen Peterson]

Gretchen pulled in with a truckload of feed, thankful that Grant stuck around. She didn't know why she called him by his middle name - but she did. Around 3:30 she began pulling out tack, and leading in ponies and horses for the lesson kids. A streak of creme and bay caught her eye. Looking out into the paddock where her mare Judy spent her days grazing. She'd not been able to ride the mare as often as she had liked, but more concern arose as she identified the bay as Anarchy - who'd jumped from his pen to pursue her mare.

Gretchen stumbled to sprint to the pen, but by time Judy halted, and Anarchy mounted her - the deed was done. "Noo! DAMN IT!" Her hands clasped to her head. That damn stallion would be an issue to keep fenced now. Atleast he was a nice horse, but now she owed Grant a stud fee.

She was able to capture the stallion after he'd had his way with her cremello thoroughbred, and she put him in his stall, "You're supposed to wait till marriage." About that time Grant walked in, a quizzical look upon his features. "Your stallion jumped his pen, jumped into Judy's paddock - and bred her."

Grant quirked his mouth, trying to hold back laughter and he failed, "That's my boy!"

"It's not funny... You stallion's a manwhore."

"Well it's not like your mare rejected him, so atleast he is good at something."

[Declan Cunningham]

Declan rounded the corner and stopped abruptly, nearly running into Gretchen. "Apologies, he muttered when she turned to look at him. Turning on his boot heel he headed toward Demon's stall, deciding that the tack could wait until the gelding had been brushed again, probably having found some way to get dirty again. The horse's head was hanging over the half-door when Declan arrived, tongue dangling from his lips in a horse grin. Declan smiled half-heartedly.

This afternoon had been worse than usual. His mother, after enduring several under-handed slights from his father, had stormed out of the house. Declan, in an attempt to defend his mom, had engaged dear old dad in an argument, and had now earned himself an angry bruise on his right jawbone. His face still smarted where his father had taken a swing at him, but he ignored it. The wound to his respect, both for himself and his father, was far worse. Taking a deep breath to steady his anger, he held Demon's face close to his own for a minute, breathing in the gelding's breath, which smelled sweet, hay and oats and a hint of molasses. The fragrance brought a soft smile to his face and he felt suddenly calmer.

[Gretchen Peterson]

Gretchen's interest sparked at Declan's own issues of being distraught. He seemed a little down and distant. Leaving Grant with his horse, she walked to the aisle where Demon was stalled. She walked quietly behind him, leaning on the stalls opposite of Demon's own box. She let her employee soak in the calming environment that a stable could supply, "Are you okay?"

[Declan Cunningham]

He looked up, somewhat surprised to see Gretchen there. Scratching Demon's cheek, he sighed and nodded. "Long day." Opening the stall door he led the gelding into the aisle and cross-tied him, taking down the grooming bucket to give the horse a quick once-over. He wasn't particularly inclined to discuss his family issues with outside parties; the offenses of his father went far deeper than anyone could imagine, and he was unwilling to dredge up the painful memories trapped behind their barricade in his mind. Rubbing one arm absently he reached into the bucket and picked up a brush, noticing as he did that his hands were shaking. Declan's eyes narrowed. A few deep breaths steadied his hands somewhat and he shook his head slightly, applying the brush to Demon's dusty coat. The horse rolled back his lower lip and turned his head, watching his owner out of one white-rimmed eye, sensing the tension present. Declan noticed with irritation that Gretchen hadn't left, but kept his silence, losing himself in the repetitive nature of the task at hand.

[Gretchen Peterson]

If he was unwilling to talk about it, then fine. She wouldn't waste time pressing for answers she wouldn't get. She walked off to tack Judy, wondering what the cremello mare would produce. Chances for palomino, buckskin and even a smokey black could be thrown from her.

She brushed off the creme hide of her mare, her hand following the tracks that the brush had made. After picking out her hooves, she placed a saddle pad over her well muscled topline, a saddle following the same motion. Fixing and pulling the girth tight, Judy lowered her head at the sight of her double bridle. She willingly accepted the advanced dressage bridle, chewing the cool steel and producing a good ammount of saliva. Gretchen threw the reins over her mare's head to lead her out, stopping only to grab a helmet, casting a glance at Declan, "If you need to talk. You know where to find me." before walking off towards the arena.

[Declan Cunningham]

Demon's workout went badly; the gelding started acting up almost the second he entered the ring, and five minutes later the horse threw him. Declan landed on his arm and heard his shoulder pop, and a moment later pain lanced up his neck and down his arm at the same time his fingers went numb. Demon returned, whuffling warm breath across his rider's face, apologizing. Declan walked the horse around the pen, noting the slight limp in the left foreleg. He chastised himself as he felt the leg with his good arm and noted the slightly irregular heat; his distractedness earlier had ended up costing his horse, and he hated that.

After cleaning the bay gelding up and treating his leg, Declan closed the horse in its stall for the evening and leaned against the side of the box, holding his injured shoulder with his good hand. It was dislocated, judging by the loss of feeling in his fingers. But it was hardly worth the trouble to visit the ER. Rounding the corner, Declan found Wright. "I have a favor to ask you," he said once he was sure the other was aware of his presence. "Have you ever set a dislocated shoulder?"

[Frank Grant Wright]

Grant checked his shirt, "Sorry, just checking to make sure I wasn't wearing something that said 'doctor'." He scoffed, "Yeah come on," He lead him into the office, "Get on the counter. I need to go get someone else.." He would then enlist the help of a kid who cleaned stalls for Gretchen.

He had Declan lay on his injured side, bringing his injured side's elbow at a 90 degree angle. With the stablehand at the opposite side, Grant smirked, "This is going to hurt." With the proper forces being used with the two people who were re-setting his shoulder, Grant rotated Declan's arm gently, moving it back and forth. He heard a pop, and saw a wince on Declan's features, "Keep your arm there.." He snatched a small sheet of cloth from the first aid kit, making a sling for the injured arm. "Look at that, I fixed something without duct tape!"

[Declan Cunningham]

He chuckled quietly, sitting up. "Thanks." Frank had saved him an embarrassing trip, and for that he owed him, more than this man would ever really know. "I guess I'll go check on Demon again before I leave." He was half speaking to himself. "I'll need to ask Gretchen if I can borrow a lesson horse until his leg is sound." Standing slowly he nodded his thanks to Wright again and then headed for Demon's box.

The gelding was watching curiously, and as Declan approached he sniffed the cotton sling and snorted, shoving his nose into the boy's chest. He smiled and rubbed the velvety muzzle, pausing to slip a carrot from his pocket. While the horse munched Declan opened the door and ducked down on the floor, clumsily checking the injured leg. It looked and felt much better. Straightening up again, he briefly hugged Demon's neck before latching the door and turning to leave.

The light in Gretchen's office was on, and he knocked softly on the door before entering. "I needed to ask you if I can borrow a lesson horse for instruction tomorrow. Demon's got a sore leg." When she looked up he dropped his gaze. "Sorry if I'm bothering you," he added quickly.

[Gretchen Peterson]

The sling caught her eyes first, "Of course.." She almost let it go, but she couldn't, "So, what happened to your arm?" She would get an answer this time, or atleast she'd try her darndest. Gretchens brows raised in an inquisitive nature, awaiting for his response.

[Declan Cunningham]

Declan sighed and sank into a chair. "I was too preoccupied with my own problems to notice that something wasn't right with Demon. It took him throwing me to wake me up." Shrugging, and then wincing because shrugging hurt, he focused his gaze on the floor, unable to look her in the face. It had been an irresponsible mistake, and he was beating himself up on the inside for being so idiotic. "I'm surprised he didn't trample me too... I would have deserved it." Of course his father wouldn't let a mistake like this slide. Declan touched the bruise on the side of his face absently. Ever since old Patrick had started hitting the bottle he'd become quite the tyrant.