In Which Two Cousins See a Man About a Horse
Fiamme seeks a replacement for her noble steed which was killed in the War against the Black Road. Cyrus believes he's helping her.
The sign reads "Pagget's" in elaborately curlicued script. Through the archway, there is a corral, where a lady in a riding habit is trying out a high stepping bay gelding.
A mustachioed man in riding dress leans against the archway.
Cyrus's arms are folded across the corral fence. He watches the rider with interest. He also pays a share of attention to the fellow by the archway.
Fiamme has her feet resting on the bottom rung of the post and rails fence, to see clearly over the top. She turns to Cyrus. "Fancy, but not enough bone."
Cyrus asks Fiamme, "What are you looking for, exactly?"
Fiamme sighs. "Another Feather, but I won't find it here. But...something that'll carry me in a charge, if need be. Without looking like a cow in the field on parade."
Cyrus nods, "Ah, a warhorse. Few and far between, I'm afraid." He lowers his voice to a near whisper, "Does the proprietor, there, know you can question the horses about their treatment and such?"
Fiamme's eyebrows go up. In the same low tone she responds, "No, and I plan to keep it that way. Not that there aren't rumours enough, with the way Dulcy carries on, I'm sure."
Cyrus nods again, more slowly. "Well, I'm not going to tell him." He looks toward the stable to peruse the other animals.
Fiamme hops down from the fence, walking over to the stable. Two long, fine boned equine heads turn to follow her approach.
Cyrus follows his cousin, whistling a complicated tune as he does. One of the horses whickers in apparent response.
The man with the moustache peels his back from the archway, and moves quickly after Fiamme. He calls after her, with a smooth voice, "Ah, lords and ladies of refinement, I see. You have come to the right place, I assure you. A hunter for his lordship? A hack for the lovely lady?"
The second horse appears almost to hold its breath as the second man approaches, watching him from its dark eyes. A sense of mistrust, but not true fear emanates from it.
Cyrus attempts and fails to stifle a laugh. He takes a step back then to allow Fiamme center stage as well as to allow him a closer look at the nervous horse.
Fiamme turns on her heel, although the motion is somewhat stiff. "Something suitable for a lady," she agrees. "A warhorse, for preference. One that'll be up to my weight, when we factor in the chainmail and lance."
The friendlier of the two horses is a striking palomino, with a silky mane. The second horse is dark bay.
"I am Tonio Pagget," the man says, with a smile that shows very white teeth. "Call me Tonio, please. Now, Honey here may be what you are looking for. Very gentle nature. Calm. The horns would not panic her, I assure you."
The bay clops each of its front hooves three times as Cyrus approaches. "How about this one?" Cyrus asks, though whether it's directed toward Tonio or Fiamme is not clear.
Fiamme unbolts the stable door and swings it open, to take a closer look.
Tonio frowns, "The bay has a temper. Probably more suitable for a less ... stimulating environment than the battlefield."
Honey tosses her head, as if conscious of how the sun strikes her pale mane, sending glittering highlights the length of her neck.
The subtext from Honey's movements is easily read for those who have the skill. Apples? Carrots? Sugar?
The bay snorts. There is a hint of jealousy tinged with something like anger in its movements. One of the stableboys moves sideways to give the stall a wide berth.
Fiamme feels in the pocket of her tunic, then smiles, as she holds her hand out flat to Honey. A single rather grubby white cube sits upon it. "I was in Surya's earlier. Lucky for you, you greedy thing."
The delicately coloured mare arches her neck gracefully, reaching short of Fiamme's hand. The movement is slow. That of a pampered pet who knows the sugar will be brought closer.
The bay extends its neck across the gap between stalls to snap at the sugar. It doesn't quite make it but it shakes the entire stable with its efforts. The stableboy sets a land-speed record as he flees the scene. Tonio yells something in a little-used dialect which applies equally to the boy and the beast.
Cyrus takes a step back from the horse but does not fully retreat. "Nice points on this one," he says.
Fiamme pulls her hand back, and lifts the sugar to her mouth. Not, as it first appears, to eat it herself but to bite the cube into two halves. "Nice teeth," she says, with a touch of sarcasm.
Fiamme stations herself between the two stalls, with a half-lump on each hand and steps closer, holding out the sugar to both horses.
Tonio sucks his teeth. "I wouldn't do that, lady."
The bay whuffles and glares at Tonio. He then delicately removes the morsel from Fiamme's hand.
Honey takes her own sugar lump gently, with just the slightest air of being miffed with her stablemate. She extends her neck, clearly looking for more.
Fiamme says, "All I had, guts. I'll be sure to get more later."
The bay bumps Fiamme with his head. It's more of a reminder than an attack but it has some weight behind it. Tonio clears his throat.
Cyrus watches the exchange with interest. He doesn't interpose himself. Yet.
Fiamme holds out her empty hands, then says, "Surely you have something I can bribe the beasts with, Mr Pagget."
Fiamme murmurs something very musical and soft to the bay horse. One of those meaningless things riders will say, perhaps, for it does not sound like Thari.
A thin stable lad with a pigtail of rather dirty blonde hair steps into Honey's stall, and gives the mare a cursory swipe with a brush before tacking her up.
The bay's breathing slows and its eyes become heavier for a few seconds. Then it opens them wider and bares its teeth in a rather un-horselike expression.
Cyrus watches more closely and takes a step towards the horse and Fiamme.
Fiamme looks sidelong at Cyrus. "How brave do you feel? Do you want to try Honey or... " She pauses, and looks toward Tonio. "What's the bay's name?"
"Maneater," Tonio says with a curious mixture of pride and embarassment.
Fiamme's eyes gleam with amusement. "Manny," she says. "It'll do."
Cyrus's brow furrows, "Might need to work on that name." He nods to Fiamme, "You're more of a horseman than I, cousin. I've never trusted the things." The bay snorts behind him and paws the ground like a bull.
Fiamme gestures over the red haired stable lad who is trying to look invisible. "Saddle. Bridle. If you please."
The stableboy walks toward Maneater as if he's going to the gallows. He reaches for the tack with one eye (sometimes both) on the bay. After a very long time he has the squirming beast ready to be ridden.
Fiamme walks over to Maneater's shoulder. Not fearful, but certainly with a respectful eye to the beast's teeth. She lays one hand carefully on the muscled shoulder. Nothing so familiar as a pat, but announcing her presence.
Tonio peers into the stall with the air of a man expecting bloodshed or bruises at any moment.
Cyrus crosses his arms and leans against a stall door. His expression is one of amusement and curiosity.
Fiamme says, over her shoulder, "Give me a leg up, Cyrus. Still got those blasted cuts all down the backs of my legs, and I'm too stiff to get up easily. Falling, if it happens, is going to hurt."
Cyrus says to Tonio, "No, please allow me," with no small amount of sarcasm. He moves into the stall and holds his hands in the appropriate position to help Fiamme up.
Fiamme rests her knee in Cyrus' hands, allowing him to boost her up into the saddle. Despite her height, she's no lightweight. "Easy, Maneater."
Cyrus steps back from the horse and rider as the bay moves sideways in the stall. He says, "He's gonna fight you." His expression shows that he realizes that he has stated the obvious once again.
Honey curves her head toward Cyrus, watching him through the open stall door, mournfully. Her attitude suggests a beauty left inexplicably partnerless at the opening bars of the final waltz.
Cyrus steps out of the stall and holds a hand out to the mare. He says to the stableworkers at large, "Let's take this one out, too, shall we?"
Fiamme slips her feet into the stirrups. They are too long, but she does not attempt to adjust them, nor does she gather up her reins. Instead, she murmurs something quiet to the horse beneath her.
Honey lifts her head and whickers happily. The blonde lad leads her outside.
Cyrus follows Honey and runs a hand along her side. His brow furrows and then he watches as the boy saddles her up.
Fiamme says softly, "Forward, Maneater. Gently."
Maneater, at first, attempts to move back when bidden forward but soon he shakes his massive head and walks slowly out of the stall.
Cyrus allows Fiamme and the stallion to march into the corral before mounting Honey and following along, allowing his cousin to set the pace.
Tonio closes the gate behind them, firmly. The lady who was riding before has departed, and is being attended by a man who looks like Tonio's fatter brother.
At first Fiamme leaves the bay at a walk. Then, after two circuits of the small corral, she gently applies her legs to the bay's sides, while barely touching the reins. She has gathered them so she has light contact with Maneater's mouth, but little pressure.
Cyrus's manner with Honey is not as skilled as Fiamme's with her horse but this inadequacy is made up for by the mare's gentler nature. At one point, Cyrus actually apologizes to his horse for pulling her too strongly.
Honey's neck arches, and she answers the lightest commands as if anticipating each request. She has a bouncy, comfortable gait.
Maneater responds to Fiamme's goadings with the smallest of delays between cause and effect. He attempts the occasional rebellion but is quickly brought into line.
Fiamme calls over her shoulder, "White roses, if you please. Carnations have always struck me as tacky. And a burial."
Tonio gazes in undisguised amazement as Maneater fails to attempt to eat any men.
Fiamme signals Maneater to canter.
Cyrus laughs lightly as he gets used to the mare's qualities. He is surprised to find her cantering before he even tries to make her do so. He attempts to spur her into a gallop and holds on.
The stallion puts his head down as if preparing for a run but does not exceed the requested gait.
Honey responds to the challenge with an increased speed. The small space makes a gallop difficult, but she gives a spirited three quarter pace, tossing her head once as if in mockery of Maneater.
Fiamme gives Maneater his head, to match the mare.
Maneater easily overtakes Honey. He kicks up plenty of dust in the process along with a couple of bumps into the fence. He makes two full circuits of the corral and appears to be preparing for a jump.
Cyrus reins Honey in and guides her back toward the stables.
Fiamme gently attempts to rein Maneater in. "Whoah boy. That'll do."
Maneater emits a loud snort of protest but comes to a full stop mere inches from the fence and far too few feet from the growing crowd of onlookers. He appears to expect a treat of some sort for his efforts.
Cyrus dismounts and tosses the reins to the blonde boy. He brushes dust from his pant legs and chuckles as he looks for Tonio.
Fiamme gives Maneater a pat on the neck, and follows Cyrus out of the corral. She mutters something to the horse that sounds apologetic, then kicks her legs free of the stirrups and slides off. She grimaces as she hits the ground. "Mr Pagget? I'll take him."
Tonio rubs his hands, "Ah, a good eye for horse flesh. And you, milord? Can you resist that mare's sweet gait?"
Cyrus smiles, "I'll take her. And at full price. Which is more than my cousin, here should pay for the stallion."
Fiamme murmurs something to Maneater, who gives Cyrus an evil look and lays his ears back.
"A discount, of course, will be in order," Tonio says. "But you understand there will be no way to return the animal, should a special price be arranged."
Cyrus smirks, "I doubt, sir, that he'll want to come back here."
Fiamme follows Tonio, who is already trying to haggle over the price. She gives Cyrus a small smile. "You were always one to fall for a pretty face."
The sign reads "Pagget's" in elaborately curlicued script. Through the archway, there is a corral, where a lady in a riding habit is trying out a high stepping bay gelding.
A mustachioed man in riding dress leans against the archway.
Cyrus's arms are folded across the corral fence. He watches the rider with interest. He also pays a share of attention to the fellow by the archway.
Fiamme has her feet resting on the bottom rung of the post and rails fence, to see clearly over the top. She turns to Cyrus. "Fancy, but not enough bone."
Cyrus asks Fiamme, "What are you looking for, exactly?"
Fiamme sighs. "Another Feather, but I won't find it here. But...something that'll carry me in a charge, if need be. Without looking like a cow in the field on parade."
Cyrus nods, "Ah, a warhorse. Few and far between, I'm afraid." He lowers his voice to a near whisper, "Does the proprietor, there, know you can question the horses about their treatment and such?"
Fiamme's eyebrows go up. In the same low tone she responds, "No, and I plan to keep it that way. Not that there aren't rumours enough, with the way Dulcy carries on, I'm sure."
Cyrus nods again, more slowly. "Well, I'm not going to tell him." He looks toward the stable to peruse the other animals.
Fiamme hops down from the fence, walking over to the stable. Two long, fine boned equine heads turn to follow her approach.
Cyrus follows his cousin, whistling a complicated tune as he does. One of the horses whickers in apparent response.
The man with the moustache peels his back from the archway, and moves quickly after Fiamme. He calls after her, with a smooth voice, "Ah, lords and ladies of refinement, I see. You have come to the right place, I assure you. A hunter for his lordship? A hack for the lovely lady?"
The second horse appears almost to hold its breath as the second man approaches, watching him from its dark eyes. A sense of mistrust, but not true fear emanates from it.
Cyrus attempts and fails to stifle a laugh. He takes a step back then to allow Fiamme center stage as well as to allow him a closer look at the nervous horse.
Fiamme turns on her heel, although the motion is somewhat stiff. "Something suitable for a lady," she agrees. "A warhorse, for preference. One that'll be up to my weight, when we factor in the chainmail and lance."
The friendlier of the two horses is a striking palomino, with a silky mane. The second horse is dark bay.
"I am Tonio Pagget," the man says, with a smile that shows very white teeth. "Call me Tonio, please. Now, Honey here may be what you are looking for. Very gentle nature. Calm. The horns would not panic her, I assure you."
The bay clops each of its front hooves three times as Cyrus approaches. "How about this one?" Cyrus asks, though whether it's directed toward Tonio or Fiamme is not clear.
Fiamme unbolts the stable door and swings it open, to take a closer look.
Tonio frowns, "The bay has a temper. Probably more suitable for a less ... stimulating environment than the battlefield."
Honey tosses her head, as if conscious of how the sun strikes her pale mane, sending glittering highlights the length of her neck.
The subtext from Honey's movements is easily read for those who have the skill. Apples? Carrots? Sugar?
The bay snorts. There is a hint of jealousy tinged with something like anger in its movements. One of the stableboys moves sideways to give the stall a wide berth.
Fiamme feels in the pocket of her tunic, then smiles, as she holds her hand out flat to Honey. A single rather grubby white cube sits upon it. "I was in Surya's earlier. Lucky for you, you greedy thing."
The delicately coloured mare arches her neck gracefully, reaching short of Fiamme's hand. The movement is slow. That of a pampered pet who knows the sugar will be brought closer.
The bay extends its neck across the gap between stalls to snap at the sugar. It doesn't quite make it but it shakes the entire stable with its efforts. The stableboy sets a land-speed record as he flees the scene. Tonio yells something in a little-used dialect which applies equally to the boy and the beast.
Cyrus takes a step back from the horse but does not fully retreat. "Nice points on this one," he says.
Fiamme pulls her hand back, and lifts the sugar to her mouth. Not, as it first appears, to eat it herself but to bite the cube into two halves. "Nice teeth," she says, with a touch of sarcasm.
Fiamme stations herself between the two stalls, with a half-lump on each hand and steps closer, holding out the sugar to both horses.
Tonio sucks his teeth. "I wouldn't do that, lady."
The bay whuffles and glares at Tonio. He then delicately removes the morsel from Fiamme's hand.
Honey takes her own sugar lump gently, with just the slightest air of being miffed with her stablemate. She extends her neck, clearly looking for more.
Fiamme says, "All I had, guts. I'll be sure to get more later."
The bay bumps Fiamme with his head. It's more of a reminder than an attack but it has some weight behind it. Tonio clears his throat.
Cyrus watches the exchange with interest. He doesn't interpose himself. Yet.
Fiamme holds out her empty hands, then says, "Surely you have something I can bribe the beasts with, Mr Pagget."
Fiamme murmurs something very musical and soft to the bay horse. One of those meaningless things riders will say, perhaps, for it does not sound like Thari.
A thin stable lad with a pigtail of rather dirty blonde hair steps into Honey's stall, and gives the mare a cursory swipe with a brush before tacking her up.
The bay's breathing slows and its eyes become heavier for a few seconds. Then it opens them wider and bares its teeth in a rather un-horselike expression.
Cyrus watches more closely and takes a step towards the horse and Fiamme.
Fiamme looks sidelong at Cyrus. "How brave do you feel? Do you want to try Honey or... " She pauses, and looks toward Tonio. "What's the bay's name?"
"Maneater," Tonio says with a curious mixture of pride and embarassment.
Fiamme's eyes gleam with amusement. "Manny," she says. "It'll do."
Cyrus's brow furrows, "Might need to work on that name." He nods to Fiamme, "You're more of a horseman than I, cousin. I've never trusted the things." The bay snorts behind him and paws the ground like a bull.
Fiamme gestures over the red haired stable lad who is trying to look invisible. "Saddle. Bridle. If you please."
The stableboy walks toward Maneater as if he's going to the gallows. He reaches for the tack with one eye (sometimes both) on the bay. After a very long time he has the squirming beast ready to be ridden.
Fiamme walks over to Maneater's shoulder. Not fearful, but certainly with a respectful eye to the beast's teeth. She lays one hand carefully on the muscled shoulder. Nothing so familiar as a pat, but announcing her presence.
Tonio peers into the stall with the air of a man expecting bloodshed or bruises at any moment.
Cyrus crosses his arms and leans against a stall door. His expression is one of amusement and curiosity.
Fiamme says, over her shoulder, "Give me a leg up, Cyrus. Still got those blasted cuts all down the backs of my legs, and I'm too stiff to get up easily. Falling, if it happens, is going to hurt."
Cyrus says to Tonio, "No, please allow me," with no small amount of sarcasm. He moves into the stall and holds his hands in the appropriate position to help Fiamme up.
Fiamme rests her knee in Cyrus' hands, allowing him to boost her up into the saddle. Despite her height, she's no lightweight. "Easy, Maneater."
Cyrus steps back from the horse and rider as the bay moves sideways in the stall. He says, "He's gonna fight you." His expression shows that he realizes that he has stated the obvious once again.
Honey curves her head toward Cyrus, watching him through the open stall door, mournfully. Her attitude suggests a beauty left inexplicably partnerless at the opening bars of the final waltz.
Cyrus steps out of the stall and holds a hand out to the mare. He says to the stableworkers at large, "Let's take this one out, too, shall we?"
Fiamme slips her feet into the stirrups. They are too long, but she does not attempt to adjust them, nor does she gather up her reins. Instead, she murmurs something quiet to the horse beneath her.
Honey lifts her head and whickers happily. The blonde lad leads her outside.
Cyrus follows Honey and runs a hand along her side. His brow furrows and then he watches as the boy saddles her up.
Fiamme says softly, "Forward, Maneater. Gently."
Maneater, at first, attempts to move back when bidden forward but soon he shakes his massive head and walks slowly out of the stall.
Cyrus allows Fiamme and the stallion to march into the corral before mounting Honey and following along, allowing his cousin to set the pace.
Tonio closes the gate behind them, firmly. The lady who was riding before has departed, and is being attended by a man who looks like Tonio's fatter brother.
At first Fiamme leaves the bay at a walk. Then, after two circuits of the small corral, she gently applies her legs to the bay's sides, while barely touching the reins. She has gathered them so she has light contact with Maneater's mouth, but little pressure.
Cyrus's manner with Honey is not as skilled as Fiamme's with her horse but this inadequacy is made up for by the mare's gentler nature. At one point, Cyrus actually apologizes to his horse for pulling her too strongly.
Honey's neck arches, and she answers the lightest commands as if anticipating each request. She has a bouncy, comfortable gait.
Maneater responds to Fiamme's goadings with the smallest of delays between cause and effect. He attempts the occasional rebellion but is quickly brought into line.
Fiamme calls over her shoulder, "White roses, if you please. Carnations have always struck me as tacky. And a burial."
Tonio gazes in undisguised amazement as Maneater fails to attempt to eat any men.
Fiamme signals Maneater to canter.
Cyrus laughs lightly as he gets used to the mare's qualities. He is surprised to find her cantering before he even tries to make her do so. He attempts to spur her into a gallop and holds on.
The stallion puts his head down as if preparing for a run but does not exceed the requested gait.
Honey responds to the challenge with an increased speed. The small space makes a gallop difficult, but she gives a spirited three quarter pace, tossing her head once as if in mockery of Maneater.
Fiamme gives Maneater his head, to match the mare.
Maneater easily overtakes Honey. He kicks up plenty of dust in the process along with a couple of bumps into the fence. He makes two full circuits of the corral and appears to be preparing for a jump.
Cyrus reins Honey in and guides her back toward the stables.
Fiamme gently attempts to rein Maneater in. "Whoah boy. That'll do."
Maneater emits a loud snort of protest but comes to a full stop mere inches from the fence and far too few feet from the growing crowd of onlookers. He appears to expect a treat of some sort for his efforts.
Cyrus dismounts and tosses the reins to the blonde boy. He brushes dust from his pant legs and chuckles as he looks for Tonio.
Fiamme gives Maneater a pat on the neck, and follows Cyrus out of the corral. She mutters something to the horse that sounds apologetic, then kicks her legs free of the stirrups and slides off. She grimaces as she hits the ground. "Mr Pagget? I'll take him."
Tonio rubs his hands, "Ah, a good eye for horse flesh. And you, milord? Can you resist that mare's sweet gait?"
Cyrus smiles, "I'll take her. And at full price. Which is more than my cousin, here should pay for the stallion."
Fiamme murmurs something to Maneater, who gives Cyrus an evil look and lays his ears back.
"A discount, of course, will be in order," Tonio says. "But you understand there will be no way to return the animal, should a special price be arranged."
Cyrus smirks, "I doubt, sir, that he'll want to come back here."
Fiamme follows Tonio, who is already trying to haggle over the price. She gives Cyrus a small smile. "You were always one to fall for a pretty face."