[P] Every little thing I do
[DCG] Occupations — Caballista Wrote:Not all horses are created equal, and some are less sound or desirable than others, while those born to the Polvo de Oro line require proper identification. Evaluate the communal horses for their qualities (or faults) and consider which horses should be gelded, which need brands, and who could be traded away.
Optime | The Parish | NPC: Bluegrass (brief)

Related to [DCG] January Newspost — Job Fair. Challenge for Caballista!
( 481 of 1,000 )
The communal horses at the Lancaster stockyard were the ones he’d come to know best in the short time it’d been since he and Wesson had joined the coyote-run pack. There were fewer there, only the two adults and then the three little ones. Part of him wondered if it was because of the town’s open policy in regards to visitors. It made sense though. After all, why would the Gang keep their best horses where a stranger could easily steal them, or, worse, maliciously hurt them if they really wanted to?

Kubota had decided it was high time that he start venturing further out from town though. He and Wesson had settled in well enough and gotten used to the basic ins and outs of things. Though they’d explored, it had not been nearly enough for how vast the Ganglands were. The snow had made things a little more difficult, and it was one reason why he’d decided to make the trip out to the Parish alone rather than drag Wesson out.

What had actually driven him out to the Parish that warm, winter afternoon, however, had been a curiosity. The stallion back at the stockyard had a brand on his shoulder, and, after he’d asked about it one night to Alonso, he’d learned that it was a special branding unique to the Gang. The Ugly Coyote had been busy that night though, and the innkeep had spirited away to tend to an out-of-town customer.

The Probado had managed to impart some bit of additional information though. Apparently, there were more horses in the Parish that were part of this “special program,” as well as two more adults to be found roaming the Debouille Reserve. The mares roaming the snowplains had made it clear that they had no interest in Kubota and Bluegrass, so, rather than force an interaction, he’d continued on the long, winding trail that had eventually led him to the Parish stables.

It was smaller than the Lancaster one, though, given the area, he supposed it was to be expected. He grunted as he swung himself down from the saddle, making sure to put his mare in a spot that put her out of the chilly breeze and with an ample amount of sunlight to warm her coat. He wouldn’t be overly long, he’d promised, just long enough for him to get a better picture about what made the horses so special.

When he made his way inside the stable though, he was surprised to find it already occupied with another Del Ceneren. He blinked and then tipped his hat in greeting. “Seems I’m runnin’ into ya’ quite a bit lately,” He chuckled with a handsome smirk as he made his way to peak into the first stall. “How’re you doin’ today?”

Kubota Mossberg
— The Cowboy —
Caballista III Wrote:Not all horses are created equal, and some are less sound or desirable than others, while those born to the Polvo de Oro line require proper identification. Evaluate the communal horses for their qualities (or faults) and consider which horses should be gelded, which need brands, and who could be traded away. [517/1000] (Job Fair)

Location: The Parish || NPCs: Amadahy (horse), Saratoga (horse) || Form: Optime

The Parish was a place of deep reverence to the Ashen, whose dead were interred upon its fertile grounds. Resurrection was a common sight here, and spying Calhoun wasn't altogether uncommon either, but Rafaela saw neither men when she arrived. Sitting atop Amadahy's back with the yearling, Saratoga, trailing behind, Rafaela asked the mare to stop and then she cast her eyes around her. The sunlight reflecting off of the glittering snow was almost blinding and she squinted sharply against it. Unless there was anyone inside the church or the stables, it seemed that she and the livestock were the only living souls among out here among the dead.

She did not think about the dead — told herself to think about anything other than the dead — because once she got to thinking about her fallen siblings, and the uncle she knew only through stories, it was difficult not to think of everything leading up and following their deaths. And that wasn't what she was here for, not today. Her purpose was to ensure that the horses stabled in the Parish were cared for and in good health.

Swinging one leg around Amadahy's short back, Rafaela stepped down from the saddle and lead the two horses around to the stables. Once inside, she gave them both a quick assessment before leading Amadahy into an empty stall and hitching Saratoga up outside of it. The filly would be of the age to start rider-training this coming spring and the Caballista could hardly stand to wait any longer. She understood that the length of time that they had spent together, laying the groundwork training and building a trusting relationship and getting her comfortable to the many sights and sounds and smells that she would encounter with a rider on her back, was important, but that didn't keep Rafa from longing for the day when she would be able to properly ride her.

The warm breathing of the horses around her was comforting, and she allowed herself a small smile. From their stalls, all eyes and ears were turned on her, some more curious than others. The more confident foals, Atascadero and Capella, came to the front of their stalls and made soft, beckoning sounds. Saratoga responded with a flick of her tail and a gentle nicker. Providence, meanwhile, preferred to watch from the back of the stall and allow her mother, Wynona, to keep careful tabs on the Luperci and the two new horses.

She wasn't inside long before she was joined by the same man who she had helped in Charmingtown some time previous. Her smile faded, but his made up for it.

"Seems like," she replied, dipping her head respectfully. And then she paused for a beat, watching him. "You askin' me or that there horse?"

Honestly, she preferred it if he was talking to the horse. Rafaela cared little for small talk.

"What brings you all th' way out here today, Kubota?" she asked, returning to her task of looking the horses over and stepping up to Capella's stall.

[WC -- 517]
OOC: Saratoga will have a brand on her shoulder that you're welcome to have Kubota spy!
( 1,238 of 1,000 )
He shrugged goodnaturedly as he chuckled. “You. Or the horse. Whichever’s willin’ to talk t’me.” Kubota wasn’t picky. The red roan within the stall let out a soft exhale as it turned its head attentively towards him. Its ears twitched, alternating between listening to what Rafaela was doing further down and paying attention to the Unkindled standing outside its stall. Its dark eyes assessed him, and, after a beat, it slowly shifted its feet and turned its body fully towards Kubota.

The hybrid chuckled. He must have passed some sort of test, he supposed. Either that, or the horse felt sorry for him because it knew that he and the Tejada further down were two very different personalities.

Reaching a hand out, he calmly approached the stall door, allowing the horse to come to him on its own terms. It nickered softly as it cautiously stretched its neck out to sniff his hand. Its breath was hot against his cold fingers. Kubota offered soft, encouraging words as the horse assessed his scent and energy. Glancing briefly over to where Rafaela had disappeared to, he replied, “A curiosity, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The horse seemed to find him acceptable enough, and it nosed his hand, giving him permission to pet its nose if he so wished. And he did, rewarding the calm creature with gentle scratches in hopes that it would be the start of allowing him to bond more easily with it the next time he visited the stable.

As he scratched the horse though, his turquoise eyes wandered over its features. The horse didn’t look overly remarkable other than its coat color. It was on the smaller size, though, such wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It looked healthy and proportionate enough, and, pending its training and its abilities outside the stall, it could have possibly made for passable stock or barrel horse. Shorter horses, he found, turned better, and were better for working cattle than a larger beast. Personality-wise, the horse seemed docile enough; not overly curious, not overly wary, not overly aggressive, just passive and calm. Judging from what little he could assess of the horse from the brief encounter, Kubota thought that it might be an easy creature to work with. Though, everything could change once they were out in the open.

Most notably, however, Kubota didn’t spy a brand on either of the horse’s shoulders.

“The communal stallion over in the Lancaster stable, Midas, has a brand on his shoulder that Maricopa and none of the foals got. I asked Alonso the other day about it while he was helpin’ serve patrons at the Ugly Coyote.”

When the horse had had enough attention, it pulled away from him, and Kubota took the moment to travel further down to where Rafaela was with—as it seemed—a foal. Why were there so many communal foals?

“He told me that Midas is part of a special program ‘r somethin’? Said the pack had more horses that I could look at in the Debouille Reserve n’ here. The ladies out in the fields weren’t too sure of me, so I let ‘em be.”

As he spoke, his eyes wandered to the younger horse that had been hitched to a stall that had another horse—the one Rafaela had been riding when he’d first met her, he realized—within it. The darker horse was a filly, judging from the lacking equipment, but, more importantly though, it bore the same mark as Midas did.

“I came here to see if I could meet the guys n’ gals, n’ see if I could figure out what made ‘em unique.” Staring at the filly, he couldn’t make out what made it “special.” It didn’t have a lot in common with Midas other than, perhaps, white markings on their feet. So, did the mark have something to do with their personality? Their training?

He turned his attention onto Rafaela again. “You seem t’ have an interest in horses?” It was an assessment more than it was, truly, a question. Kubota thumbed over his shoulder to the filly. “I noticed that one has the same mark as Midas does, n’ on the same shoulder too. Is that the only one here, or are some of these foals part of that program too?” He asked curiously even as he craned his neck to see if the foal in the stall with her had a brand on its shoulder as well.

Kubota Mossberg
— The Cowboy —
Caballista III Wrote:Not all horses are created equal, and some are less sound or desirable than others, while those born to the Polvo de Oro line require proper identification. Evaluate the communal horses for their qualities (or faults) and consider which horses should be gelded, which need brands, and who could be traded away. [1100/1000] (Job Fair)

Location: The Parish || NPCs: Amadahy (horse), Saratoga (horse) || Form: Optime

"Gettin' on well 'nuff, I reckon," she said after issuing a thoughtful grunt and a brief moment of clear regard. Then she looked away from him, returning her attention to the dark foal.

Rather than ask after his own day and how it was going for him, Rafaela moved on to more interesting matters: namely, what he was doing all the way out in the Parish when, surely, he had other things to do. Or maybe not. Winter still had its fair share of chores and hard work, particularly when it came to the ensuring the livestock all had adequate feed and shelter. But come spring, when the birthing season would start and the herds would need to be moved back out into the pastures, their responsibilities would increase exponentially. Still, she was curious.

And so, it seemed, his own curiosity was what lead him here.

"That so? An' what's it that's got your curiosity, then?" she asked without looking at him, her focus primarily on the foal.

She murmured something in equine low-speech to Capella, who swiveled her dark ears and gave her tail a lively flick, and then she opened the stall door. When she stepped inside, pulling the door behind her and latching it closed, Rafa said gave the filly another hushed assurance and stepped towards her. All the while, Kubota was responding to her question and she listened with one tall ear turned in his direction.

Aside from a few hums of acknowledgement and a couple grunts of confirmation, Rafaela said nothing substantial until the Unkindled had lead her through the subject of his curiosity from start to finish. She fitted Capella with a halter and lead her from the stall with little coaxing. Capella, stubborn and spirited, gave the coyote's upper arm a fleeting nip when the Caballista had turned to glance at the approaching Kubota. This bad behavior was disciplined with a firm, but in no way disproportionate, tap to her velveteen nose. Don't nip, is what Rafa was trying to convey. That's rude and unacceptable. After her initial surprise, Capella responded by champing her teeth in a show of deference to Rafa. La Carne rolled her palm down the weanling's soft, warm neck.

"I do," she confirmed, looking at him again. "Them horses with th' brands are Polvo de Oro stock. And yes. They are special."

Standing kitty-corner from Capella's stall, Saratoga watched her and the younger horse with her ears tall and alert atop her head. Rafaela gestured to her with a upwards lift of her chin.

"That's Saratoga, my yearling. An' this here's Capella. Both of 'em are Polvos. Matter of fact, all horses born in the Ganglands are, though the Rey Salvaje has an eye for sturdy, lighter-bodied an' sure-footed stock. Thems are what we're lookin' for in the long run, I reckon, but all these here foals'll be marked with the Del Cenere brand. Same with those in Charmingtown."

There was pride in her voice as she explained this to Kubota. More than anything else Del Cenere did or was known for, it was the horses that Rafaela cherished the most.

"Aside from that, these horses are handled'n trained on trust an' respect. We ain't got no use for bits'r spurs an' the like." She held the lead rope out to Kubota. "Will you hold her a moment so I can check 'er over?"

[WC -- 583]

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