Bring it, old man

EDIT: Sioux Brigade is now owned by *zeunicorn1o [link]

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With all the rivalries happening this season, dialogue between the ponies and humans alike inevitably runs through my head. It's times like these that ponies talked in my stories.

Also, diving into completely new territory here with the new character, but =decors put the idea in my head and now I can't get rid of it, so please forgive any goofs that might be made. X3

Also also, the sizes of the 3 ponies in this pic are waaaaay off. I apologize. ONWARD TO THE EPIC UBER-LONG STORY OF DOOM.


Continuation of:



Dawson watched as Ray walked calmly into his new stall, legs still wrapped in the traveling wraps all BCC animals wore when trailered cross-country. New Orleans was just as he remembered it despite the early month: hot, sticky, and downright miserable. Still, he preferred muggy over freezing, so he wasn't about to complain. It was the first day of March, which meant he had two weeks to get Ray settled and back into racing form. It also meant he had two weeks to find himself a new jockey, as Will was already promised in a different race out west.

A loud crash startled him out of his musings, and his right hand automatically moved to the small of his back where he could still feel the ghost of his handgun resting against his spine. His fingers clasped nothing, however. "What the hell are you doing, boy?" he barked. "You're startling the horses." And me. But he would never say that out loud.

Drew looked up and glared as he struggled to untangle his feet from the many buckets he had just tripped over. "What does it look like old man? Tripping."

"Why are you even over there? That's not Ray's stall."

Before meeting the kid, Dawson had never known eye rolls could be so dramatic. "Not everything is about your wonderhorse, you know," he sniped. "This is Erik's stall, remember?"

Dawson grunted. He would never admit it, but in all the commotion he had completely forgotten the blind colt was on his way over, as well so that he could remain close to Drew.

"Well, watch where you're going next time, brat." His only response was another roll of those dark eyes before the kid continued to deep clean Erik's future stall.

***

Though March began what many called the time of Derby Madness, the Santa Anita Handicap was the highlight of the first half of the month. No worthy contenders showed to challenge Fighterjet's title as King, and the chestnut galloped home with a clear win of 5 decent lengths over his nearest competitor. Halfway across the country, Dawson watched the replay and chewed on his thumbnail.

All that week and into the next, he had put jockey after jockey up on Ray's back, only to send them packing for an imagined slight. None of them felt right. It came to the point where, three days before Ray's seasonal debut, he feared he would have to scratch due to lack of a rider.

"Get your hands offa mi!" a strangely-accented voice shouted down the shedrow. The yelp was loud enough to startle Ray into looking up from his feed, pause Dawson in his pacing, and cause Erik bang into a wall. He scowled. No one startled his horses and got away with it, and with all the worry weighing down his shoulders, he was primed and ready for a fight to let some loose.

Dawson stomped down the hall and the voices grew louder, as did the familiar sounds of a scuffle.

"I vill not ride for you any-more so let go of mi!" That same voice held a furious quality to it, and he easily recognized the Swedish accent underlying what must have been an attempt to sound--if not American, then at least English. Of course, it wasn't working, but that was irrelevant. A man he recognized as one of the lower-class trainers clutched the boy's elbow in an iron grip.

"What's going on here?" he barked. Both men froze and turned to him, gaping as if they couldn't believe he had interrupted.

The man was first to speak. "None of your business, man, now buzz off!"

"Your shouts startled my horses. Since everything concerning my horses is my business, I'm making this mine. Now let go of that kid or I'll make you." He fingers twitched involuntarily, itching to wrap themselves around the bastard's neck.

The pudgy cowboy's eyes narrowed dangerously as he sized Dawson up. Surprisingly, however, the man seemed to notice he was outmatched and let the boy go. Still, he had to get in one last parting shot. "I'm gunna make your life a livin' Hell, boy," he hissed as he stormed off. "You don't ride for me, you don't ride for anyone!"

The boy never took his eyes off the trainer's retreating back as he rubbed his bruised elbow. "Dat vas not a nice man," he muttered, seemingly to himself.

Dawson turned toward the young jock and fully studied him for the first time. At first glance, he was no older than Drew, but the faint lines around his eyes spoke of more years than the youthful face led on. If he had to guess, he would say 22, 23, with a lot of hard living thrown in for good measure. The young man's eyes flitted up to his, and those baby blues seemed to stare straight through them. "Thank you for your assistance, sir," he said politely. "If you wvill excuse mi now..." He turned to go.

"Hang on," Dawson barked, making the younger man pause to look dejectedly back at him. "What's your name?"

A pause ensued. Then, so faintly he could barely hear it, "Sven Thorsson." Dawson nearly cracked up at the stereotypical Swede this kid was. Thin and wiry but tall for a jock, with a shock of white-blonde hair spiked on top of his head with a long, thin braid down the left side of his face, and baby blue eyes more stunning than TJ's. The name was simply icing on the cake.

"You a jock?"

Another pause. "Yessir."

"I take it you rode for him, then?" he thumbed behind his shoulder in the general direction the other trainer had gone.

"I... did. Not any-more, though. He vas not a nice man. He made me wvip the horses too hard, too fas', and when the last von broke down beneath me, he blamed me and I knew I had to get out." That square chin thrust out mulishly. "I am an athlete, not a keeler, and I wvill not take the blame for some-thing I vas told to do against my better judge-ment."

"Even if it means you're out of a job?"

The fright in the other man's eyes was plain to see, but he stood as tall as his 5'5" frame could hold him. "Even if."

Dawson ran his knuckles across his whiskered jaw. "Good answer." He stuck out his right hand to shake. "The name's Dawson. Jared Dawson, Assistant Trainer for Black Creek Crossing Stables. If you're interested, I have just the mount for you. I think Ray will like you just fine."

***

As always, Dawson's hunch was right. Three days later, Sven donned BCC's black and blue silks for the first time and mounted Azrael for the GII New Orleans H. It was a weak field overall, so the pair remained virtually unchallenged as Sven gracefully glided them to a two-length win. What's more, he never once raised his whip.

And so March passed into April as Sven slowly worked himself into BCC's routine. The other trainer, whose name Dawson later learned was Mike Addersburg, made a great deal of noise concerning Sven's questionable ability to ride, but a few well-placed comments by Dawson silenced him and any doubters. Amazing what being a well-known face can get you. Sven and Drew hit it off surprisingly well, despite the age difference, and the minute TJ set eyes on him she gathered him under her figurative wing and refused to let go.

The first weekend in April was quiet for the New Orleans team as they prepared for the annual move to Belmont, but the backside was abuzz on the west coast as Santa Anita psyched itself up for what most considered one of the most important Derby Trial races of the spring: the Santa Anita Derby. At the front of the lineup stood Neverland, Bear Country having been officially retired the previous week just as Dawson had predicted. There were a few other "maybe"s in the group, but the betters leaned so heavily toward the painted giant that he loaded in the gate with even odds. Still, Ling was not so sure Lenny would win, for at the very end of the post parade lineup thrashed a tiny bay colt with a mighty name and a destructive personality.

Titanus. 20-1, despite his dominance in his one and only start. The jockey astride him, a veteran named Javier Martinez, could barely hold his seat and had to stand in the stirrups multiple times as his mount continued to buck and writhe and froth beneath him.

Naturally, Titanus was last to load, and did so with as little grace as possible. Then the bell sounded and the field burst from the gate. Lenny loped along in last place, as was expected with his girth, as Titan took the Tasmanian Devil route and stormed like a maniac toward the lead. Murmurs from the crowd began immediately as the announcer ticked off Titan's dominion. "And Titanus leads by five lengths now... Six. Seven... Titanus in front by ten lengths, with Travelwithme holding a far-back second and Gogodixie and Iron Man rivaling for third. Titanus in front by twelve lenghts... Fourteen. And the half was clocked at :46 and change--there's no way he's going to be able to hold this destructive pace! Fifteen lengths now. Sixteen and growing. And around the far turn they come and here comes the move we've all been waiting for! Will Kayton has asked Neverland to move and that painted colt is responding just as he's always done! Neverland has passed the field and is closing in on Titanus like a giant eagle. He's practically flying down the homestretch! But wait Titanus is not giving ground! He's holding onto his lead! Titanus in front by nine now! Neverland is closing fast but there is NO WAY he's going to catch this wonder-horse! And Titanus WINS the Santa Anita Derby by eight solid lengths in a record time! What and UPSET! This is one for the history books!"

In the trainer's boxes above the grandstand, Ling closed his eyes and shook his head, unsurprised.

He had no time to mull over Neverland's first career loss, however, as the following race was the Potrero Grande H, a GII sprint in which Savior and Callum were making their season debuts after a long, lazy winter. The big draw, however, was not BCC's latest duo, but the tiny white dove the public had dubbed the "Flying Ghost": Sioux Brigade, former Triple Crown contender and reigning champion of the BC Sprint last fall.

Savior and Callum put up a game fight and didn't deviate from their normal routine at all, but in the end were no match for Sioux Brigade's powerful stretch run. The final finish showed Sioux Brigade in first by a length with Savior and Callum bringing up a game second and third.

Neverland went on to race in (and win) a minor allowance two weeks later in preparation for the Derby. The race was nothing more than a paid workout. Titanus was reported to working heavily in the mornings but was not entered in another race before May.

Azrael's final spring start the weekend before the Kentucky Derby faded beneath the overpowering Derby Craze, and he and Sven glided under the wire unchallenged in the GIII Westchester Handicap with little more than a blurb in the Blood-Horse to mark their passage, but the BCC crew didn't mind.

"No matter," Sven whispered in Ray's elegant ear as they trotted through a morning workout three days later. "Let them go crazy over the Derby. We don' need the distract-tion the camera and flash provide. You and I, we a team. Come summer, we kick butt, ja?" Ray snorted and tossed his head, making the Swede grin.





Shown: Savior, Callum, and Sioux Brigade

Name: Sioux Brigade
Barn Name: the Ghost
Gender: Stallion
Height: 16.1hh
Color: Pale gray
Eyes: Brown
Markings: Snip, BR coronet
Build: Whippet-like; thin and elegant, wiry muscles. A classic Tapit baby.
Breed: Thoroughbred
Bloodlines: Tapit x Black Tea, by Orientate
Genes: Ee/Aa/Gg
Temperament: Collected, controlled, confident and proud.
Trainer: n/a
Jockey: Donovan Slade
Stable: n/a

Racing Season: 4 Year Olds


And yes, Sven's words like "anymore" were broken up on purpose to emphasize how he stumbles over long English words.

Art and Characters (C) Me


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