Post by syrinx on Jan 18, 2008 12:41:11 GMT -5
Foundations
By Syrinx
rating is pg-13 for one (count 'em) curse word that falls on the harsher side of the plethora of four letter words one can use in english.
a/n: so, this is the prequel to This Far. it's the very beginning of this series that includes Victory Comes and Goes and How to Part the Sea. It basically rewrites the ending of Wonder's Victory. And the dominoes start falling after that. Thanks to Claire for editing!
~
It was the dead of night when the truck rumbled through the farm gates at Townsend Acres, kicking up gravel and bouncing over potholes. The headlights beamed bright white over the fences and the training barns, interrupting the darkness as the truck pulled up into the farm complex. No one was waiting to welcome them back.
Ashleigh woke up when the truck stopped, jerking awake and blinking. Hank had already jumped out of the cab, leaving the door open and the overhead light on. Ashleigh sat up and stifled a yawn, then looked around her to collect her backpack, slinging it over her shoulders.
Climbing out of the cab, she went to the back of the truck and watched as the horses were led down the ramp. Townsend Acres only had two entrants in the Breeders’ Cup, Ashleigh’s Wonder and Townsend Prince, and both came down the ramp wearing their purple blankets proclaiming their victory. Ashleigh had to roll her eyes at this, as only people like the Townsends would insist on having their winning horses wear Breeders’ Cup blankets when no one was there to be awed by it.
“Want to take Wonder?” Hank asked her, handing off the filly before Ashleigh could answer. He didn’t need to, as Ashleigh would have said yes anyway. She took the filly’s lead and turned, walking Wonder to the main training barn.
Hank followed along with the Prince, the larger chestnut dancing and carrying on. Wonder only cocked an ear backward at the colt, as though she was too tired to be bothered by his antics. Ashleigh didn’t blame her. Between the whip fiasco with Jennings and the filly’s hard fought win over Charade in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff, Ashleigh knew Wonder was completely spent. Even as Brad’s obnoxiously loud Ferrari sped up to the barn, making the Prince spook and rear, Wonder hardly batted an eye.
Ashleigh ignored the red sports car, patted her filly on the neck, and disappeared into the main training barn. The filly’s stall had new bedding, and was all set to go. Ashleigh led Wonder inside the stall and unclipped the lead, tossing it out into the aisle to be dealt with later. The purple blanket that proudly proclaimed Wonder as the “1996 Breeders’ Cup Distaff Champion” was quick to follow. Ashleigh was kneeling in the straw undoing Wonder’s shipping boots when she heard the Prince prance by, his shod hooves striking harshly against the pavement.
She gathered the filly’s shipping equipment against her chest, gave Wonder an affectionate scratch on her cheek, and ducked into the aisle to collect the lead rope and purple blanket. When she looked up, Brad was in the Prince’s stall and had hung the colt’s purple blanket that proclaimed the colt as the “1996 Breeders’ Cup Classic Champion” over the stall guard, as though he was afraid to let it touch the ground.
Curious, Ashleigh walked across the aisle to the Prince’s stall, catching a silent moment between Brad and the champion chestnut. The colt was calm, his head resting on Brad’s shoulder as the young heir ran his fingers over the horse’s neck. It was a scene that struck Ashleigh as almost too caring for Brad. She had always known Brad had a fierce loyalty to the Prince, but as far as being affectionate she had never thought to apply that word to him.
“He was really jumpy coming off the truck,” Ashleigh said, and Brad only glanced back at her, letting the colt keep his head where it was.
“He’s not the best traveler,” came the response.
“He seems to have come out of the race well,” Ashleigh continued, glancing down at the purple blanket hanging immobile on the stall guard. She remembered watching the Classic from the stands, after she had cooled out Wonder and made sure that she was safe and secure in her stall. The Prince had won the Classic easily over Excalibur, becoming one of the few three-year-olds to take the race in the history of the Breeders’ Cup. Brad had been beside himself with the win, so much so that he had practically ordered everyone involved with the farm into the colt’s win photo. Ashleigh had done so grudgingly, mostly because Charlie had told her it was better to go along with the flow than make a scene trying to swim up river.
“He did come out well,” Brad said, moving as the colt went for his hay net and started to rip huge mouthfuls out of the center, chewing heartily. Brad smiled and slapped the colt happily on the neck, then bent to retrieve the shipping boots that were lying in the bedding.
Ashleigh moved out of the way as Brad let himself out of the colt’s stall, taking the purple blanket and rolling it up into his arms.
“How’s Wonder, by the way?” he asked, and Ashleigh hated that he seemed to treat the filly like a sideshow. Even now after she had proved herself time and time again.
“She’s fine,” Ashleigh said quickly. “She’s great, really. A little tired, but with that whole crop incident I don’t blame her.”
“No,” Brad said, looking back at the filly’s stall. Wonder was casually checking out her hay net, nibbling at the sides as if testing out the flavor before she dived right in. “We should have known about Jennings,” he added. “It’s horrible that had to happen for the farm.”
“How about for Wonder?” Ashleigh corrected him. “He nearly ruined Wonder’s chances at the Distaff. He was apparently trying to ruin her for a while.”
“Fine,” Brad said. “Who knows in what ways he was trying to fix the races she was in. It’s unfortunate, that’s all.”
Ashleigh frowned and turned around, heading for the tack room. Brad had the same destination, so he started walking next to her. They were silent part of the way, but Ashleigh had burning questions and she couldn’t help but ask them.
“You must be pretty happy about the Prince, huh?” she said, starting out with preliminaries. One thing she had learned about Brad was that starting off these sessions with accusations got her no where, if not in trouble.
“Absolutely,” Brad said simply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” Ashleigh shrugged her shoulders, circling around to the real question at hand. “I just would have thought that his win was missing something.”
“And what’s that?” Brad asked with a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Wonder wasn’t in it,” Ashleigh replied nonchalantly.
“You think she could have beaten the Prince today?” Brad asked her. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know,” Ashleigh said. “What do you think?”
“Stop kidding around,” Brad told her. “I’ve said all along that the filly needed to be racing against fillies. She won her race today, Griffen. Aren’t you happy?”
Ashleigh was quiet for a moment, wondering if she really was. In the winner’s circle Charlie had been smiling more than he usually allowed, Mr. Townsend had been ecstatic holding the Distaff trophy, and Jilly had stood in her dirt splattered gold and green silks laughing up a storm with Craig, who had put in a hard run on Charade. Ashleigh had smiled for the win photo, but had been significantly less thrilled than anyone else.
“Don’t tell me you’re resenting my father’s decision,” Brad said. “The filly won, Ashleigh. She may not have in the Classic. Think about that for a second. She’s exhausted after a mile and an eighth. The Prince ran a mile and a quarter today.”
“She ran a mile and a half in the Belmont,” Ashleigh defended.
“And was spooked out of her mind to do it,” Brad pointed out, clearly becoming irritated. “Look, she won. She’s a good little filly to have beaten out Charade.”
“As long as she’s not running against the Prince she’s suddenly a ‘good little filly’?” Ashleigh asked, catching on his words. Brad had never praised Wonder before. Wonder to him was a runt, a lucky upstart, a filly who had to be coddled to perform. Wonder wasn’t a racehorse to Brad. She was a pet in his eyes. He had openly worried about her racing against the Prince, and openly treated her like dirt under his horse’s hooves at the same time.
“You know what I mean, Ashleigh,” Brad sighed, walking into the tack room and putting the colt’s equipment away. Ashleigh pushed into the crowded room with him, still holding Wonder’s things.
“No, I really don’t,” Ashleigh told him heatedly. “What do you mean? Ever since she was born she was nothing to you. First she was something to be sold off, then a herd animal with no prospects, and then a timid horse that had to be persuaded with sugar to do anything. Now she’s a good racehorse?”
“I can not believe you’re angry about this,” Brad told her, standing his ground, voice rising. “I will admit that the filly is a good racehorse. She’s a freaking spectacular racehorse considering her beginnings. I realize you’re pissed that she didn’t get her run in the Classic, but she was spent after the Belmont. Her loss coming into the Classic proved that.”
“Which is why you talked your father into racing her in the Distaff,” Ashleigh spat. “Extra incentive to get her away from the Prince so he would win.”
“You are so…” Brad trailed off, stifling his words deliberately.
“What?” Ashleigh challenged, hardly used to Brad holding himself back.
“You’re young, and you have no clue how this business goes,” Brad told her after a moment. “You love that filly, and I know that. That doesn’t make her automatically eligible or even a logical entry in whatever race you please. Grow the fuck up.”
Ashleigh stepped back from him as if stung, bumping into the wall. Brad advanced then, almost cornering her if the door to the tack room had been shut. Tipping her head back to look at him, the back of Ashleigh’s head brushed against the wood of the wall, strands of hair getting caught in the coarse grains.
“Just listen to me for a second,” Brad told her, having Ashleigh’s full, wide-eyed attention. “You know I wanted Wonder in the Distaff. That’s no secret. My father did the decision making by himself. Charlie approved it. You want to go point fingers at someone, go to the old men. What I suggest to you is be happy your filly won and came out healthy. She’ll race next year, just like the Prince, and good luck to both. As far as my involvement with where Wonder started, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
With that Brad stepped back from her, and left without a word. Ashleigh was left in the dim room, shaking as she held Wonder’s purple blanket in her hands.
By Syrinx
rating is pg-13 for one (count 'em) curse word that falls on the harsher side of the plethora of four letter words one can use in english.
a/n: so, this is the prequel to This Far. it's the very beginning of this series that includes Victory Comes and Goes and How to Part the Sea. It basically rewrites the ending of Wonder's Victory. And the dominoes start falling after that. Thanks to Claire for editing!
~
It was the dead of night when the truck rumbled through the farm gates at Townsend Acres, kicking up gravel and bouncing over potholes. The headlights beamed bright white over the fences and the training barns, interrupting the darkness as the truck pulled up into the farm complex. No one was waiting to welcome them back.
Ashleigh woke up when the truck stopped, jerking awake and blinking. Hank had already jumped out of the cab, leaving the door open and the overhead light on. Ashleigh sat up and stifled a yawn, then looked around her to collect her backpack, slinging it over her shoulders.
Climbing out of the cab, she went to the back of the truck and watched as the horses were led down the ramp. Townsend Acres only had two entrants in the Breeders’ Cup, Ashleigh’s Wonder and Townsend Prince, and both came down the ramp wearing their purple blankets proclaiming their victory. Ashleigh had to roll her eyes at this, as only people like the Townsends would insist on having their winning horses wear Breeders’ Cup blankets when no one was there to be awed by it.
“Want to take Wonder?” Hank asked her, handing off the filly before Ashleigh could answer. He didn’t need to, as Ashleigh would have said yes anyway. She took the filly’s lead and turned, walking Wonder to the main training barn.
Hank followed along with the Prince, the larger chestnut dancing and carrying on. Wonder only cocked an ear backward at the colt, as though she was too tired to be bothered by his antics. Ashleigh didn’t blame her. Between the whip fiasco with Jennings and the filly’s hard fought win over Charade in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff, Ashleigh knew Wonder was completely spent. Even as Brad’s obnoxiously loud Ferrari sped up to the barn, making the Prince spook and rear, Wonder hardly batted an eye.
Ashleigh ignored the red sports car, patted her filly on the neck, and disappeared into the main training barn. The filly’s stall had new bedding, and was all set to go. Ashleigh led Wonder inside the stall and unclipped the lead, tossing it out into the aisle to be dealt with later. The purple blanket that proudly proclaimed Wonder as the “1996 Breeders’ Cup Distaff Champion” was quick to follow. Ashleigh was kneeling in the straw undoing Wonder’s shipping boots when she heard the Prince prance by, his shod hooves striking harshly against the pavement.
She gathered the filly’s shipping equipment against her chest, gave Wonder an affectionate scratch on her cheek, and ducked into the aisle to collect the lead rope and purple blanket. When she looked up, Brad was in the Prince’s stall and had hung the colt’s purple blanket that proclaimed the colt as the “1996 Breeders’ Cup Classic Champion” over the stall guard, as though he was afraid to let it touch the ground.
Curious, Ashleigh walked across the aisle to the Prince’s stall, catching a silent moment between Brad and the champion chestnut. The colt was calm, his head resting on Brad’s shoulder as the young heir ran his fingers over the horse’s neck. It was a scene that struck Ashleigh as almost too caring for Brad. She had always known Brad had a fierce loyalty to the Prince, but as far as being affectionate she had never thought to apply that word to him.
“He was really jumpy coming off the truck,” Ashleigh said, and Brad only glanced back at her, letting the colt keep his head where it was.
“He’s not the best traveler,” came the response.
“He seems to have come out of the race well,” Ashleigh continued, glancing down at the purple blanket hanging immobile on the stall guard. She remembered watching the Classic from the stands, after she had cooled out Wonder and made sure that she was safe and secure in her stall. The Prince had won the Classic easily over Excalibur, becoming one of the few three-year-olds to take the race in the history of the Breeders’ Cup. Brad had been beside himself with the win, so much so that he had practically ordered everyone involved with the farm into the colt’s win photo. Ashleigh had done so grudgingly, mostly because Charlie had told her it was better to go along with the flow than make a scene trying to swim up river.
“He did come out well,” Brad said, moving as the colt went for his hay net and started to rip huge mouthfuls out of the center, chewing heartily. Brad smiled and slapped the colt happily on the neck, then bent to retrieve the shipping boots that were lying in the bedding.
Ashleigh moved out of the way as Brad let himself out of the colt’s stall, taking the purple blanket and rolling it up into his arms.
“How’s Wonder, by the way?” he asked, and Ashleigh hated that he seemed to treat the filly like a sideshow. Even now after she had proved herself time and time again.
“She’s fine,” Ashleigh said quickly. “She’s great, really. A little tired, but with that whole crop incident I don’t blame her.”
“No,” Brad said, looking back at the filly’s stall. Wonder was casually checking out her hay net, nibbling at the sides as if testing out the flavor before she dived right in. “We should have known about Jennings,” he added. “It’s horrible that had to happen for the farm.”
“How about for Wonder?” Ashleigh corrected him. “He nearly ruined Wonder’s chances at the Distaff. He was apparently trying to ruin her for a while.”
“Fine,” Brad said. “Who knows in what ways he was trying to fix the races she was in. It’s unfortunate, that’s all.”
Ashleigh frowned and turned around, heading for the tack room. Brad had the same destination, so he started walking next to her. They were silent part of the way, but Ashleigh had burning questions and she couldn’t help but ask them.
“You must be pretty happy about the Prince, huh?” she said, starting out with preliminaries. One thing she had learned about Brad was that starting off these sessions with accusations got her no where, if not in trouble.
“Absolutely,” Brad said simply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” Ashleigh shrugged her shoulders, circling around to the real question at hand. “I just would have thought that his win was missing something.”
“And what’s that?” Brad asked with a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Wonder wasn’t in it,” Ashleigh replied nonchalantly.
“You think she could have beaten the Prince today?” Brad asked her. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know,” Ashleigh said. “What do you think?”
“Stop kidding around,” Brad told her. “I’ve said all along that the filly needed to be racing against fillies. She won her race today, Griffen. Aren’t you happy?”
Ashleigh was quiet for a moment, wondering if she really was. In the winner’s circle Charlie had been smiling more than he usually allowed, Mr. Townsend had been ecstatic holding the Distaff trophy, and Jilly had stood in her dirt splattered gold and green silks laughing up a storm with Craig, who had put in a hard run on Charade. Ashleigh had smiled for the win photo, but had been significantly less thrilled than anyone else.
“Don’t tell me you’re resenting my father’s decision,” Brad said. “The filly won, Ashleigh. She may not have in the Classic. Think about that for a second. She’s exhausted after a mile and an eighth. The Prince ran a mile and a quarter today.”
“She ran a mile and a half in the Belmont,” Ashleigh defended.
“And was spooked out of her mind to do it,” Brad pointed out, clearly becoming irritated. “Look, she won. She’s a good little filly to have beaten out Charade.”
“As long as she’s not running against the Prince she’s suddenly a ‘good little filly’?” Ashleigh asked, catching on his words. Brad had never praised Wonder before. Wonder to him was a runt, a lucky upstart, a filly who had to be coddled to perform. Wonder wasn’t a racehorse to Brad. She was a pet in his eyes. He had openly worried about her racing against the Prince, and openly treated her like dirt under his horse’s hooves at the same time.
“You know what I mean, Ashleigh,” Brad sighed, walking into the tack room and putting the colt’s equipment away. Ashleigh pushed into the crowded room with him, still holding Wonder’s things.
“No, I really don’t,” Ashleigh told him heatedly. “What do you mean? Ever since she was born she was nothing to you. First she was something to be sold off, then a herd animal with no prospects, and then a timid horse that had to be persuaded with sugar to do anything. Now she’s a good racehorse?”
“I can not believe you’re angry about this,” Brad told her, standing his ground, voice rising. “I will admit that the filly is a good racehorse. She’s a freaking spectacular racehorse considering her beginnings. I realize you’re pissed that she didn’t get her run in the Classic, but she was spent after the Belmont. Her loss coming into the Classic proved that.”
“Which is why you talked your father into racing her in the Distaff,” Ashleigh spat. “Extra incentive to get her away from the Prince so he would win.”
“You are so…” Brad trailed off, stifling his words deliberately.
“What?” Ashleigh challenged, hardly used to Brad holding himself back.
“You’re young, and you have no clue how this business goes,” Brad told her after a moment. “You love that filly, and I know that. That doesn’t make her automatically eligible or even a logical entry in whatever race you please. Grow the fuck up.”
Ashleigh stepped back from him as if stung, bumping into the wall. Brad advanced then, almost cornering her if the door to the tack room had been shut. Tipping her head back to look at him, the back of Ashleigh’s head brushed against the wood of the wall, strands of hair getting caught in the coarse grains.
“Just listen to me for a second,” Brad told her, having Ashleigh’s full, wide-eyed attention. “You know I wanted Wonder in the Distaff. That’s no secret. My father did the decision making by himself. Charlie approved it. You want to go point fingers at someone, go to the old men. What I suggest to you is be happy your filly won and came out healthy. She’ll race next year, just like the Prince, and good luck to both. As far as my involvement with where Wonder started, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
With that Brad stepped back from her, and left without a word. Ashleigh was left in the dim room, shaking as she held Wonder’s purple blanket in her hands.
