|
|
Post by blaine nelson moyer on Jan 7, 2012 11:01:00 GMT -5
It's time to bring this ship into the shore And throw away the oars | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] Blaine walked into the tack room. He sported tan Ariat riding pants, black Ariat zipper up boots, black half chaps, and a shirt. Which, of course, showed his muscles clearly.
Blaine opened the saddle bag with one movement and looked at the new black Pessoa saddle. The saddle pad was maroon with gold thread lining it. But of course, it has to be embroidered with the three letters: BNM.
Blaine slid it onto the rack, and took off his duffel bag. It was filled with saddle pads. Why? Blaine had four horses. Yeah, four. All purebred Warmbloods. He smiled as he slid out the navy one, with the gold thread and embroidering, the sky blue with navy thread and embroidering, and lastly, his hunter green with gold thread and embroidering.
Blaine neatly stacked them in a folded pile under his saddle. He turned around, swearing heard someone's voice. He shook his head. No one's there. He told himself. Then the mysterious person walked right into the tack room.
Blaine turned around and faced her. She seemed familiar, with her blonde hair. Ah, Caden Taylor. The famous hunter gal, coming here for some reason.
"Hello there, Miss Taylor." Blaine said smoothly, flashing a grin. "How are you this lovely day?" She was bound to know him. Or at the very least, his dad. He knew her dad bought a lot of horses from his father.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] words; 204 tag; georigaa~ notes; hello, muse. [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by Caden Penelope Taylor on Jan 7, 2012 18:52:20 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, padding: 15 15 15 15px; background-image: url(http://i675.photobucket.com/albums/vv115/zloreceile/Patterns/COLOURloverscom-Strike_Silver-1.png); background-repeat:repeat-xy; width: 375px;] and even as i wander, i'm keeping you in sight. you're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night,
Ew. In the few days Caden had been at White Oak, she had never entered the tack room. All of her things were kept in two tidy tack trunks in front of her horse's stalls. One was lower to the ground and kept saddle pads, grooming and bathing supplies, supplements, half chaps and paddock boots, and her helmet. The taller one held both of Caden's saddles, six martingales, four bridles, five girths, and extra show stuff like gloves, hairnets, and number strings. They were both wooden, since plastic looked ghetto to the teenager, even if it was almost as expensive. Most importantly, they were locked, which stopped any grimy hands from stealing Caden's stuff. Perfect.
But soon she realized she'd have to enter the tack room sooner or later to wash saddle pads. She wasn't going to do it in the dorms; that left horse hair everywhere and most people didn't enjoy that. So Caden walked in quietly with the three half pads she had been using this week, under her arm.
Oh, look Blaine Moyer. Blaine Moyer?! Caden frowned and stopped as he greeted her. Miss Taylor certainly was becoming a popular name choice for the hunter princess, wasn't it? He was looking at some black Pessoa- ew again. Black? No one rode in a black saddle, unless of course you planned on doing dressage, oh right. He did do dressage, didn't he? His dad bred horses, Caden would know that. She had recently purchased Lacey from the Moyers.
"Great, until I came in here, to be completely honest." Caden said, not even bothering to mutter under her breath. Muttering was for cowards. She walked confidently over to the washing machine and opened the lid before throwing the pads in. "And you, Moyer?" She tossed her head over her right shoulder as she spoke, looking him in the eye.
Yeah, sure. Blaine was cute. And popular. Which made him the ideal boyfriend, but his attitude wasn't one you would die for.
(c) to Zlorecile of caution aka Bellatrix of WA |
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by blaine nelson moyer on Jan 14, 2012 19:33:43 GMT -5
It's time to bring this ship into the shore And throw away the oars | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: B8B8B8; border: #550505 solid 4px; width: 400px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] Blaine laughed, the sound ringing around the room. "How could I possibly put a damper on things?" He asked smoothly. He grinned after completing his question, and took a step closer to Caden. He put his finger under her chin and lifted it up.
"Now." He chuckled, smiling. In a way that would make his competitor faint. But Blaine had many smiles. They were all a bit... Well, let's just say intimidating.
Blaine looked down at Caden's saddle pads. "After you do something about your saddle pads, meet me in the outdoor arena. Then, we'll talk." He wanted to laugh like, well, an evil scientist.
But Blaine kept his cool, and strode out of the room filled with scents of leather and soap. He felt Caden's eyes boring into his back as he headed towards Hawk's stall.
Blaine had brought along his saddle and Hawk's saddle pad. Blaine led Hawk out to a pair of cross ties and groomed him thoroughly. Once Hawk had been groomed perfectly, he led him out to the outdoor arena. The seventeen point two hand high Warmblood tossed his head.
Blaine calmed him down and quickly mounted Hawk. Yes, from the ground. He squeezed the sides, and Hawk reluctantly moved into a walk.
Hawk, a Warmblood bred by Blaine's father, was still a tad green. He was only three years old, but all the same, extremely talented. He was a handsome dark, seal bay with three stockings and a close to stocking sock on his front right leg. He has a blaze that was near perfect.
Hawk's gaits? To die for. His trot was perfect. His canter was extremely easy to sit to. Blaine was easily envied, especially his horses.
But soon, he'd be more envied by guys; Blaine Nelson Moyer was going to date Caden Taylor.
And at the same time, not. |
[/td][/tr][/table] words; 302 tag; georigaa~ notes; lol, his secret plan [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by Caden Penelope Taylor on Jan 14, 2012 20:25:57 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, padding: 15 15 15 15px; background-image: url(http://i675.photobucket.com/albums/vv115/zloreceile/Patterns/COLOURloverscom-Strike_Silver-1.png); background-repeat:repeat-xy; width: 375px;] and even as i wander, i'm keeping you in sight. you're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night,
If there was one thing Caden could do better than anyone else, other than ride, it would be acting. She could act sorry after she dumped someone, she could act lonely when she was flirting, or even act like she needed a shoulder to cry on. But Caden Penelope Taylor was never sorry, lonely, or sad, and you would never know.
For instance, now. She was acting like she was 'so-totally-in-love' with one Blaine Moyer, when really the boy didn't change her feelings at all. Or the ones he was supposed to change, at least. She still thought he was hot. And popular. And a total heartbreaker. As long as he knew that she was the one who would ultimately end it they could probably keep this going.
His finger was cold under her chin and his smile as white as.. as white as a polar bear in a snowstorm? We could go with that one. Caden stared at him until he left and took her time twisting the knobs and finally shutting the washing machine door. She walked slowly toward Nico, deciding he would embarrass her the least, and be able to keep up with whatever Moyer did. She tacked just as slowly as she had walked, not wanting to look 'desperate' or that she was looking forward to this at all. Ugly girls couldn't play hard to get, but pretty girls could, and Caden Taylor was very pretty. Therefore let the games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.
The black warmblood ambled beside her all the way to the outdoor ring, which the blond hadn't ridden in before. It seemed nice, but she preferred the indoor rings. Caden, standing at roughly five five, gazed upward at her 17.2 black warmblood. Yeah, no. She pulled gently on one rein and walked to the mounting block where she hopped on. Caden clipped her helmet under her chin and squeezed with her calves to ask the horse to go forward. She peeked mischievous glances at the older boy, trying to come across as the flirt she was.
And should she spark up the conversation he promised? Ha, no. He was the boy, if he didn't start a conversation, they wouldn't talk at all.
(c) to Zlorecile of caution aka Bellatrix of WA |
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
