Chapter Five
Cain Delacroix was typically an attentive, and focused man - absorbed in his work, there was little that could distract him. But it did not escape his notice that the slight, blonde woman usually watching from beneath the eaves was conspiciously absent when he arrived to work the Guardian. And later, to school Bourbon.
And the next day.
And so, when the third day rolled around, the gripping soreness in his shoulder only just beginning to wane, and Elena's absence weighing heavily on his mind that his mandated lesson with Jackson Elliot found the dressage trainer in a particularly foul mood.
Even for Cain.
Even when trying to focus he found himself drifting, staring into the shadows beneath the arches, pensive, looking for the person he knew wouldn't appear. And so, for the fifteenth time, he missed Jackson's hands dropping. Ever so slightly...not enough to truly matter. But certainly enough to absolutely piss him off.
Cain exploded.
"For GOD'S SAKE ELLIOT, if you CANNOT keep your hands at the right level, I am going to STAPLE THEM where they belong!"
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Today's lesson had been surprisingly peaceful for the most part, but it made Cain's sudden drill sargeant orders startle him all the more with their abruptness. It was unnerving even Jackson, who was for the most part used to Cain Delacroix's attitude, and making Don lose his cadence for a few steps as Jackson lost concentration.
"Jesus fucking CHRIST, Cain, what crawled up YOUR ass and died this morning?" He obeyed the crabby dressage instructor in spite of his griping, scowling as he lifted his hands half an inch and felt Don come up just a hair in response. It didn't seem like much, but it was enough to make a difference in a test.
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The response was a sound that highly resembled a "None of your goddamn business", but being buried under an irritable snarl it was difficult to tell, his gray eyes flicking to the archways again absently as he folds his arms across his chest.
It's amazing how you don't realize you slip into a habit until it's been disrupted.
"See. Impulsion. Don has good enough balance to carry you at the piaffe, but without it, you're going to look like a little fish in a mighty big pond if you've got your eyes on the Olympics. Don't get lazy. It's not his job to lug your ass around like some bumpkin kid on a pony ride."
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"Yeah, yeah. I know." Jackson rolled his eyes and guided Don down to a collected walk to let him catch his breath after some intense trot work. Somehow Jackson resisted the overwhelming urge to point out that Cain never got to the Olympics himself, if only because he seemed like he might actually murder him today if he pushed the wrong buttons. "Got somewhere to be?"
Jackson was not a very observant person and his time in the ring was normally devoted entirely to Don, but he'd been training with Cain for almost a year now and he had a very distinct teaching style that did not include getting distracted. He would be less concerned if the man was chasing him around the ring hollering and dragging his bad leg after him.
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The dressage trainer's jaw sets slightly, gray eyes moving back to the horse and rider pair taking a bit of a breather.
No. He didn't have anywhere to be. His shoulder was sore enough to radiate down his back and what that didn't take care of, his knee was sure enough to gripe about later. And because of his stupid pride, he'd chased Elena off - who's presence, although he was loathe to admit had become something of a familiar feature in his life. Maybe even something he had begun to look forward to.
"Nothing. Took a spill. Sore. Tired of standing." The indistinct grumblings were about as close to an apology as Jackson would ever hear.
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Jackson tried very hard not to snort derisively, but he could hear it coming out of his mouth before he could stop it. He cleared his throat and put on his best poker face. "We can call it a day if you're getting tired, old man. Or do you want me to go see if Rene can bring you down a chair?"
A quick glance at his watch confirmed that they he hadn't been riding for more than twenty minutes, and their lessons were usually an hour long. It was likely Cain was full of it, but Jackson really couldn't care less as long as he got his lesson out of it. He was just hoping the man's ridiculous pride would get the better of him.
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Cain bristled at the remark, his posture turning into an aggressive lean. Bait taken. "You haven't seen tired yet, Elliot. Collected canter. If you can manage it without getting sloppy." His voice lowers slightly, tone dripping with skepticism. "Give me two good 20 meter circles of that without getting lazy with your damn hands. Impulsion! I want him really up and down."
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And so, that was how Jackson Elliot earned himself 40 minutes of transitions work, the veritable simon-says of the equestrian world. Figure eight, one tempi to x, two tempi away, collected trot, then EXTEND, EXTEND. Watch your hands, watch your-- GOD DAMN IT JACKSON, THE HANDS, down to a walk, don't you dare lose that impulsion! Keep his hind end under...ENGAGE, ENGAGE, ENGAGE-- there, finally, thank god. You're not a toddler afterall... YOU CALL THAT A PIAFFE?!
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Loud against the silence, the worn leather of her english saddle creaked with each step that Matchbox made. The arena was empty, peaceful as it usually was in the late afternoon, but Elena Culver found herself anything but tranquil. She took a second to adjust her gloves, to adjust her reins, to do anything to keep her mind occupied in the quiet. Hopelessly, though, her mind set adrift with the breeze coming through the archways.
Elena! You need to just…let it go.
But she couldn't. The look in Cain's eyes had haunted her thoughts every day since, that burning look of near hatred etched in her memory. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach at the recollection; Elena held her breath, brooding. Matchbox shifted his weight impatiently beneath her, ears flicking back in her direction.
"Alright, alright." With the click of her tongue, Matchbox leaped into a brisk trot. The duo had been at this for half an hour already, but Elena could feel that something just wasn't right. Match felt too uneasy beneath her, hesitant in his approach.
The vertical was straight ahead, Elena breathed, counting.
3, 2, 1…
Match's ears jerked back, foretelling what was about to happen, but Elena was too slow to react. The black gelding's shoulders veered left, Elena's went straight. She clutched with every muscle in her body to stay on, legs hugging the saddle, arms embracing the gelding's neck, hands glued to her reins. Matchbox paused in reaction to her imbalance, saving Elena from eating sand.
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Elena: *Sits up from her near-fall, pushing her helmet back off her forehead and her bangs out of her face*
Cain: *he can't help but pause, shoving his jingling keys into his pocket before taking the slight detour along the arena path. It wasn't really out of his way to the parking lot...*
Elena: *Breathes, trying to slow her panicked heart. Sure, she'd fallen off many times in her life, but each new time was equally as nerve wracking as the last. She extended a hand to reassure Matchbox, who was anxiously shifting his feet beneath her.*
Cain: *Honestly, what was he doing? She'd made it pretty clear that she didn't want to be around him, but still he found himself picking his way gingerly across the path of the arena to duck beneath the archway near the entrance. He was just concerned, alright? It was completely normal to want to make sure someone was ok after nearly falling off a horse...*
Elena: *Turning Matchbox, she gave him a little kick, hoping to unkink both their nerves with a calm walk*
Elena: *Feeling a bit more relaxed after trotting a few loops, Elena felt the need to right the wrongs and try again. Cueing Matchbox into a canter, they made their way towards the vertical again. 3, 2, refuse. "Shit, Match, what are you doing?" Elena caught the refusal early, maintaining enough balance to throw her arms down in frustration*
Cain: *he frowns slightly from where he leans against one of the column wall, the pair's frustration palpable. The gelding, whom he normally saw as relaxed and pliant was jigging, ducking out from under the jump and agitated... hrm... he could have sworn he saw...*
Elena: *Sitting back in the saddle, Elena throws her head into her hands, reins dangling loosely. Matchbox is chomping down on his bit, bored and pretending not to care. Elena bitterly rubs her temples, thinking about too many things at once.*
Cain: *he steps out from beneath the arches, being sure to make enough noise in doing so that he doesn't appear suddenly, startling the gelding* Elena... *he takes a step or two inside the arena, his limp only making him see more hesitant* Could you... try that, one more time?
Elena: *Jumping out her skin, she recognizes the trainer's voice immediately. She continues to hold her face in her hands, almost to the point of uneasiness. She's afraid to look at him, to see those gray eyes beaming at her with vexation. But alas, she slowly peeled her face from her hands, meeting Cain's gaze halfway. "Sure."*
Cain: *he slides his hands into his pockets, stepping towards the inside of the arena, gray eyes simply following her. He seems...almost hesitant*
Elena: *Attempts to make Matchbox jump for what feels like the twentieth time in a row. He refuses even earlier this time, veering right and this time, trotting to a halt, throwing his head down irritably. Elena is obviously exasperated. Embarrassed, she looks away from Cain's direction, hiding the tears that want to form in her eyes.*
Cain: *furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he approaches the pair quietly. Honestly, he could never stand to see a woman cry - and he was already feeling shitty enough about the other night that her frustration was making him uneasy* Your hands. You're dropping them too low.
Elena: "Oh?" she whimpers, a crack in her voice from the lump in her throat. Fighting it, she stares thoughtfully into her open hands.*
Cain: Oh sweet jesus, come on, don't cry...*there's a sound, very similar to a sigh from the trainer as he closes the distance to stand beside Matchbox. Gray eyes glance up at her, almost uneasily* ...may I?
Elena: *Cain's uneasiness catches her attention. Looking down at him, she nodded.*
Cain: *absently he reaches up to grab her hands, as he speaks* When you hands are too low, he can't get his head up high enough to gauge the distance or-- *his bare hands wrap around her much smaller ones, suprised at the warmth through her gloves - his gray eyes flicking up to hers as an electric frission of awareness races through his frame.* or he can't complete the jump without you catching him in the mouth. Hold your hands here....then here as you go over the jump *quickly moving his gaze back to her hands, he slides her hands into the correct positions, hyper aware of the feeling of her hands beneath his*
Elena: *Takes in a quick breath when Cain's hands reach for hers. She listens to him intently as he speaks, catching a glimmer of those silvery eyes looking at her. She directs her attention to his face, blushing as a shiver of warmth runs down her body, right through to her toes. Their eyes meet. The connection is so quick, Elena almost wonders if she made it up entirely. She recovers, following his eyes down to hands guiding hers from point a to point b.*
Cain: get a grip, Delacroix *he clears his throat as he slowly frees her hands, his own drifting back down to his sides - absentmindedly he rubs the fingers of his hand across their respective palm* He's ducked out a few times now, he's going to try it again. You might have to give him a lot of leg - but don't give him an exit. Keep your hands where I told you.
Elena: *A coolness came across her gloved hands as the gentle weight of Cain's was removed. For a moment, Elena found herself wanting them back, yearning for the warmth that lingered on her skin. Without a second thought, Elena glanced down at the trainer before her. The haunting memory of his cold eyes returned as she watched his face, and with it, Elena felt just the way she had a few nights before. She couldn't look at him. "I will, thank you." The words were forced, unwanted. She wished to have just left, to have given him the same cold shoulder as he gave her, but it wasn't Elena.*
Cain: *he quietly...reluctantly steps away - moving back a few steps out of the way of the black gelding, only the subtle purse of his lips giving away his urge to speak, to apologize, to reach back up for her hands, this time removing the gloves--* *he shakes his head slightly to jar the image from his mind*
Elena: *Wonders if the trainer is watching her as she fights the compelling idea of fleeing the arena. Her skin burns from of the fire of frustration. Closing her eyes, Elena lowers her head, feeling Matchbox move beneath her as they slowly distance themselves from Cain. Brown eyes flick open, muscles grip against the leather of the worn english tack; Elena cues Match into a canter.*
Elena: *The pressure of ensuring she does what she's told weighs heavily on her shoulders as the blonde makes her way back towards the vertical. A wave of heat rushes over her, heart picking up in pace to match the rhythm of the anxious horse, as those eyes…those steel gray eyes…watch her from a distance, waiting to see if she passes or fails. Elena holds her breath. 3, 2, 1. Keeping her head straight, the poles were a faint sight beneath them as Matchbox soared over the three foot eleven. It was like water, fluid and easy going. With a thud, Match's feet hit the dirt of the arena. It was over. They had done it. Elena couldn't help herself; a smile grew between her cheeks.*
Cain: *hands in his pockets, standing back from the center of the arena, he watched her intently, unaware that as she approached the jump that his low voice was calming coaching, giving her the cues she needed:* Stay calm, stay calm, keep your eyes forward. Head up... more leg now, he's going right again- more leg more leg, good! Hands up, hands up, hands up--release!
Cain: *watching her complete the jump, he nods -- a subtle sign of approval before quietly slipping his hands from his pockets, limping his way off towards the arena exit*
Elena: *The young blonde grinned ear to ear, reaching down to pat the neck of the black gelding. She could feel the heat of his coat through her gloves, steam rising from the sweat on his neck and shoulders. Her expression softened as her thoughts turned back to Cain. Brown eyes searched for gray ones, Elena caught a gentle nod of approval. Her lips parted to speak, but she thought better of it, instead watching the trainer limp across the sand towards the arena exit.*
Labels: blog
February 27, 2014 at 6:29 AM
few days ago I've found your page and then I saw your sims 3 facilities. And they're absolutely gorgeous!!! I really wanted to have them in my sims 3 game because I can't build any nice stables on my own. Is there any possibility you could send me the sims3pack / package files of your facility on my e-mail so I can use it for myself? :-)
Thanks in advance and sorry for my english :P
Iza
aedd.gynvael.93@gmail.com