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"Huh, okay. Who's Shergar?" He asked, tossing a glance at the stud. |
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"He was a four year old Irish Throughbred stallion worth about 15 million. He was horse-napped, and four days later, machine gunned to death. His body hasn't been found, but authorites found a shit ton of blood in a barn, where the IRA allegedly kept him. He only had one breeding season, breeding to 42 out of 44 mares, producing 36 foals." She explained. |
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"Huh, okay." He mumbled, looking at the stud. |
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"Yeah." She stated. "This pretty boy is only a fresh three year old, with four wins so far." |
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"Hm, nice. I have no idea what you mean by 'fresh' like is he new to everything or was he made earlier this morning?" Marco asks, reaching a fist out for the stallion to sniff. |
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"No, I mean he just turned three." She clarified. "Like, four days ago." |
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"Oh, okay." He responded, chuckling lightly as the stallion nudged his hand. |
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"Poor boy ain't even got a name." She stated. |
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"You should name him Gin or, better yet, Troubador." He suggested, the second name being from his favorite band, Turnpike Troubadors. (real Marco, real) |
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"I might just do that." She nodded. "He's a pretty thing, ain't he?" |
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Morning Rain, with Cooling Temps Later
