Drew Meyer | Ivan

Somewhere in between her tears slowing and feeling at least a little more confident in herself than before, Drew had buried her face in Ivan’s shoulder. It was different to have no reaction to this physical affection, good or bad - it was different to simply exist with him, and she was finding that she liked it. She could feel his chest move - it was so calm, so measured, that she struggled to match it with the excitable man beside her - and his leg was bouncing up and down, as if it was the only compromise he could bring himself to do without leaping up and running away. (She hoped he didn’t. Run away, that is. She was too tired to chase him, but she knew that she desperately wanted to.)

He was saying something about being tickled. She didn’t quite hear what, only that she was convinced it didn’t entirely make sense in the context he was using it in. He didn’t make sense in most contexts, and it was her favourite thing about him. She wanted to fall asleep. She wanted to listen to him ramble for hours. Instead, she did the sensible thing and engaged in whatever happened to come out of his mouth at any given moment. (In all fairness, she had no clue what she was saying before she spoke, either.)

“I’m gonna take you to feed the ducks,” Drew declared, with the most passion she’d shown yet that evening - if, at past midnight, it could still be considered evening - and completely ignoring the fact that they’d have to wait until summer. “We can bring them back, I’m telling you. Just make some, like, duck whistles. Or something. We’ll bring them back.” And then softer, “though I’m not sure if they’re real or not. Y’know, with NASA and shit. You can never really know.”

“Where in America are you from?” He was on a tangent, and she almost felt bad interrupting, and even worse leaving his thirst for knowledge unsatisfied.

“The great duckless Virginia-” she broke off, shifting uncomfortably to stare up at him with undisguised wonder, struggling to find her previous thought as she leapt to the next one “-we make up for it with pigeons, though. Wait, you’ve never been, right?” She studied him with as much focus as she could muster. “That’s wrong.” Despite the siblings being complete opposites, Drew couldn’t quite separate their memories. Rena had been such a large figure at White Oaks, and it felt strange, missing, that Ivan hadn’t been a part of that. In hindsight, he could have done wonders with her campaign to drive Rena up the wall. It wasn’t purposeful, necessarily - it was just that Drew’s idea of fun and Rena’s idea of fun didn’t tend to collide, and obviously that meant that she had to cause as much chaos as possible. Which, with Drew, had little to no limits.

“Bobby used to bring me down everything I needed to eat on a tray. I watched him die, you know?” Ivan, she was quickly discovering, had a penchant for uttering the most disturbing facts in the exact same tone as his tirade about the ducks. She got the feeling that he was trying to convince her that he was fine - or trying to convince himself. (She couldn’t decide whether he was insanely depressed or just really, really out of touch with his feelings. Maybe both.) Regardless, it did the opposite.

Not for the first time, Drew decided to ignore it. For this conversation, at least - she was too tired, and he was too excited, to have a solid conversation about it. Maybe she’d ask Rena, maybe she’d bring it up when there was sun to see by, or maybe she’d wait for him to explain of his own accord. Either way, she had no intentions of following that particular trail right then. (Vaguely, she remembered that she was overstating drunk-Drew’s ability to remember important information. That, though, would simply have to be dealt with in the morning.)

“But Rena’s friends rescued me. They seem really nice. Do you know Rena’s friends?”

She snorted, not unkindly. “Rescued, huh? You’re a real Cinderella complex, y’know.”

“But yeah.” She trailed off without trying to. “I know them. Sully - Sullivan, Rena was eyeing him all night? - was friends with my brother. They’re like, the same person. I think, every time they went out, they sat in the car for hours because neither wanted to decide where to go in case they offended the other. You know?”

She tilted her head at him - which, given her position, was a feat in itself. Her voice was fading; the possibility of inside information, though, was enough to keep her awake for a small while longer. “What happened with her and Alex, though? I feel like they were, like, lovers for a day, and then I never heard of either of them again.” A pause, and then, “I mean, I like it like that. But…she looks so sad, y’know?” A while later of silence, and she thought she heard him say he wouldn’t leave.

Reluctantly, Drew unfolded herself from his body and stood up, half-listening to his unceasing stream of chatter. “Betrothed, huh? Me too, dude, me too.”

“Top eleven things - I can do that.” He only went quiet when there was another noise to take up the space, which worked well enough seeing that she was more than willing to do so. Besides, the walk was shorter than she’d thought when she was busy answering him.

“One - capitalism make things go whee.”

“Two - literally, just, Ohio. That’s it.”

“Three’s the New Jersey accent. No explanation necessary.”

“Caffeine in basic energy drinks,” she was counting on her fingers, but never using the right number for the right point.

“Peanut butter. Germany just doesn’t put enough sugar in, y’know?”

“Six is baseball.” When met with a confused glance, she went on. “It’s like - actually, I can’t explain it. It’s on crack.”

Somewhere between the first stop street and the corner before the diner, Drew had trailed off and taken Ivan’s hand. Actually, she wasn’t sure who had started it, but she wasn’t upset about it, so there was that.

The restaurant wasn’t too crowded by the time they arrived, but still woefully understaffed to cater for its customers. Via Ivan - who, despite his inexperience in all things human, seemed to speak perfect German - they managed to order, though Drew doubted they’d be receiving them any time soon. Not only was there a backlog, the man behind the counter didn’t look like he was about to have the most productive hour of his life. (Fair enough, in her opinion. As long as it got them a table, she didn’t care.)

“Bobby seems like he gave solid advice,” she commented, watching him for a reaction. It was difficult to tell what his opinion of him was, and therefore even harder to mirror his emotions. At his request - though, again, she wasn’t exactly opposed to it - Drew sat down next to him, almost immediately reclaiming her previous position of the park bench. There was something about Ivan that made him so enticing - his ease in saying what he wanted, and how often that seemed to coincide with what she wanted, too. He didn’t need anything more than closeness, and she was still unpacking the fact that he hadn’t even noticed her blatant attempts to flirt with him earlier on in the night.

She punched his shoulder gently, with no energy behind the blow. “You know, for a European, you’re not half-bad.”

Conrad Fairfield | Jensen, Camden, Karla

And the fuckers had the audacity to smoke without him.

He didn’t have an issue with any of it - he’d like to think he wasn’t quite that hypocritical. God only knew that Emily had turned a convenient blind eye to everything he did in his spare time, with the little that he had of that. As long as it didn’t affect his or anyone else’s performance, he didn’t find he cared. It did the opposite; everyone had their crutches, and he was just grateful that his didn’t go against FEI regulations.

No, the reason this specific instance was bothering him was because they didn’t care about it. There was no shame, not even a pretence at guilt, but most importantly - not a single offering. The older they get, the harder they become to manipulate. Usually, the younger students were frightened enough not to ask questions if he confiscated whatever substances they were messing around with that time. The impression he worked so hard to leave came in handy, every once in a while.

This gang, however, didn’t quite fit into that category. He recognised one of the young men - one of the Eliopoulos offspring. It was professional death not to know every one of them by name, or at least appearance. (Conrad, personally, tended to keep to the latter alone. He had better things to do with his time.) He was a rebel that Conrad admired from a distance, if the vague lack of disapproval equaled admiration. He wasn’t disgusted by his presence, if that said anything. He’d turned a blind eye to his shenanigans for long enough not to be bothered - but the boy who sat next to him? (They must have been similar in age, but he’d never seen such a vast gap between two people in his life before.) That, now, was intriguing.

“Camden Blue.” If he’d done anything to his face, it would surely have been a sneer. Instead, like his voice, it stayed impossible for anyone to hear other than himself. Purely for the sake of his employment, he wasn’t about to threaten the boy. He was certain that Camden would run straight to his mother if he so much as breathed viciously - which, for his temperament, was proving harder than expected - and explained why his presence was so surprising. Camden Blue didn’t do drugs. Camden Blue, he scoffed internally, looked as if he’d never seen a cigarette in his life, and had probably just choked on the one he was fiddling with now. He was surprised Jensen had tolerated him for as long as he had. (Though, judging by the man’s face, this uncharacteristic patience wasn’t going to last much longer.)

His gaze flicked to the final member of the trio. She hadn’t spotted him yet - none of them had - and the only one he didn’t immediately recognise. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was his irreparable habit of only memorising the faces he would be forced to interact with. (The more he thought about it, the more he sounded like a narcissist. He couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about that.) Conrad had seen her around, of course - generally, in scenarios not unlike the current one. It was impossible to escape the hoards in a place like this.

She turned, cigarette held carelessly as she exhaled, and he almost thought she met his eyes through the dark. It was unwavering, piercing; he held it steadily. Conrad was at least ninety percent sure that she was fully aware of his presence, and couldn’t be damned to care. Makes two of us, he thought. Somehow, he had the impression that she was used to being noticed. Shaking his head once, he raised a brow. (Still, somehow he managed to keep everything else void of any expression.) Fuckers.

Instead of going inside as any sane person would - a German night was one of the few things that made him actually miss Australia - Conrad lingered, dragging on his own cigarette. This was the closest thing to peace one could find at Stadt; the cold, for once, had chased away some of the more daring riders into staying inside for the evening. The weather report had said it was mild, cool, but he couldn’t believe it. Typical German journalists and their refusal to admit weakness. This was far from cool - he could feel the cold creeping into his windbreaker, over both sweaters and under his skin. Europeans were crazy, he’d give them that much. His breath came out in clouds, even though he’d long since lifted the cigarette from his lips. The end glowed in the dark irritatingly; absently, he snuffed it against his palm.

It wasn’t long before the Blue heir emerged. Past his bedtime, clearly, though Conrad was more surprised to see Jensen follow not long after. Leaning against the wall, he was sure neither noticed him any more than in giving him a stiff nod. The woman, though - she had a strong tolerance, he’d give her that much. By the half-glowing hands of his watch, it was an hour after Jensen passed that she appeared, and spotted him immediately.

Straightening up, Conrad dangled the extinguished cigarette in his fingers, staring her down coolly.

“Took you long enough.” He glanced pointedly at the bottle in her hand. Surprisingly, she returned the favour by glaring at his cigarette; stale mate, he supposed.

“Smoke break,” he commented offhandedly, by means of explanation. (He didn’t know why he felt the need to give one. As if they deserved it.)

“Fuck off nicely back to your room, would you? Honestly, I don’t want to report you, but I might just find myself backed into a corner.” His voice had started out cold, and faded into some half-mocking impression of Emily. “You must understand.”

Alexander Littlewood | Rena, Sully, others mentioned

This, he decided, was an awful idea. (Of course, he only came to this conclusion once he’d arrived outside Rena’s door.) Maybe that was half the point; now, he could not turn back. If Alex knew her as well as he’d once thought, she’d already noticed the footsteps along the passage, and started panicking the moment they paused by her room specifically. He liked to think she’d healed since then; he liked to think that, with or without him, she’d settled that paranoia at least a little more than what it was at White Oaks. But if he was anything to go by, it took more than a few peaceful years to reconcile with the past.

Alex’s hand wavered against the door, raised a few bare centimetres away from knocking on it. This was a terrible idea. His mind was just as restless as every other part of him: his other hand drummed along his leg, his jaw was clenched, and his gaze refused to pause on any object for more than a moment. Eventually, it was as if something settled. Shoulders settling, he knocked once, twice, and pulled his hand away as if burnt.

In all honesty, he hadn’t expected her to open. Not at seven in the morning - by which she was either still sleeping from a late night or already up and being productive somewhere else - and not to him. Not after what he’d done; or, more importantly, what he hadn’t. And maybe that was why, when the door slid open a moment later, Alex jolted in his place. His gaze met hers for an awful, perfect moment. She seemed vacant, as if she was mirroring his usual expression; except that it wasn’t distant, not this time. His eyes had long been his weakest feature and this was no exception; it poured out of him without any hesitation, and this time, he didn’t even try to hold it back. I’m trying, Rena; can’t you see?

“Rena.”

It was a statement, really, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to say what he needed to say just yet. He needed to gather himself, and if he had the opportunity to buy himself some time, he wasn’t going to ignore it. (Her name, though, was never a chore.) Alex cleared his throat, fingers interlacing and loosening from one another. He wondered if she noticed how much this was taking; if she ever did, if she ever truly did, or if that had just been some game she’d been playing with him. Rena was his person, he was undoubtedly sure about that, but some part of him wondered whether that person had died in the cube or in those years apart. He couldn’t believe it; he refused to believe it.

He could see her impatience; he’d interrupted her. She had something to return to, one of her countless tasks she refused to let go of, and he couldn’t waste her time any more than he already had. Rena, he thought. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He couldn’t figure out what he was apologising for; he didn’t have to.

“Just–” he closed his eyes momentarily, as if in pain “– just let me speak, and then…I’ll go.”

“You told me to think about it, and now I have.”

“No matter what we do, you’ll always be my – my person. That day in the cube, I would’ve died for you. And you know what the problem is? Every time I look at you, I’d do it again. Without hesitation.” And this was when he laughed, a single, hollow echo that held no resemblance to the real thing. “I don’t know about you, but that’s not really a great basis for anything.”

This time, when he spoke, he sounded even closer to the boy he’d never let himself be. “Rena, I just want to go back to being someone you say hi to and have shitty talks with at four in the morning and – I don’t even know. God, I just want to be friends.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if we can go back. If there’s anything to go back to. But I’d be damned if we don’t try.” If I don’t try.

He glanced at her again searchingly. Waiting for something - waiting for anything that might be proof that he’d said anything of importance. “I’m ready, if you are.”

And this was the moment - here, at the climax of the speech he’d so painstakingly prepared - that he saw him. Sullivan. Sully. Hair that he’d never properly decided whether it was brown or blonde, splitting gaze, and charisma to charm just about anyone. (Alex should know. He’d almost fallen into that trap.) And, at the moment, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his midriff. Alex had always admired him, at some level. He’d never hated anyone more in that moment. Anyone but him, he begged. Anyone but him. Honestly, he could go fuck himself. (Except that was the problem; judging by his ruffled hair and the gown he only now noticed Rena was clutching to her body, they already had.) He hated him. He hated himself more. He felt nothing at all. This pain - this betrayal that he had no right to feel, she was never his to lose anyway - sat heavily in his chest, and somehow made its way into his voice as well.

“Um, you know what, I think I’ll just–” Clearing his throat, Alex shifted backwards, eyes anywhere but the scene in front of him. “See you around, yeah?”

And then he was walking, too fast, too quickly, to excuse himself as being as unimpacted as his face betrayed. He didn’t feel anything; he refused to feel anything. He had no right to this creeping rage. Alex walked long enough for them not to see, long enough for no one who knew anything to notice a thing. He didn’t know where he was going. (Anywhere but here, that much he knew.)

Emily provided him with enough distractions to hide from that memory. He went about his day with absolutely nothing behind those storm grey eyes of his. The shutters had come down again, and he had no intention of lifting them for anyone - for anything. Riding took no emotion, working too no emotion, and he was doing his best to ignore the knowledge that later in the day, whenever it came for the team practice, he’d be forced to see Sullivan. Fortunately, he managed to avoid most people he knew for the rest of the day, other than Drew cornering him about some prank or other and Conrad all but forcing him to join the showjumping “C” lesson. As moral support, he said, although Alex was convinced it was more to do with not losing his sanity. Conrad had never been built for teaching, especially with a ragtag group ranging from beginners who thought they could do anything and experienced riders that refused to admit their skill.

All in all, it almost could have been one of those inconsequential days that left no impact on his mind.

He felt nothing. He felt nothing. He felt nothing.

Scarlett Moor | M: Open, Open | H: Dakota, Faye

" Mom, I told you that I'm officially enrolled in Stadt Estates"
Scarlett murmured into her phone, Keeping her attention on the road. "Oh right! You're going to have to tell me all about it when you arrive." Scarlett snickered and spoke up. " Of course, I will mom." She assured. Scarlett had been riding for a while and finally was accepted into a stable, She was thrilled that they would actually be going to an experienced, ridding estate. After a lot of debate about her parent's approval to go to Stadt estates, they finally agreed and were eventually happy with her decision, Yet still unsure.


"Hey Mom, I'm going to have to hang up. I'm pretty sure the estate is coming up." Scarlett sighed quietly, She had been concerned about Dakota and Faye since they weren't really used to traveling. She just hoped they were nice and comfortable in the trailer. "Alright then, Have fun! Talk to you later. " With that, her mother hung up, Keeping her eyes on the road she grabbed her phone and slipped it into her back pocket. Scarlett looked ahead and gasped, "Oh my."


She felt excited as she gazed up ahead at the at least 200 or more acres, The place was absolutely stunning. "Just look at those barns!" She had never seen a bigger equestrian property in her life. "You're going to love your new stalls." She calls out to Dakota and Faye, Scarlett knew that the horses must be eager to get out and stretch their legs after that car trip. Scarlett slowed down the truck pulling along the trailer as she neared the estate, Pulling in she parked the truck off to the side where a few other vehicles were already parked. Scarlett zipped her jacket up and stepped out of the truck, "That country air sure feels nice." She says to herself, Walking along the side of the trailer.


She reached for her keys which were located in her back pocket, With one tap she backed up as the trailer door slowly opened. Scarlett was relieved to see that Dakota and Faye were fine, Yet Dakota seemed agitated due to his ears being pinned back. She entered the trailer and walked to the back, since the trailer was pretty big it had its own tack storage. She leaned down and grabbed hold of two leads, A medium-shaded red one with the name 'Dakota' engraved on it and a gray one that had Faye's name engraved on it.

"Come here, boy." She neared Dakota, Carefully thinking before making any movements. She reached out a stroked Dakota's neck, The horse seemed to relax when Scarlett did this. They hooked the lead onto Dakota's Bridle and then turned to Faye, The mare seemed much more cooperative, unlike Dakota who required some soothing. She easily hooked the lead on and started to walk out of the trailer. Dakota and Faye had matched each other's pace so either one of them wouldn't end up behind.

She led both horses to the stalls she was told to put them in, Scarlett was glad that they had stalls right next to each other so they wouldn't have to be alone in a new environment, Scarlett tied Dakota's lead on his stall door before taking Faye into her stall, The Mare seemed interested in the new stall. Scarlett unhooked the bridle and hung it up in Faye's stall, She then exited the stall to let the Mare get used to her new surroundings, Scarlett then unhooked Dakota's lead and hung it up, Closing the stall door. Scarlett was dreading moving all of their tack up into her 'dorm' which would most likely take awhile And with the fact she brought a fair amount of tack with her.