COLT
If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one
When it comes to this life, we only get one
Colt rides along the fences behind the chutes, helping slam shut the back end as Hawthorn and the rest pressure the broncs down the lane of panels. With each chute now containing a powerful, ready horse, Colt and the set of hands with her quickly fasten on their bucking straps. The stock isn't friendly and is about half-wild, so the process is done quick and sure from the hanging angles of the fences, a few people rising up suddenly as they clamber away from a swinging body or bared teeth. Once ready, Colt nods at Flora and the gate opens, unleashing the stampede of fury that is a bronc. The rigging gives way after a few impressive bucks, the horse subsiding to a nervous trot that readily dips into the freshly opened gate and the lane back home. The rest of the crew grabs the rigging and ensures the horse makes it back to the pen. They rinse and repeat until the operation is seamless and every chute's been tested.
"Well, looks solid and smooth to me," she concludes with a smile, slipping down from the rails as the last horse gets sent off. "Sure looks like it's bound to be a show too," she whistles out low and fond of the stock given over to this year's event. Not hers, she doesn't raise the sort that bucks like that, but good connections pulling through to be sure. "Speaking of, no one can enjoy it properly without the bleachers, so let's give them a little TLC, yeah?" Surrounding either long end of the arena is a series of wood bleachers, worn and weathered by the past year. Still in good shape, but crusted with mud and dust and a few tangleweed remnants from storms that've come and gone, plus a spiderweb here and some debris there. Set out in preparation of this task already is a slew of cleaning supplies, including brooms, scrub brushes, and some buckets of water.
No one lasted 8 seconds but the bronc testing went well! Onward to cleaning up the bleachers.
"Well, looks solid and smooth to me," she concludes with a smile, slipping down from the rails as the last horse gets sent off. "Sure looks like it's bound to be a show too," she whistles out low and fond of the stock given over to this year's event. Not hers, she doesn't raise the sort that bucks like that, but good connections pulling through to be sure. "Speaking of, no one can enjoy it properly without the bleachers, so let's give them a little TLC, yeah?" Surrounding either long end of the arena is a series of wood bleachers, worn and weathered by the past year. Still in good shape, but crusted with mud and dust and a few tangleweed remnants from storms that've come and gone, plus a spiderweb here and some debris there. Set out in preparation of this task already is a slew of cleaning supplies, including brooms, scrub brushes, and some buckets of water.
No one lasted 8 seconds but the bronc testing went well! Onward to cleaning up the bleachers.
So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die
Dead set on living til the day I die
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
