[PQ+] Just the way them wild horses run

COLT

If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one

Hawthorn will find that his sweeping is repeatedly interrupted by a duo of red heelers, Dust and Devil, who's life work is dedicated to keeping the brooms of the ranch in their place. The two dogs had been patiently lounging nearby the tools, but are activated the moment everyone strides over to work, eagerly popping up to their paws and darting past with glancing nips and growls at the bristles. Once Thorn really gets into using the broom, they latch on every so often, tugging opposite Thorn's grip. They're chased off easy enough, indecisive about which broom to be herding at any given moment, so they ping pong between everyone. Despite this handicap, Thorn's elbow grease makes a dent in the dirt and debris.

Flora's scrubbing goes much smoother in comparison, but she'll repeatedly find a ball-obsessed kelpie dunking her ball in Flora's water, along with her front feet. This gets the bucket dirty rather quickly, requiring numerous changes to be worthwhile to the cleaning effort, or a creative distraction for the pup. Bit by bit, the grime gives way to her efforts.

Colt works to sweep up in-between the seats, driving random litter and debris into piles with her broom and dustpan, which is also plagued by Dust and Devil every so often. Not only do they tug at her broom when she's finally let her guard down, but they blow past her piles, upsetting some of the work. She stomps after them with a garbled string of curses and gutteral noises, striving to smack them across the ass with her dustpan so they might pick an easier target than her. "Mm, oh yeah," she says back to Flora. "Well, I mean, it was the first one I'd run so hard to say I guess. It seemed plenty full though. Hopefully this year is no different." She'd not originally planned to run one again this year, not certain she wanted to commit to an annual event that requires so much prep and time, but enough remarks had come her way that she couldn't deny the interest. That, and more than ever before, she needs a place to put herself to work wholly and completely. The busier she stays, the less her mind strays. "You gotta come this year, see what all your labor was for. Bound to be entertaining, though you should consider riding." she glances over at Flora, offering a fleeting smile, the slope chased away by the dog whirlwind.

As the bleachers start to look presentable once more under everyone's efforts, Colt stands back to admire them. Dusting her hands on each other, then wiping down her pants, dust flying free as she does, she nods at their work. "Think that's exactly the TLC they needed. Don't lease steam now, we got the vendor alley to set up for all the food and shop stalls! Leave your cleaning shit there in a pile and follow me." Leaning her broom and dustpan on the edge of the bleacher bottom row, she  steps down behind them to the lane where sizable tents await assembly. "Frames, covers, or signs, pick your favorite."

---

Finish your bleacher cleaning around the dog hazards then head to start setting up the vendor tents. You can select your role.
1. Put together the poles and overall tent frame
2. Fit the tent material over the frame
3. Hang the signs on all the sides of the tent to advertise the stall

So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die

on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose

“Oy!” Thorn calls out to the canines, huffing a sound of annoyance each time they zip on by and snag the broom. He tries to get as much work done in between chasing off Dust and Devil, pinning one of them with a very annoyed look. “You’ve gotta be Devil, huh? Lil shits.” He mutters under his breath, chasing them off now and then as he cleans up everything he can – opting to use some of his air magic when the dogs are nearby so that it keeps the dust from spreading again and making him have to redo his work.

Once they clear up, though, Thorn swipes at his forehead, swiping away sweat that’s bloomed on his brow. “You sure Dust ‘n Devil ain’t gonna run away with ‘em?” Thorn calls to Colt with very obvious exhaustion in his tone of having to deal with the heelers. He does, however, place the brooms away and start heading toward the vendor stall alley, squinting as he decides which he should attempt to do.

“I’ll take fittin’ the tent over the frames.” He decides, figuring it wouldn’t be as bad as setting up the frames, and fairly confident that Flora would do a phenomenal job hanging the signs all around in a way that made it simply make sense.

---

Thorn finishes up his bleachers with some air magic and then chooses option 2!

Air manipulation (Abandoned/Hybrid): Can manipulate the air. Must be within a 30ft radius and allows the user to levitate medium-large sized objects up to 5ft above the ground . Control is excellent.
Type: Grey | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action

Hawthorn

so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same

Flora

Flora doesn’t mind the kelpie at first, laughing under her breath as the dog splashes in with unbridled joy, until the third—maybe fourth—bucket is rendered completely useless. After that, Spice’s patience evaporates. The dragon lifts herself with an indignant little trill and answers the next dunk attempt with a sharp spray of ice, frosty enough to make the point without causing harm.

She straightens when Colt speaks, swiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. "Yeeeeeah, it was right after I'd gone through a breakup," she admits easily, a shrug rolling through her shoulders. "Last thing I wanted was to accidentally run into my ex while everyone else was having a great time, y'know?" Her mouth quirks, softer now. "This year though? I'll for sure come." And she would, despite the fact that things were arguably worse with Jack than they had been the year before.

At the suggestion of riding, Flora laughs outright, shaking her head. "I rode Sohalia once when she was a pegasus," she says, glancing over with a grin. "Stayed on the whole time, technically, but I'm definitely not a natural, lets put it that way."

When the bleachers are declared done, she dumps her sponge with relief and follows along, already eyeing the signs. "I’ll take those," she offers, stepping toward the stack as Spice flits in to help, wings catching edges and corners with careful precision. Flora starts hanging them along the tents, adjusting angles and spacing until everything looks deliberate, neat, and inviting, the last of the afternoon’s chaos settling into something that finally resembles a proper event.

---

Flora picks 3!

passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me

Code stolen from Queen Sky

COLT

If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one

"Shoulda told me. I coulda hoisted him up on a bull for you. Nothing brightens up your day more than watching a man get tossed on his ass, lemme tell ya." Colt has not had too many exes to put in that position, but enough smart-mouthed hands or cocky assholes in need of some ground time to know it works wonders. Smiling at the guarantee Flora 'd be here this year, combined with the mention of pegasus Sohalia again, Colt can't keep back the laugh at technically staying on. "I think technically is what matters, buuuut I might have just the right ride for you then. You'll see later," she winks, the conversation ending there as she calls everyone together. "Oh, yeah!" she turns back in response to Hawthorn. "They only fuck with 'em when you're trying to do work, the brooms are safe." A broom out of hand is a sleeping, properly coralled broom, is her best guess at their neurosis. Most of the ranch dogs have some fucking quirk or another, she barely blinks at most of them these days, just has folded them into the pattern of the day.

Probably for the best that Colt gets her hands on the frames since she's familiar with them after last year's rodeo. Muttering some directions to the others helping her, they're able to build the bones of the vendor village, sliding the poles into place with some grunting, twisting, and slapping of the connections. "Remind me to get some enchanted tents next year," she mutters as they continue along. "Bet some crafter could make some that put themselves up and take themselves down in a snap." The tent might run away too if given too much personality, but she'd rather struggle to tie one down with stones than fight the slots that should be fitting together easily but refuse until the fifth try.

As she finishes, Hawthorn and his group come in and tug on the siding in a process that feels like the opposite of skinning an animal. It requires some tugging and precision in where they first tighten the canvases; otherwise, they'll be too short at the end or have a place sagging. Thorn and Co. manage with increasing efficiency though, and the multitude of hands working together allows the tent to stretch into place well enough. Flora 's critical eye and decorative flair lead the charge with the signs smoothly, most of those helping her defer to her opinion, and Spice's. Before long Colt looks up and finds the stands are pristine and primed for their goods to be peddled. "Looking nice," Colt declares, finishing her tasks first and walking down the alley in slow admiration, the inevitable hum of the place already feeling like it's rising up in preparation.

"Just one last thing now," she says with a smile, waving everyone back to the arena once everyone's complete. "We're gonna to set up a practice hobby horse course so I can map it out now and ensure it's valid." Colt motions to the side of the arena where there's some jump standards and rails. "Put 'em up wherever, but allowing for strides and turns, so spread them out where possible."

---

Vendor stalls done! Move on to setting up the hobby horse course.

So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die

Flora

Flora snickers outright at that, shoulders lifting in a helpless little shrug as she wipes her hands on her shorts. "It would probably take an act of divine intervention to get Jack onto a bull," she says lightly, eyes rolling with equal parts amusement and gratitude for the sentiment. "And even then, he'd probably find some way of threatening it into obedience." There’s no bite to it, just a clean, amused dismissal, before her attention flicks back to Colt's not-so-subtle hint of something planned. Her mouth twists. "Right," she says, already wincing. "That doesn’t sound sus at all," but there’s a spark of interest there too, because of course there is.

She gives the finished vendor alley one last satisfied look, pleased with how clean and intentional it all feels, before following the call back to the arena. The words practice hobby horse course land a second later, this is presumably what Colt meant about the right ride, and Flora lifts a brow, glancing sideways at Spice. "Do you know what horse strides are?" she whispers doubtfully, earning only a cool, inscrutable stare in return. "Thought so."

Undeterred, Flora drags a pair of standards and a rail across the dirt, boots scuffing as she sets them down with confident ignorance. She steps back, eyes the distance, and then spaces the next set far too generously, clearly overestimating what constitutes a reasonable stride. She tilts her head, considering it with a thoughtful hum.

---

Flora starts setting, but her distances are hella long.

passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me

Code stolen from Queen Sky

on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose

Thorn can’t help but to roll his eyes to the explanation of the brooms – how apparently they’re only a threat when they’re moving. He has half a mind to topple the brooms with some telekinesis magic just to get the dogs wound up again without anyone touching them just to prove a point – but alas, they move onto the rest of the tasks.

Watching as Colt begins to put up the tent frames, Thorn snorts at the idea – wondering why she hasn’t thought about it sooner than now because honestly? When he starts doing his side of things, it does very much suck. “Kay, one, two, three!” Thorn tells his group as they begin to fit the coverings over, slipping them into place and tugging to even everything out.

Once that’s done, he wipes his hands on his pants and stretches out again, looking over as Flora adds her wonderful touch to the signs. The next task drags a slight drawl from Thorn in the sound of a quiet groan. He watches Flora place hers first, before he considers where to put his – sprinkling his own little sections in for turn boundaries, going off of Flora’s measurements which means his are likely far off as well.

---

Thorn puts his in after Flora’s and kinda uses hers as an example so it’s gonna be way off too probably LMAO

Hawthorn

so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same

COLT

If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one

This is not the first time that Colt has made incorrect assumptions about what she considers common place. It quickly becomes clear that most everyone gathered here doesn't know any sort of horse math. Though everyone seems willing, mostly, they're directionless and mobbing around a course bound to be a shitshow at this rate. Which, honestly she might not mind watching if it didn't have her ranch's name attached to it come the big day.

"Uuuuh," she calls out, at a loss herself as to where to begin to work through this chaos. Currently it looks like a track and field course targeting endurance on one end and joint sturdiness on the other where some of the other help has stacked jumps so tight her spine tightens around itself at the very sight. " Flora and Hawthorn , shorten that up, a lot! These are horse strides not trolls!" Spinning around she barks out for the tight end to get strung out, not creating a field for blink hares after all.

Drawing up beside Flora and Thorn with her paper and pencil clenched in her teeth like a bit, she makes pointed strides from one jump to another, marking in the dirt with her toe where to place the next one and starting to jot down the flow.

---

Colt says tf fix this slop and tries to start mapping it

So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die

on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose

Straightening up after figuring that he and Flora had done a pretty decent job, it’s to hear Colt’s frustration that they hadn’t quite gotten it right. Shortening it up, though, as Thorn squinting at the full amount of space they have between each section (and honestly having zero idea what the plan is for it given that last time the rodeo had happened he’d been pantsed and not exactly paying that much attention), Thorn huffs a little sound and sidles up beside Colt to follow the toe prints she leaves.

Finally understanding the distancing, at least so he thinks, Thorn snags the sections that are too far out and begins to bring them back to place them in the spot Colt’s designated, pausing now and then to keep wiping sweat from his brow and wondering whent hey might be done so he could get a nice cold shower.

---

Thorn starts resetting them in the places Colt’s designated with her marks!

Hawthorn

so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same

Flora

Flora startles when Colt’s call cuts through the chaos, blinking once before looking down the length of what she and Thorn have assembled, and she throws her hands up in theatrical surrender, a laugh breaking free as she backs a step out of the way. "How were we supposed to know how long horse strides are?" she protests good-naturedly. " You didn't give us a ruler or a horse."

She grins to take any sting out of it and immediately falls back into motion, because fair enough, this is why Colt is in charge. As Colt starts marking distances, Flora mirrors the movement, using the toe of her boot to roll rails back through the dirt, nudging standards inward with short, controlled shoves until they line up closer to the indicated marks. It’s clumsy but cooperative, her focus shifting from creativity to execution.

---

Flora fixes the poles!

passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me

Code stolen from Queen Sky

COLT

If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one

Shooting Flora a glance at the (fair) complaint being raised, Colt can't hide the lift of her brows or the laugh that soon breaks free. "Don't worry, you'll learn it soon enough," she says with a shake of her head, turning back around to the course at hand and her map of it. It's an almost ominous foreshadowing of the next job, and Colt's grin doesn't quite fade as she completes the sketching and rearranging. Flora and Hawthorn both work well to rescue their earlier attempts with some added guidance, and if she had the mind Colt might have given it all another thorough once over. That's what they're all for though. That, and some entertainment.

folding her sketched out course away she briefly ducks out of the arena, telling everyone to gather back by the gate. When she returns, it's with an armful of stickhorses, each haphazardly askew in her grip. Setting down the western bouquet without ceremony inside the arena, she holds one up. "Now," she says with a bright lilt to her voice as she wags the plush head at the group. "We're gonna test the course. This year hobby horsin' ain't just for the kids, we've got a prize for best course runner. You all just designed the course, now let's see if it's doable." She proceeds to explain the route, encouraging them each to pick up a trusty steed and be on their way.

---

The course has been completed, now trial it on your hobby horse!

So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die

on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose

With the realignment of the posts and poles in the course that Colt designs, Thorn seems pretty pleased with the result so far. And honestly? He’d be content leaving it to be tested by any other hooligan when Colt returns with a bundle of hobby horses.

He can’t hide the internal wince he feels, the frown tugging on his face. Her explanation has him sighing even more, and it’s with a bit less enthusiasm that he steps forward to select a hobby horse from the pile. It’s a black horse with a white mane, and he holds it not unlike a witch might with the broomstick, looking back to Colt. “Do we have to?” Comes the whine he’s almost certain will have no effect on the rancher.

So despite his complaints, Thorn gets into position and does his best hobby horse round in the course as a man with very little idea what the fuck he’s doing, but he’s trying to do his best and that has to count for something, right?

---

Thorn reluctantly tests the course!

Hawthorn

so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same

Flora

Flora’s face does something deeply unimpressed as the stickhorses appear, a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh slipping out before she can stop it. While it was true that she went for runs every morning, she did not do it with wood between her thighs (winkwonk). Still, inevitability is a powerful force as is Colt's stare, so she bends, plucks one up, and awkwardly mounts it with none of the grace she pretended to have earlier, adjusting her grip like this is absolutely not what she signed up for today. She sidles up beside Thorn, grimacing in shared misery, then flicks her gaze to Colt and back to the course, brows knitting as she takes in the distances again which suddenly look incredibly long. "These still feel...ambitious," she mutters, dubious but resigned.

Then she exhales, squares her shoulders, and does her best to channel some long-buried inner horse girl who apparently has opinions about posture and commitment. With a small, determined huff, Flora sets off, legs pumping, hobby horse bouncing in a way that feels deeply undignified, but she commits to it anyway, hopping the rails with varying success and a breathless laugh breaking free as she goes. It is not elegant, but it is enthusiastic, and she makes it through on momentum, sweat, stubbornness, and sheer refusal to quit halfway.

passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me

Code stolen from Queen Sky

COLT

If it rains it pours so go pour one strong
When it comes to this life, we only get one

Evidently neither Hawthorn nor Flora shared her same childhood romps of galloping down hallways on hands and knees, or mounting up on a trusted stick horse and adjusting her run into a canter-like stride to leap over every object in sight that was above ground level. Here she thought she was giving them a fun task, but the grimaces she received in return seemed anything but. "You don't have to, you GET to!" she hollers back to Thorn, her confusion crinkling into a sly smile the moment they all take off thunder of untrained legs. It lacked the grace and beauty that she'd conjured in her mind, and though she'd not generally given out lessons, some inner barn witch voice demanded to rise up and shout at them to lift their chins, pull their shoulders back, and collect their horses.

She resisted, just barely, not keen on being beaten with the stick horses even if one end is plush. Chuckling under her breath instead at the sight of streams of adults gallivanting over jumps organized in her arena, she made notes on her map about areas to adjust. If nothing else, this is a great display of the amateur hobby horser, and clearly her standards were set far too high if this show is anything to go by.

As they complete the course and pull their oak-laden steeds up, Colt claps in delight, smile beaming forth and a laugh bit back in her cheek. "Beautifully done! Thank you everyone, that was very informative for the upcoming rodeo. All that's left is to put those horses and any tools we used today in the shed, and you're free." She reaches for some of the rakes and shovels they'd used earlier, leading the march to the shed. "Couldn't have done it without you all, much appreciated! Please feel free to stay for dinner if you want, we'll be grilling steaks, potatoes, and artichokes." The sun isn't quite setting into it's bloody brilliance yet, but the day's mostly run itself out and the hands are starting to rouse from the bunk house, more than happy to have dinner as breakfast.

---

Last round! Hobby horsing complete, now put them and any other tools away and you're done. Whoever posts last pls fin and archive kiss kiss

So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive
Dead set on living til the day I die

Flora

Flora is breathless by the time she clears the last jump, dismounting immediately with a sharp wince as she swings the hobby horse free and holds it out in front of her like a broom that has personally betrayed her trust. "Absolutely not," she mutters under her breath, shifting her weight and discovering a constellation of very specific complaints blooming between her thighs, muscles clearly offended at being used in ways they were never consulted about.

Still, when it comes time to tidy up, she doesn’t just toss the thing aside. There’s a pause, a brief consideration, and then she carries it into the shed with unexpected care, leaning it gently against the wall rather than dumping it in with the rakes and shovels. Just in case, she tells herself, because if today has proven anything, it’s that the world is full of surprises and mildly cursed objects and gods she wouldn't be surprised at all if the horses were somehow able to hold a grudge.

She straightens slowly, rolling one hip and then the other, expression tight before it softens into a crooked smile as she looks back toward Colt. "I think," Flora says, voice warm but resolute, "that I will be an extremely enthusiastic spectator when rodeo time comes, if that’s all the same to you."

passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry
caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'.
this is like breaking for me

Code stolen from Queen Sky