to those who wait

Sept 29, 2012 18:40:34 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Sept 29, 2012 18:40:34 GMT -5

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C'EST IMPOSSIBLE

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workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
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The spoils of war were yet to come. All that need be done was wait for them. Wait and work. Erin looked over the turf track, brown eyes watching the sunset, almost longingly. Her long, thin fingers of her right hand strayed to the ring finger on her right hand, tracing a circle. She'd been wearing it earlier today. It put her in one of her moods. She still wore her lipstick and her shoulders were still sharp but there was no smile on her face. Behind her, held by Connor, was C'est Impossible.

"-and as her record is what it is, you'll have to be careful with her. Erin? Erin? ERIN BLOODY TRUBELL?" Connor caught on she had paid no heed to anything he'd said in five minutes. "What is wrong with you? You need me to run to the drugstore for any feminine whatsit or something?"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't ask you." Erin growled at him, taking Imp's reins and hopping on the two-year-old with ease granted to her by height. "I know the drill. Nine furlongs, turf, obviously, go sit in the grandstands. Go on, get."

She waved her crop at him flippantly, and then took off for the gates. C'est Impossible was proving to be a tough horse to get winning. Erin had been thinking on it, and she knew why. Firstly, she'd been outlclassed, and with several races and some works behind her, Erin was hoping that edge would be against her. Secondly, the filly was smart and wondered (in Erin's eyes) why should she win. What was in it for her? The bay filly was crazy smart, and the ginger jockey knew it wouldn't be easy on them with she wondered 'why should i'. She'd have to use a heavy hand, she noted, as they went into the box. But once C'est Impossible got a taste of what could be? The young woman felt that there would be no going back from that point on. Then the filly would know what was it it for her. Fame. Glory. Honor. It was coming, just wait and see.

The gates sprung open, and the two came flying out of the gates. Erin bent low over the filly, a position that might have looked awkward to some, but Erin was flexible and found it no problem. Long ago, it was the subject of a bawdy joke and concern, but now...

Erin bit her lip so hard it bled, and then focused back in, ignoring the blood that now streamed from the corner of her mouth across her cheek, honing in on the filly. Her steps were confident and powerful, and for the midrunner, she was agile. But it lacked drive, so Erin added the stick right away. There was no be no laziness this time, no hesitation. They would have to go, go fast, and keep on going, never to look back. She kept her rein steady, forcing Imp to speed up into it and get into her head that this was a game of speed.

For her part, Erin would be forcing her on, and she had some tricks of her own. The race was a mid length race, and there would be a curve where she could throw her weight. They'd keep to the rail, and Erin would make herself seem as big as possible. The size might not deter people, but it would deter a calmer horse or one trying to box them. Aggression and tricks were key. Nothing illegal but unconventional and war ready. They'd hold onto their spot near the back but not out of the pack - a late mid sort of place - with ease, but once they came to take ground Erin would have to convince the filly the work was worth the win, and that was not impossible until she said it was.

They raced close around the curve, the rail a glimmering white streak in her vision. Blood still came from Erin's mouth, an the iron taste made her narrow her eyes. She hit Imp harder as they reached the seventh furlong, forcing her on and giving her her head, not letting the acceleration lull, or, for that matter, be anything less than sub-par. She would run. She had to run. She was going to run, even if it killed Erin, or C'est Impossible, in the process.

They crossed the marker and slowed down, the bright bay filly covered in sweat, her slender frame hot from the run. "Good girl." Erin cooed, giving her a pat before hoping off.

"Jesus Christ on fire in a tree." Connor came over. "Not only was she fast but you're bleeding."

"Good." Erin responded. "Let's find a groom and hose her down." She wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand, blood staining her left ring finger. The irony of it was not lost on her, and she looked at her hand and chuckled.

"Ohhhhhkaaaaay then?" Connor took Imp's reins. "You laugh on there, girl...not that anyone knows what you're on about."
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WORKOUT STATS