nighttime and horses and cocoa, oh my! -- open!

[Luke Peters]

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giselle montgomery renard !
//everyone in this room, they've got troubles too//
//secret stories and lies that we never knew//

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You know, I liked taking risks. I liked bending the rules to conform to my own selfish desires, and I liked going against the grain. I’m not really sure what I was thinking sneaking out of my dorm at 11:30 on a Tuesday night though, but I did it anyways. Maybe because it filled me with adrenaline, knowing I could get into some serious trouble if I was caught – could I? I’d managed to wiggle my way out of things in the past though, so I wasn’t too worried. Yeah, so I broke the rules a little bit, I climbed the fence that was marked, do not climb! but that was just me. That had always been me.

Outside, the night spring air was chilly on my naked skin. I’d only brought a few key items with me, aside from my person. Unfitting for the cool temperatures, I was quite scantily clad in a tank top and sophie shorts, with a messy bun and a pair of worn out old flip-flops clapping around on my feet. Then again, I was rarely ever prepared for anything, and didn’t I just say I enjoyed going against the grain? It was foolish of me sometimes though, to be so rebellious and opposed to anything that was ‘the norm.’ I know that it used to tick my mom off. We’d go shopping, and she’d hold up an article of clothing that wasn’t half bad, remarking, “I like this, you should try it on,” where I would cross my arms, pouting, “I think it’s the most hideous thing! Ugh!” Now I wish that I’d been more open to her fashion choices, but let’s not talk about that.

I clutched my pillow turned satchel close to my chest as I padded quietly towards the barn. I could feel the warm thermos of hot chocolate poking through the tattered pillowcase, but it wasn’t annoying, just sort of pleasant against my cold flesh. I knew that the eyes of night-creatures were upon me, but I was not scared. I may look girly enough, but I could pack quite the punch when provoked. And even if a scary organism decided to throw itself at me, I was close enough to the barn to go running for cover. I was good at that too.

The stable was slightly eerie at night. Now with all the hustle and bustle of the day done, the stalls were all full, and the only noises came from the horses, quietly resting. Gingerly, I reached into my pillowcase, searching out for the small flashlight I’d brought along. Nothing too bright as to draw attention to myself, but large enough to light my way to Romeo’s stall (even though I could have found it blindfolded.)
He was resting too, although as I neared and softly called his name, I saw his ears prick up. Surprised? It wasn’t like I visited him every night at this hour, especially not when I had school the next day. Opening the stall door, I balanced my flashlight in one hand, and my pillow in the other, managing to locate a carrot for him.
“Now, I know you shouldn’t be having snacks at this hour,” I whispered as he licked the orange remnants off my hand, “but it’s not like this happens all the time.”
He whickered, and dropped his head into my chest. I giggled.
“Lemme get organized here, and then we can talk, ‘kay?”
I set my flashlight down, facing a tack-box which was in front of my own. It curbed the lighting a little, still managing to keep the area I was in lit. After I emptied the contents of my pillow – another carrot, the thermos of hot chocolate, a few empty cups (had just grabbed, it’s hard to pack when you’re trying not to make a scene,) and a small cashmere sweater – I leaned the actual pillow against my tack-box and slipped on the sweater. It was quite chilly, although the body heat from the barn warmed the surrounding area. From the floor behind my box, I picked up his stall chain and connected it, opening his door again. Although Romeo wasn’t the best horse in-saddle, his ground manners were impeccable. I knew that he loved the freedom with the door open so wide like that, and I also knew that he was aware of my trust in him. One wrong move, the stall chain went bye-bye.

Now that everything was in place, I nestled down against my tack-box, un-screwing the cap from the thermos, pouring some steaming cocoa into a cup and taking a sip. Romeo’s head extended towards me, nuzzling my leg affectionately. I reached forward to scratch his nose. This was so pleasant! With a sigh, I nursed my cup and began to talk to Romeo, who happened to be an excellent listener. When I spoke to him, it wasn’t about anything, really, just words. Sometimes I told him snatches of stories, sometimes about my day, all very random things. I’m sure that it would sound like nonsense to a stranger.
But I didn’t have to worry about any strangers at this time of night…
Right?

[Dale McCall]

What on Earth was he doing out here? Honestly.

Dale stumbled as his shin-high, stack heeled boots tottered against the damp grass. It was 11:30pm, on a Tuesday night. He started school tomorrow morning and instead of curling up into a little ball in his dorm and pulling the sheets over his head, Dale was trudging towards the barn.

His feet were killing him, already. He’d only just put them on about fifteen minutes ago, but as soon as he found an opportunity to, the black shin-high, stack heeled boots had to come off. “God, I feel as though I’m in Sweet today,” he groaned, wrapping his thin arm’s around his torso and swishing his shoulder-length bottle-black hair off of his forehead.

Cowboy’s wore stack-heeled boots didn’t they? Well, nothing like what Dale was wearing, obviously. His were way better. He loved to dress up; always been quite fascinated by his own image and what he can do with it. Dale had a non-masculine aspect to his attire. Probably due to his androgynous, danyesque dress sense; Dale liked to adapt a whole group of sub-cultures, to fit his own strange style. He loved to dress up like Mick Jagger and David Bowie; stylish, effeminate men, really.

It probably took longer than one would consider normal for Dale to choose between the three jackets, four pairs of boots, two jumpers and six t-shirts he had pulled from the closet once he’d decided to drag himself out of bed and go on this ridiculous walk. But in the end he’d chosen black skintight trousers with white spots, glam punk T-shirt, silver snake necklace, and the stack-heeled boots he was now wishing he had left behind. Was he crazy to go out, walking in this sort of attire? Possibly. But who cared? At least he looked good.

Dale’s hair, too was something that he loved. Raven-black in color, it was a a basic back-comb structure, slightly root-boosted framing a cheeky fringe. His hair was a bit of a theme in itself, it sort of looked like a woman’s wig, worn backwards.

Dale wasn’t sure why he chose to attend Firefly Fields Academy. He’d always had an affinity with animals, but he also had a passion for art. His uncle, whom he had lived with right up till a few months ago, had encouraged his nephew to avoid getting a proper job while he was so young (if you got to know Dale, he’d probably tell you why). Dale wanted to study art, as well as vocal music, but he wanted to learn more about horses as well. Dale had already travelled out of London; though travelling and seeing the world had never really been one of his main aspirations in life.

He knew very little of horses, most of his animal know-how came from the animals that weren’t always represented. He loved otters, shrews, and he thought that the northern root vole was pretty good too. Flying Foxes were a favorite of his. They just fly around and hang on trees. You weren’t supposed to touch them though, because you could get a disease.

Dale liked English things. He thought English animals and forests were really cool. He liked English gardens. He liked the idea of the squirrel. He liked moths, because they’re so tatty. They’re just so English. Crap butterflies, basically. He liked crap animals. Mammals that are tiny and you never see them because they’re rubbish. If you saw a documentary about them on the telly you’d probably just turn it over. If it’s about frogs you think ‘aaah noooo’, but if it’s about hyenas you’d watch it.

So, he supposed he was broadening his animal know-how a little bit, by being here. As well as the usual boring math, chemistry, English classes etc, Dale decided to take Equestrian 101, hunt-seat/jumping, and team roping. His uncle had been pretty into watching dressage on the telly, but all that entailed was sitting on a horse, in a fancy suit, while your horse trotted around a square arena. Kinda like horse gymnastics, he supposed.

No-one in their right mind - and very few people in their wrong mind - would ever accuse Dale of being intelligent - though perhaps calling him stupid wasn’t entirely fair either, for it was true that he compensated for his lack of book-smarts with an uncanny intuitiveness that few possessed. But he had an appalling lack of handle on spelling, grammar, and the English language in general, and his skill with arithmetic was all but non-existent. He had left his school in London early with insufficient Math, English, Chemistry and Geography grades, though he had managed to acquire high marks in both Fine Art and Hair Design. His grasp on time and reality in general was tenuous at best, to the extent where he often had to be reminded of his own age.

So he didn’t know an awful lot, but the one thing he was absolutely, one-hundred-percent concrete-certain on was that he was very cold, and it was very dark out this cold Spring night. Why, oh why hadn’t he worn a jacket? Oh, that’s right. Because it would have taken an extra twenty minutes to choose between a leather jacket with silver buttons, or a white jacket with black stripes.

Why was Dale out here, in the middle of the night, plodding along in these painful shoes; no real clue as to where he was going. He supposed he could put it down to the simple fact that he could not sleep. That was true. Though he had fallen asleep. It was a nightmare that had woken him up. He had allot of those. Where the dream-weaver would just play tricks on him at night.

‘Okay, your in a meadow, but instead of corn, it’s a field of eels, growing in slithery acres. Don’t worry about it though, it’s all apart of the brilliant dream I’m weaving.’ SNORE. ‘Oh what’s this? An eagle is swooping down to eat one of the eels.’ SNORE. ‘But wait! The eagles fallen asleep mid-swoop!’ SNORE. ‘It’s gonna crash!’ SNORE. ‘It’s coming right at you! Run!’ SNORE. The dream-weaver frantically tries to hold onto the dream he’s weaving. SNORE. ‘Okay,’ The dream-weaver gave up. ‘There are no eels, there is no eagle. I was making it up. You can wake up now.’ Dale’s bloody room-mate. That’s the stupid git who’d woken him.

And the best cure for being rudely awoken from a dream filled with eels and eagles(in his own opinion anyway) was sweets!

More than happy to distract himself from the eerie, and imagined sounds around him, Dale pulled a small smartie packet out of his pocket. He didn’t like chocolate very much, but he loved to suck the color off of the wicked cocoa bean. Back in London, when it snowed, Dale loved to suck the color off of a smartie and spit it into the snow to see what color it’d create. Once the smartie was white, he’d let them dry, and then put them back into the packet, and show his mum the smartie’s with no color on them. Like little albino’s awaiting their digestion.

Dale shook the packet; watching as a couple of the little circular chocolates fell out onto his palm. It was hard to tell under the very little light that the moon was casting, but as far as he could tell, they were little yellow, red and green smartie’s. He tossed them into his mouth, sucking happily, and as he sucked, he shook the packet, smiling as it made little rattling sounds, like a small rainbow maraka.

Yawning widely as he continued to walk, Dale felt some smartie-colored saliva dribble down his chin and hastily rubbed the back of his hand against his bottom lip. “Yuck.” His long nose crinkled as he shook the spittle from his palm (he wouldn’t DARE rub it on his clothes), and then spat out the now white smartie onto his palm and flicked it, smiling, pleased as it disappeared into the darkness in front of him.

He was just about to shake a couple more smarties into his palm, when out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Dale caught a glimpse of something white flashing inside one of the stables. It was a dull light, but in contrast with the near pitch-black surroundings it was clearly visible.

Shuddering, now not so much from the cold, but from fear; Dale cowered on the spot. His large grey eyes focused solely on that one spot where he’d seen the...there it was again! Another flash of light. What was it?

Dale felt his own heartbeat thumping a wild tattoo against his scrawny rib-cage as he stood, trembling both from the cold, and from fright, listening to the inner debate between his mind-tank and his legs. ‘Stop yer quakin’ an’ go an’ investigate, ya git! Don’t be a bloody chicken.’, His brain taunted. ‘I am no’ a chicken! I’m freezin’ me arse off over ‘ere.’, his leg’s piped up. "Bwok-bwok-bwok!". "Shut it!"

So even his extremities had a cockney lilt?

There was another flash. Screw it! Finally, curiosity getting the better of him, Dale albeit scrupulously, started to walk towards the area with the mysterious lights. His fingernails dug into the sides of his rib-cage as he approached, realizing that it was a stable he was advancing, getting closer and closer until unexpectedly, a voice rang into ear shot. The voice was held at barely a whisper, and Dale strained to make out any of the word’s. But it sounded calm, almost welcoming actually, and Dale loosened the vice-grip around his torso, only then realizing how much his fingers had been digging into his ribs.

With a slightly trembling breath, Dale peered inside, mindful to keep a slight distance between himself and the barn door, so it wouldn’t creak. The last thing he wanted to do was to spook either the person, or the horses. Then they’d both be in big trouble.

The stables smelt quite pleasant, of dry grass and horse chaff. If he had realized that the stables where here, even in the dark, could have thought about bringing a few carrots, though he knew he probably shouldn’t go around feeding other peoples horses. He could get his ear chewed off for that.

Dale’s grey eyes flitted towards a small-framed, blonde girl, who was kneeling down beside a tack-box as she tipped a pillow-case upside down and spilt out some unseen objects. Dale could recognize the smell one of the objects, and had heard it slosh and it bounced off of the straw-strewn surface of the floor. Hot chocolate. He could almost feel his skin warm at the mere thought of it.

Dale wasn’t sure what to do now, as the girl then picked up one of the horses stall-chains and opened the stall door. Dale was a tiny man; about 5’5” and weighed about as much as an adolescent fairy. He had only seen a few of these horses from a distance; he was sure they were all very pleasant beasties. But truthfully, most of the horses in here made him anxious. They were huge! And, as communicated before, Dale really had no clue what he was doing.

Finally, knowing that there was no point in lurking in the dark much longer, Dale stepped into the dimly lit barn, immediately surprised at the sudden, though only slight change in temperature. “A’right there?” What a terrible, terrible way to start a conversation.

[Luke Peters]

Romeo, I found, was a great listener. I don’t think I’d ever met a human who was as attentive as he, but then again, he couldn’t talk back. Oh well, all the better for me. As I lounged there, quite comfortably, I rambled on about my life. Romeo kept his head down, his lips constantly scouring the floor for scraps, but his ears were always pointed towards me. Occasionally I’d say something with a little more meaning, a little more oomph, and he’d catch on and look up. I knew he understood what I was saying, or at least, recognized my words. I’d check him sometimes and throw his name into the conversation, to see if he was really listening. He passed every test, so I didn’t question whether or not I had his full attention. After all, that didn’t really take much to acquire.

I took another sip of cocoa, feeling the warmth seeping into me. The sweater was not nearly enough to keep the cold from my bones, but the hot drink sure helped. Sometimes Romeo would try and steal a sip, but I’d always pull the cup away, waggling my finger at him and making a ‘tsk tsk’ noise. He was a spoiled animal, but I was trying to get better at not giving in as much, especially because of his antsy behavior in-saddle. I had given Romeo the mindset that he could get away with anything, but this was the wrong impression. Still, it would be hard working away from slipping him little treats. He’s happy, I’m happy.

Leaning forward, I cradled Romeo’s curious face in my hands and kissed his nose. Apparently he didn’t like the warm cup of coca against his face though, for he pulled away suddenly, causing me to drop it. Hot liquid splattered everywhere, and I swore loudly, and then louder still remembering how I was supposed to be quiet. It was probably because of this outburst that I didn’t realize I was no longer alone. Until, of course, I heard a voice.
If I was loud before, I was even louder now. At the voice of the male, I screamed and clapped a hand over my mouth. Chill, Jizz. My heart blasted in my ears, and I closed my eyes, trying to focus on calming my breathing down. The first thing I said once all my vitals were in order?
“Shit, you really scared me.” I tried to smile into the shadows, but I have to admit to still being slightly frightened. It wasn’t like I was expecting company this late.
Gesticulating madly, I tried my best to explain in rapid undertones.
“I just… and then you… and it spilled… late...” Eventually, I just had to give up. It wasn’t really worth all the clarifications anyways. Exhaling shortly, I held up another two cups as well as the thermos, and said,
“Care for some cocoa?”

But what about the spill? Oh, Romeo had taken fine care of that. The stall chain allowed him the liberty to clean the floor of any chocolate residue. Fine by me, he was a good little maid. I switched my position to criss-cross to make room for my… guest, and slowly began dishing out coca. Good thing I’d brought plenty.
“So,” I remarked casually, not looking up from my pour, “might I ask what brings you here this time of night?” Sure, most people wouldn’t so openly talk to perfect strangers, but then again, I wasn’t most people. With an arched eyebrow, I handed him the cup. Romeo leaned forward to assess this new comer, and I allowed myself to do the same. I guess I could have commented on his outfit, but really, who am I to judge? After all, sitting in my PJ’s in a barn at 12am doesn’t really qualify me to be judging anyone.

[Dale McCall]

The look on Dale’s face was of stark bewilderment as the young woman standing in front of him let out a startled cry, followed by a colorful stream of profanities as the warm cup of chocolate dropped from her grasp and clattered onto the stall floor, spilling all it’s contents.

“Oh! I didn’ mean to scare ya.” He declared; eye’s sweeping over the fallen cup, apologetically. He took a few step’s forward, kneeling to make an effort to help gather the cup from the floor, while the young woman hastily tried to explain her jumpy actions. As he glanced back up at her, he was surprised to see that she was holding up the thermos, as well as two extra cups. “Care for some cocoa?” She asked him.

“Uhh, sure.” He agreed, looking up at her before he eased himself back onto his feet. He could hear the faintest sound of scuffling beside him, and realized that the large, dark horse had stuck his head out further from the stall and was now licking at the spilt chocolate. At least neither of the human’s would have to worry about cleaning it up.

With a thankful smile, Dale settled himself into a sitting position on some of the straw, across from the young woman, shuddering only slightly now as he wrapped one of his arms around his stomach, again. “Sorry, again, for frigh’ening you.” He spoke with an apologetic note in his voice. He really couldn’t blame her for being alarmed, though. If he had been in her shoes, watching as he immerged out of the darkness, he’d probably think that a dandy-troll with a black wig was coming in to attack.

He could really only just make her features out in the darkness of the stalls and the dim light the torch provided. He was startled by her choice of apparel, especially in the chill of the weather; clad in only a pair of shorts, tank top underneath a thin jumper, and flip flops covering the pads of her feet. He could see that her blonde hair was pulled into an untidy bun at the back of her head, accentuating her pale features. She did not seem nearly as cold as he felt. How was that even fair?

She spoke lightly as she poured chocolate into each individual cup. Dale’s grey eyes flitted sideways, peering out from behind his bottle-black hair, towards the horse as he leaned further towards him. Dale leaned a little nervously to the side. Now that the little man was sitting down on the floor, the horse seemed even more enormous than he’d initially thought.

Dale blinked back up at her as she handed him the heated glass of chocolate, smiling his thanks as the warmth of the thermal cup heated his icy-pale fingers. Lifting the cup to his lips, Dale savoured the feeling of the warm liquid touching his lips for a moment, before he took a tentative sip and hummed softly to himself as the fluid ran down his throat; rapidly warming his chest and stomach. “Cheers,” he spoke, leaning forwards slightly as he took a deeper sip. “I coudn’ sleep,” he answered her next question truthfully. “Me roommate was snorin’ like a bloomin’ chain-saw.”

With one hand holding the cup, Dale stroked his other hand through his raven-hair, pulling his fringe from his eyes and glancing up a little irritably as it fell to the same arrangement as before. He hadn’t thought about putting any product into it before he left; most of the volume and root booster he’d put into it the previous morning had now faded. He really should have thought ahead.

“Same question. Wha’ brings you out ‘ere?” Dale’s voice muffled slightly as he lifted the cup to take another sip.

[Luke Peters]

If Romeo had been a cat, I know for a fact that he would have kicked the bucket by now. This sounds horrible, and I would never wish any ill on my darling horse, but he is indeed, too curious. Now, a good sense of curiosity is a wonderful thing to have – wondering about the world around you, what’s going on. Curiosity makes you more knowledgeable. If you’re willing to question something and then go and find the answer, good for you, you’re doing what most of society doesn’t. But then again, too much curiosity can be fatal. Romeo was an example of the bad kind of inquisitiveness; he took things just a little too far.
Like now, for example.
As a rule, Romeo was never fond of those with the same parts as him. When I first bought him, the man who was his original owner was more than happy to see him go. Headstrong, Romeo was hideously ill-mannered to this guy. It did worry me at first, but he never acted anything but pleasant around me, and so I got him. I probably should have known better than to offer my guest a seat so close to him, but I wasn’t really thinking straight at that time of night. As soon as he sat down, Romeo was upon him like a honing missile. If his sheer size wasn’t imposing enough, the fact that his head darted around the boy’s with interest couldn’t have helped things. From my seat, I could hear him snuffling around his head. The last thing I needed was an injury at my extent, so naturally I took action.
“Romeo!” I hissed, setting down my cocoa and crawling over to where he was assaulting the fellow. Immediately, his ears lowered submissively and he backed away.
“So sorry,” I said, smiling weakly, “he’s just… interested. Good thing he didn’t nip you, he-he…” My feigned laughter failed, and I decided to take more action. Leaning over, I grabbed the stall door and pulled, closing it most of the way, only allowing for Romeo to lean out and harass me. I heard him snort from within, obviously unhappy that he had lost his privilege, but I wasn’t really in the mood for his immature behavior.

“It’s alright, really. I just didn’t expect anyone to be around here.” I took another sip of coca as I answered his question, allowing my eyes to roam around the mostly darkened barn. Romeo poked his head out, and I gave his nose an absent-minded scratch. He withdrew from my touch, and within his stall, I heard him lie down. Soon enough, his head poked out again, resting on the baseboard. He looked like an oversized dog, and I cooed happily, giving his neck a pet.
“Do you have a horse?” I realized I had just cut him off, but my mind wasn’t exactly always there. I wouldn’t be rude though, I’d still answer his statement turned question. Laughing lightly, I gave Romeo another pat.
“I’ve never heard my roommate snore, but then again, I sleep like a rock. Guess I’ve always been lucky that way.” I grinned happily in the darkness.
“I don’t really know why I’m out here, tell you the truth. Suppose I didn’t feel like sleeping.”
I shrugged casually, and hugged my knees to my chest, taking a deep sip of cocoa. The liquid was turning cold because of the outside temperature, so I placed my palm over the top, attempting to conserve some warmth.
“But I’m Giselle, and it’s nice to meet’cha. You can call me anything, really, although for some reason I’m building a reputation for being called ‘Elle.’ Whatever works.” I shrugged again, looking into my cup as if searching for answers. Answers for what? Well, his name would be nice! I was an extremely impatient person, after all. Actually, I guess I was no better than Romeo.
Oh well, like mother like son I suppose!

[Dale McCall]

Dale had always been the sort of person to fuss over his appearance more than anything. He wouldn’t say that he was vain... okay, he knew he was a little vain. He was just fascinated with what he could do with his own image. He spent allot more time thinking about his own accouterments than doing anything else. If you asked him how to spell ‘accouterments’, in all likelihood, he wouldn’t have the slightest clue which letter to start with.

His lack of handle on spelling, grammar, and the English language in general, and his skill with arithmetic was all but non-existent. Though if you sat him down and asked him how long it took for him to get ready for a typical day - he’d more than likely be able to list his entire morning schedule down to a T.

Shower; an absolute must-have, in the morning.
10 minutes.

Hair drying/straightening.
20 minutes

Hair products - brush/volume/mousse/hair spray.
4 minutes

Concealer, for his eyes if he’d spent the night before, staggering around in an intoxicated state.
2 minutes.

Pale foundation, for the goth-punk-rocker who couldn’t live with a tan.
3 minutes.

Eyeliner to go underneath his eyes, black, pencil. But only if he was wearing gothic or punk-esque garments.
1 minute 30 seconds.

Lip balm. Who doesn’t hate chapped lips?
10 seconds.

Finally, getting dressed could take anywhere up to 20 minutes.

Total: 40 minutes and 40 seconds.

Dale’s cup was now half-full as he sat on the floor, quite content in sipping the heated beverage that the young woman had generously shared with him. The barn was dark; save the dim light that the torch provided, illuminating up the small area in which he and the young woman sat. Him content in holding the warm beverage between his palms.

Dale lifted the cup to his lips once more, and aimed it between his lips, only to groan a few seconds later as a large dribble of chocolate trickled down his chin. “Ugh,” he uttered, lifting his other hand to catch the sweet, sticky liquid and suck it off of his finger. “You’d think I’d need a bib.” He said, placing the drink down beside him and giving his chin another swab, just in case.

To look interesting, was an absolute necessity in Dale’s life. No one knew what it felt like for him if he thought he didn’t look interesting. He felt all uncertain and awkward all the time. Not many people would know how that felt. Well, of course some people would, but it was different for him! It was like his confidence melts away like a sugar cube in the rain. He just did not like it.

Dale’s fascination with his own appearance did only run skin deep, however. He had always been a bit of a golden boy, open and brotherly to almost everyone he’d interact with; he’d treat whoever he met as if he’d known them his entire life. He was a very open person in most cases, and only secretive when necessary. He held no malice at all; it just wasn’t in his nature. It was almost impossible for him to be cruel, or manipulative. He could talk to anyone. Once they got over his appearance, people felt like they could approach him, which he thought was nice. Dale was like a child-man.

Dale didn’t notice at first, as the horse took a step towards him and started to smell his hair, inquisitively. He felt the horse’s warm breath against the back of his neck, letting out a gasp as he jumped back with surprise, landing on his bottom. “Romeo!” The girl admonished, and as she ushered the horse back into the stall, Dale, in an almost instinctual manner, reached up to touch his hair, fiddling with the limp strands obsessively. Oh God, he didn’t have bunches did he?

“Don’ worry, really. No harm done,” Dale, on his part, was mentally breathing a huge sigh of relief. He picked himself off of the ground, brushing off the back of his pant’s as he did so and took a few step’s towards the horse’s stall to peer in. “Inquiz’tive ain’ he?” He smiled wryly as the horse snorted his displeasure at being closed back in. Looking down, he found his cup, which thankfully, neither he nor the horse had knocked down.

“I didn’ expect anyone to be around either,” He smiled softly, watching her interact with the horse. He’d always liked animals, but he’d never been good with bigger animals. Most of them either nearly bowled him over every time they saw him, stepped on him, pushed him around or bit him. He never knew why. Perhaps it had been a dominance thing, because he was so small. Didn’t all animals usually single out the smaller species?

“Nah, I don’ have a horse,” Dale shook his head, as she asked him a question. He’d wrapped his palm’s around the cup again, this time, mainly to benefit from it’s warmth. He kept his shoulders to his sides, leaning forwards as he looked into the darkened stall. “Growin’ up in London, there’s not really any room to hold one.” He smiled wryly. “ I have registered to ride tha’ um.... wha’ is he... Hanoverian x Arabian horse. Blackie I think ‘is name is.I’ll be learning Eques’rian 101 and jumpin’ while I’m ‘ere.”

Dale tried to hide the hint of anxiety in his voice at the knowledge that he would have to ride the 16 hands-tall giant. Riding was only the beginning. After some miracle Dale actually got himself onto the back of the horse, and managed to keep himself up there, he’d then need to learn how to jump, without killing himself in the process.

Dale’s cheeks raised into a smile as the girl offered him her name. He supposed that the subject of names was something that he should have brought up earlier, but better late than never really. Giselle, was her name. He repeated it in his mind, to familiarize himself with it as she looked into her cup. He wasn't sure whether to call her Giselle, or Elle, or which she preffered. She had adressed herself as Giselle, then commented that other people called her Elle so that may have been an indication of which she preffered. So he decided he'd stick with the former.

What was left of the liquid-contents of his own cup was beginning to cool and Dale felt himself shiver, once more, as the cool Spring wind outside of the stall’s sent a chill through the air. “Pleasure to mee’ ya Giselle,” Dale’s grey eyes flittered to the stall, where the horse was now laying, “an’ you’re horse.”. He then decided to tip the rest of the now-tepid-chocolate into his mouth, and swallowing before he decided to offer his own name. “I’m Dale.”

[Luke Peters]

Sipping my lukewarm cocoa, I twisted my fingers through Romeo’s forelock and sighed. This ‘Dale’ seemed to be a pretty interesting character. After all, he’d already made me laugh, and humor was a definite characteristic I looked for when picking friends. Hopefully he didn’t find me too boring, however. To tell the truth, my mind was on lock down a little bit. Suddenly I’d feel very tired, but it came and went in waves.
Romeo snorted, blowing left over strings of hay across the barn’s floor. I watched them dance away across the padded ground until they disappeared into the darkness. I kept my eyes on Romeo, but my ears on Dale. Normally Romeo would have been fighting for my attention, but I faked him out by looking at him. Still though, I listened to Dale talk, really not acknowledging him more than a head bob here and a smile there. When he mentioned London though, my ears perked up, and I turned to face him. Romeo nudged my leg, but I ignored him for the current moment. When he continue pestering me, I looked down at him with a straight-jaw’d glance.
“Will you settle, child? Don’t I see you enough? Calm down.” Although his antics were annoying, I could not stay mad at him for long, especially not when he shied away back into his stall. Blindly I reached in and located him, administering a pat.
“London, huh? Wicked. I’ve always wanted to go there – gawd I miss Europe – but my dad would never take me. And after my mom— there just wasn’t a lot of motivation.”
I felt a lump form in my throat which I tried to push down with a sip of cocoa. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch my little trip-up.

“So, have you ridden before? I mean, I get that you don’t have a horse, but did you ever travel into the English countryside?” I sighed lightly, only imagining the picturesque landscape. Rolling green hills, cattle grazing pleasantly among wheat fields which stirred in the gentle breeze— it sounding nothing short of divine! I actually found myself smiling at my overactive imagination. I had to resist blurting out my fantasy world to Dale. In some ways, I didn’t want him to tell me what it was like; I just wanted to keep imagining it as I had always. I’m sure Romeo would like it too. Speaking of him, Romeo had decided to forgive me, and had made his reappearance, only this time on his feet. I watched as his head twisted out of his stall, his ears laid back to only snort at Dale.
“Oooh, you! Will you stop giving him such a hard time?”
Romeo was so used to getting away with everything that he was thoroughly upset at the idea of being scolded. I had to admit, he was spoilt rotten, but that still didn’t mean I was completely oblivious to bad behavior. From my seat, I pushed his legs back.
“One more move like that, mister, and it’s no stall chain for you!”
He gave another snort – apparently a popular noise tonight – and disappeared into the darkened area. Feeling guilty at paying so little attention to Dale, I turned my full figure to face him with a weak smile.
“He doesn’t usually act this cruddy, so sorry. So, what grade are you in?”
Hey, might as well make up for my rude horse with hospitality!

[Dale McCall]

Dale’s grey orb’s flicked uneasily when he heard a low snort issued from behind the stall. He liked animals - loved them, actually, and most of the time, they liked him back (apart from the really big one’s). He didn't understand this one though. Dale could remember, when he was a boy, his uncle bought him a giant African snail. Dale loved the snail, taking it with him wherever he went, for a while. But he soon grew used to the fact that it was bigger than a normal snail. After a few weeks, the novelty wore away: he realized it was just a normal snail and you’re closer to them. He had to order it special food; spinach it liked, though not with Hollandaise sauce - any kind of salt would kill it.

The horse exhaled heavily, causing Dale to squeak and his face go into the ultimate defence mode; eyes big, face innocent, looking for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Dono wha’ ‘is beef is.” The corner’s of Dale’s mouth tweaked into a diminutive frown, as he unconsciously shifted a little more to the left from where the horse was laying.

“’M from Dalston, inner London.” He spoke, in answer to her question. Dale was by nature, an open sort of guy. He'd approach everyone with the an unwavering upbeat friendliness. “Bu’ me uncle lived in a tiny ‘omestead just North of London. Owned a couple’a horses up there. So I’d sometime’s spend a couple’a day’s up there ‘n he’d show me how to ride. It was ‘is idea to send me here.” Dale thought very fondly of his uncle. He had suggested that Dale enroll at Firefly for two reasons, one) he thought that it’d be a wonderful idea for Dale to learn more about horse’s, and two) It just wasn’t safe for Dale to stay in London. After the little fiasco between... never mind, it was for the better that Dale disappeared from London for a while.

His uncle was a great guy. Howard, his name was. He worked with animal transport, a kind of ranger, Dale supposed. When he was younger, Howard would let him stay with him at his home for day’s, sometime’s weeks on end. Thing’s for him weren’t good at home, you see, and his mum and dad didn’t have allot of money all the time, so allowing Dale to spend time at the tiny house with his uncle was often the best thing his parents could do for him.

Howard didn’t have allot of space in the house. It was only him living there, having no children, or wife, or girlfriend of his own. It was just him, and a couple of horses behind the house. When Dale stayed there, Howard would make him sleep in the corridor, on an old brown duvet that he’d had since he was a boy. Dale used to plead with his uncle - “Can’ I sleep in your room?”, and Howard would say, in his Northern accent, “No Dale, you will be sleepin’ on ‘the brown’.”

Dale had always been a pretty good kid. Needless to say he’d never deserved any of the treatment that he’d gotten at home. Howard was more of a father figure than his own father - he was someone that Dale could idolize, and look up to, and count on. Who’d only tease him in a light-hearted way.

“Dalston was very different from me uncle’s homestead. It was a diverse sor’a place, Dalston, I mean. I can remember there were these punks tha’ used to lurk down by this bridge by the canal,” He went on, putting the now empty cup down and leaning forward, allowing his hand’s to pick up and toss aside little dry bits of straw, as he spoke. “I wonder who was the first punk who sent out leaflets sayin’, ‘Hello, I’m a punk an’ I’d like to mee’ sim’lar - why no’ come down to the bridge ‘n we’ll sit around punking i’ up and drinkin’ a bi’ of cider’.”

He could just imagine punk’s handing out leaflet’s as they lurked alley’s, rode the tube, and stood outside of clubs; the thought making him snicker. Though the notion soon vanished from his mind as he heard another snort from beside him. “Really, now. Wha’s your beef?” He admonished the horse, only to get another snort-reply as Giselle hustled him back. “You’re a cheeky li’l sod.” He scolded Romeo, speaking to him as if he were a disobedient child.

“Not popular with ‘im tonigh’ am I?” Dale pointed his thumb over at the stall, flicking his head to look into the darkness and poking his tongue out at the massive horse. “Cor!” , he shook his head. “Bloke’s gotta settle down a bi’.” He threw another uncertain glance at the stall, before replying to Giselle’s next query. “I’m ‘n year 12, wha’ abou’ you?”

[Luke Peters]

I consumed my time by tying knots in my loose hair and then taking them out. Not exactly the best form of entertainment, but it sure worked. Idly, my hands twisted around my blond locks, leaving them mostly snarled, but my mind cleared. I usually took remarkably good care of my hair, but sometimes I’d fall off the track, especially when my attention began to wane. For the most part my leg would just jiggle, or I’d drum my fingers, but nobody’s perfect, and I would stray off the path occasionally and give in to the simple temptation of twirling my hair. The extra five minutes with a brush wouldn’t kill me anyways.
Speaking of hair and appearances, it seemed as though Dale spent a good time longer than five minutes on his. I hadn’t really taken the time to admire his look until now, but upon further inspection, it was quite… groovy. Definitely not like any other guy I’d ever met, but that’s what made it so interesting. It took a lot of courage to dress like that, and I admired the fact that he’d adapted the look. Why he was wearing it at this hour, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t about to take the liberty to ask. I did not want to insult him, and although my admiration for his choice of garments would certainly shine through in my voice, he was my only source of entertainment at the moment, and I could not risk sending him away. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellow, but since he was practically a stranger, one wrong move and I could set him off. Although it may not seem like it, I put a lot of time and energy into my spontaneity and outgoingness.

I’d decided against my own personal will to lock Romeo in his stall, at least until he learnt some manners. After Dale made it obvious that he was in discomfort because of Romeo’s obnoxious antics, I figured I’d appeal to the better nature of my ‘guest.’ Anyways, Romeo had disappeared, so I didn’t really need to worry about him. True, I had come to the barn to spend time with him, but now that Dale was here – and he could actually talk – my horse really wasn’t a top priority. It wasn’t like I was riding or anything, and it wasn’t like I was doing anything other than just talking to him. Romeo could deal with a little less attention than he already received on a daily basis. My visit tonight was extra, so he could just suck it.
“Yeah, he just doesn’t like guys very much.” I shrugged, biting my bottom lip a little. “I’m sure he’d warm up to you though, it just might take a while.” Another shrug as I looked towards the now-closed stall. Not much to see there, moving on!

I turned my gaze back to Dale when he began to talk about Dalston and his uncle’s homestead. I was surprised at my own interest. Sure, England fascinated me, but I didn’t expect to be so intrigued. First of all, his story about the punks made me laugh so hard that I was sure liquid would have come out of my nose. I thanked my lucky stars that I had not taken a sip of coca when he’d started talking about the leaflets. Also, his accent, so thick and distorted, was a laugh too. I was good at accents, since over half my family was doused in heavy ones, but none were British, and none even vaguely resembled this. The way he cut down his words made my giggles come in a fluid stream, although I easily disguised it behind the guise of laughing at the punk story.
“Yo- hahaha you’re r-r-really funny, D-Dale heehe.” I giggled, gripping my side for dramatic effect. I heard Romeo emit a noise from within his stall, although I ignored it, telepathically sending him warning signals.

After my fit of chortles had died down, I readjusted myself and administered the remaining cocoa into my dwindling cup. Only after I’d poured I realized how selfish I’d been, and paused to offer him half of my rations.
“Sorry, would you like some? I promise I don’t have swine flu or anything like that.” I winked, but in the darkness it was hard to tell. But wait – had I said the wrong thing? Swine flu was the latest and not-so greatest pandemic sweeping the nation, did it affect him personally? I tried not to think about it as I held out my cup, smiling weakly in the shadows. Oh well, I wasn’t about to flip out over it. My eyes danced around the darkened barn again as I waited for his response. Looking down, I watched as an ant made its way slowly across my leg. I set the cup down in between us, hoping he’d take the hint to distribute whatever he wanted, and flicked the tiny insect off my skin. Ants had always kind of icked me out.

Year twelve? I racked my brain for the school-year conversion, but there was no way I could figure it out. Especially not at 11:30, maybe closer to 12:00 at night. Instead I just nodded and feigned knowledge with a nod.
“I’m a sophomore, although technically I should be a junior. It feels a little weird to be seventeen and still in tenth grade, but oh well.” I shrugged again – a recurring theme, it would seem – and twisted my hair again. “I suppose it was supposed to be.” The reason? Well, I was still trying to figure that one out.

[Dale McCall]

Dale almost felt a little regretful for making it so obvious that he was uncomfortable with the horse’s incessant bullying. He wished that he could have masked it better, but unfortunately for him, his best personality trait (ie his complete and utter honesty) had been working overtime against him.

No joke, he thought to himself as Giselle revealed the horse didn’t like guys very much. Well, at least he knew that the horse wasn’t just singling him out, anymore. He still wasn’t sure if he’d warm up to him though.

Dale observed with curiosity as Giselle toyed with her long tresses of blonde hair, glad for the dimness of the stalls, and long fringe of hair to frame his face. He’d always admired hair; all the styles and colors you could play with. Sure, that must have sounded a little ‘unmanly’ but Dale had always preferred women’s company to men’s. Men were very narrow minded and conditioned to behave in a certain way - women were cooler about stuff. He didn’t like to generalize.

Dale was very secure with his sexuality, of course he was straight, but he loved to play with his image, and appreciated people like Mick Jagger and David Bowie; they were stylish, effeminate men, really. He didnt mind Giselle’s choice in apparel. Her image certainly did not hide the fact that she was a beautiful young woman; quite dainty, really. Dale had never been one to judge anyone’s choice in attire, however. Each to their own, y’know? He was a shining example of that. Her attire was unadorned; but sometimes simple was more suitable. Speaking of which, neither of them looked particularly equipped to be sitting outside at midnight with only a thermos of hot chocolate to keep them warm. At least Giselle had the sense to think ahead and take it along with her.

He could not help but grin sheepishly as she laughed at his joke, and soon, was giggling along with her, though more at her reaction than anything. It felt good to know that he made people smile, or laugh. Even if it was at his own expense sometimes. He loved making people feel happy. Still trying to surpress the grin on his slightly pointy features, Dale leaned back into a more relaxed position, now that the horsey was safely tucked away in bed.

As Giselle poured herself another cup of cocoa, he couldn’t help but smile again, and chuckle as she offered him half the cup, making a jest about the swine flu pandemic. His uncle had described it as ‘Bacon’s Revenge’. The guy had never been a very funny man but it was a part of human nature to make jokes about things, for some it was a way to lower stress, but mostly, making jokes was often the best way for people to deal with frightening things.

Even in the dim light, Dale could see the sudden change in Giselle’s posture as she set the thermos cup down between them. He could tell that she must have thought she crossed a line somehow. Bottom lip clamped between his top and bottom teeth, Dale leant forward, and gently picked up the thermos, holding it up to the pretty blonde. “I can trust you,” His smile loosening his teeth’s hold on his bottom lip. Dale was first, and foremost a gentleman. You should treat those, the way that you want to be treated, and Giselle seemed to be a wonderful person so far. “we all got’a stick together through this Aporklalypse anyway, don’ we?” He added as an after thought.

“Ya seen far more mature than mos’ seventeen year old’s I’ve me’,” Dale commented with surprise as Giselle mentioned she was a sophomore, in the tenth grade. “Do you have any idea wha’ you want to do once you leave Firefly?” He asked. He supposed the answer would be somewhere along the line’s of working with animals, though he knew he couldn’t be sure, of course. Just because she was enrolled at a school for aspiring rider’s, that did not necessarily mean she would pursue a career with animals once she graduated.

[Luke Peters]

I traced my fingers along the wood-work of Romeo’s stall. He was being awfully silent, I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. No matter, now that his stall door was closed it didn’t surprise me that he had quieted into submission. I knew that if I had kept babying him by talking he would have stirred up quite the ruckus, but luckily my attention was fixed elsewhere. I assumed that Dale was glad of this change in his behavior as well, for they both seemed about as equally fond of each other.

I remember once, long ago, I’d taken a now ex-boyfriend of mine out to the stable to meet my horse. I had talked to this guy about riding, and he seemed pretty up to the prospect of getting in the saddle. At the time, I didn’t realize that he was attempting to do practically anything that pleased me for the sole purpose of gaining access to ‘restricted areas,’ if you catch my drift. So I’d brought him out to the stable, crossing my fingers that Romeo would like him as much as I did. No such luck. We’d walked into the barn, where Romeo was busy extending his long neck into the isle to search for scraps. As soon as he saw me, I could tell that I had his full attention, but when he saw who I was accompanied by, his mood changed. I think I jerked his lead around more that day than any other due to his appalling behavior. Whenever the guy would walk past, he would lay back his ears and make a serious effort to bite him. I didn’t really know what I was thinking tacking Romeo up and offering my boyfriend a ride. That was more than a bad idea, and I probably should have realized this, but I hadn’t. Not until it was too late.
Of course Romeo had exhibited the worst behavior of his life, and of course my ex had fallen from him, more than a little disgruntled. I’m not sure if he’d broken up with me then, or waited until I’d given him a ride home, but our relationship was over. At first I’d been quite upset, but then I realized that if Romeo felt so strongly about a guy, then he probably wasn’t worth dating. He was the last guy I ever brought out to the stable.
Now, I tried not to think about Romeo and Dale’s relationship. It didn’t really matter much right now anyway, since they were both squared away in their separate corners. Maybe one day another situation would arise where they would have to duke it out, but for now, all was well.

My retreating laughter echoed off the quiet barn walls. Since I’d arrived here at Firefly, I don’t think I’d laughed more than I was tonight. Either I was very sleep deprived and everything was funny, or Dale was a real laugher. I figured the latter. I uncrossed then recrossed my legs, clearing my throat a little as my laughter died down. I didn’t expect it to pick back up again so quickly though! It seemed that when I’d just got over one laughing fit, another one came on, this one spurred by swine flu jokes.
That may not seem like the funniest thing to have a laugh about, but when neither party was affected by it, hilarity ensued.
When Dale made the joke about the ‘aporkalypse,’ I do not think that I could have been laughing harder. My ribs ached from the strain of laughing, and I was wheezing trying to supply my lungs with enough air to laugh and breathe. Dale had to be the funniest person I’d ever met. How did he come up with this stuff?! When I managed to calm my laughter into little bouts of giggles, a joke popped up in my head. Stopping all bodily actions, I fake sneezed into my hands, and made a little groan after, although it could not disguise my laughter.
“I—teehee!—know I don’t h-h-h-ahhahah-ave swine flu, because I sneeze ‘achoo’ instead of – hahahha— ‘a-a-achoink.’”
Then I broke down into a fit of hysterics. Romeo responded from within his stall, but I was too busy laughing to hear him.

By this point, Dale must have thought me a loony. I was thinking myself a loony, really, and that was saying something. Rarely did I let myself go as I just had, but I suppose that it was a good release once in a while. Still, I decided to calm down a little to answer his question. It wasn’t like I could laugh forever. Clearing my throat for real this time, I smiled when he spoke about my maturity.
“Well, I think I’ve been around a lot more than most seventeen-year-olds.” My smile faded slightly in the dimness as I thought about my mother and everything that had happened over the past few years, although I soon adjusted back to reality.
“After Firefly, I’m going to become a world-renowned equestrian. There is no other option.” I sniffed, quite amused at my own head-strongness. In truth, I was scared to contemplate any other option, so I just stuck with my original plan. I would remain positive.
“And what would be your plan, Dale?”
I couldn’t exactly imagine hearing Dale tell me that his dream involved horses, but you never knew. I was always up for a surprise or two.

[Dale McCall]

Dale had no clue what the time was, nor did he care, really. He was taking great delight in sitting where he was in the stalls, laughing along with Giselle, just enjoying her company. He had forgotten all about the eerie, and imagined sounds from before; now having something real to focus his mind on.

As he sat, Dale lifted a hand to his head, gently running his fingers through the coal black hair by his fringe and temple’s, pushing it all out of the way and letting it fall aside from his face. A perpetual grin planted across his pointed features as he tried his best to restrain his laughter; his chest beginning to ache slightly as he tried to clear his throat. Though it was a feckless effort, as then, Giselle began to act out a sneeze. “Achoink!” Dale’s whole torso doubled over as he began to guffaw with laughter, his rib’s aching in protest as he struggled to gain control.

Coughing a couple of time’s to try and clear his throat, Dale’s boisterous laughter soon settled down into a giggle as he tried fruitlessly to disguise his grin into something a little more collected. Even as Giselle began to speak again, he continued to titter sporadically. That was, until he noticed her own smile falter. It was his time, then, to wonder if he’d crossed some line.

Dale sat up a little straighter; pulling his leg’s up to his chest before wrapping his arms around his knees to tackle the more serious nature of the conversation as she spoke once more.

He could not perceive the reason behind why Giselle’s face had fallen so suddenly, but he decided not to put too much thought into it; after all, some skeletons where best left hidden in the back of the closet, at least till you knew someone better. She was right, she didn’t seem like most seventeen year old’s he’d met; he was sure that personal circumstances would dictate, that.

The corner’s of his mouth upturned slightly as she informed him that she wanted to become a world-renowned equestrian. She had said it with such confidence and resolution that he could not help but feel immense veneration towards her. He admired people with great such a strong sense of stubbornness and self-will in themselves.

“I be’ you’re gonna ge’ there, too.” He said with an earnest nod, resolute. “You migh’ have to show me how well you ride, sometime.” He added a little wistfully. It would be nice to catch up with Giselle, again, he thought. And who know’s, perhap’s she was right when she said that her horse could get used to him, if he were around more.

Dale perceived a dull buzzing on the off-beat, beside his ear that grew louder and louder, until he noticed the smallest of insects dancing across his vision. He flinched slightly, as the diminutive gnat hovered down and landed on his hand, taking a bite into his soft skin to sample the crimson blood pumping underneath.

Though he was quite annoyed with it’s blood-sucking, Dale had always made an effort to treat each and every animal with respect at all times, so instead of dashing out it’s wicked little brain’s all over his palm , he gave his hand a quick shake in a silent way to request that it dine on him no further.
He watched as the gnat drifted from his hand, it’s tiny body creating a small shadow across the stall door as the light reflected from it’s frame. It danced between both inhabitants for a moment, before it decided to land on Dale’s hand again, ignoring his previous attempt at a civil solution; obviously suggesting that perhaps our leaders are right, and you cannot negotiate with terrorists (or gnats).

Giving his hand yet another shake, Dale stuck his tongue into his cheek, trying desperately to search for a positive thing. It evaded him, somehow.

“I don’t really like work. It’s boring...I don’t think I’ll make a very good adult...” Dale smiled in a sort of self-pitying way. For the past few months, he had shoved all ideas related to growing up and being in anyway responsible right to the back of his mind. They gave him a headache. The more he thought about them, the more he realized how useless he would be at most jobs. He couldn’t sit still for five minutes, so he couldn’t work in an office. He loved art, but he didn’t think he was good enough at art to really be an artist. He wasn’t smart enough to be something like a doctor or a lawyer. He thought law and science were boring anyway. It was like being stuck in a maze, all the exits blocked with unsolvable problems.

At this thought, Dale’s hopes lifted slightly. He was desperate to be good or something, he didn’t want any tricky qualifications...he didn’t want to be sat at a desk...and most of all, he wanted to be good at it.

Before Dale had to leave England, his uncle Howard had offered to give him a job doing what he did, with animal transportation. His uncle had constructed a little mini-speech, all about “aspirations” and “opportunities”, but Dale really couldn’t see himself driving about all day either. He wanted - no needed a job where he felt he’d get some sort of satisfaction out of it, but keep in mind everything he’d considered before when it came to tricky qualifications. “Well, before I had to leave London, I go’ pret’y high marks in both Fine Art and Hair Design.” He shrugged, “It’s art tha’ I love, though.”

Whenever Dale was bored, and left alone with some pen and paper, he’d always produce some sort of gallery. He flicked through the pictures; each one more bright and happier than the last, decorated with thing’s such as rainbows, and suns with smiley faces. Everything that Dale McCall was made of - illustrated on paper.

"My uncle, Howard, often said tha' my drawin's were the scribbling’s of a retard, never really hiding 'is real opinions on them. I though' they were genius! I wanted to turn them into a cartoon or somethin'. Imagine tha'? Spot'ed penguins, toast, and pink pinapple’s all comin' to life in anima'ed form.” His grin returned at the thought.

[Luke Peters]

I wrapped the cardigan tighter around me, because I suddenly felt very cold. Maybe because my laughter had died down, and my body was no longer working as hard to keep my temperature up. Whatever the case, it was a trait I had inherited from my mother, the ice queen. It didn’t matter if we were in the Sahara desert, mid-day, she’d still find a reason to be shivering. I didn’t remember ever having it before she passed, but maybe it was one of those things that grew as you got older. As of right now, I was craving my big down comforter.

I observed Dale’s body language as the conversation took a more serious turn. I was glad I’d made him laugh though; it was nice to see the tables turned a little. I followed his example and hugged my own knees to my chest, hoping to conserve body warmth in the process. True, I had the little jacket, but it was proving flimsy, although my new sitting position helped a great deal. When he mentioned me getting far in my dreams, however, I warmed up a great deal. My lips curved into a delicate smile, and I decided to adapt a little bit of English humor to respond. I just hoped he would find it entertaining and not offensive.
Rocking forward on the balls of my feet, I released an arm from surrounding my legs and brought it to my head, tipping an invisible cap.
“Well thank’ya kindly, Gov.” I winked, and returned to my original position with a smile on my face. Still though, when I spoke again my voice had a serious tint to it.
“That really means a lot to me.” I relaxed my smile again, blinking slowly. Really though, it was nice to find someone who believed in me, because those were shortcoming these days. Even my own father guffawed at my plans for the future, shaking his head and telling me I’d be more suited for a, ‘low profile’ career path, whatever the hell that meant.

So he’d love to watch me ride, huh? I doubted that, but still took it as a sweet thing to say. I knew personally that unless the rider had eons more experience than I, that their skills and techniques were of no interest to me. But maybe Dale wasn’t lying; maybe he was genuinely interested in seeing me ride. I shrugged it off. By all means, he was more than welcome, although I could promise nothing interesting, just a teen girl cavorting around on her occasionally problematic steed.

With a yawn, I clamped a hand over my mouth and skittered my gaze around the barn. At this moment, I realized that I’d been rather stationary for the past few minutes: no leg jiggling, nothing. I must be sufficiently entertained. That was for certain, looking back on things, since I’d just stopped hysterically laughing moments ago. Just thinking about it made the giggles well up in my chest again. I would have to keep in contact with Dale after tonight, for he would be a valuable asset to me. You could always use a friend who made you laugh.
My eyes stopped as they observed Dale’s antics. At first in the shadow of the barn, I could not work out what he was doing, waving his hand around like that, and my eyebrows furrowed into a contemplative stare. Eventually though, something clicked inside my head, and I came to the realization that he was trying to uproot a critter which had implanted itself to his hand. I admired him for being so benevolent towards the pest, and I could not help looking back at my own inhumane ways. Just a few minutes ago I had casually flicked an innocent ant off my leg. Sure, it was crawling about me, but otherwise not pestering. I compared my situation to Dale’s, and instantly felt regret. Look at him, being bitten by an insect and still having the decency to shoo it away rather than kill it! But this told me something very valuable about Dale: he was gentle, unlike many people – both men and women – I’d come in contact with. I felt sheepishly ashamed of my own behavior; I could not help exalting Dale in his.

His voice snapped me out of my thoughts and back to reality. Work? Oh right, I’d inquired about his plans. I sat more upright to prevent slouch marks, and adjusted my position so I was leaning against the framework of Romeo’s stall. Idly, I grabbed a loose piece of hay from the floor and played with it between my fingers. Twisting my head to face Dale, I raised my eyebrows at his latest remark. Puffing out my cheeks, I released air in a manner similar to, ‘ppppfffft.’
“I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful adult, Dale. And not all work is boring, you just have to find something that you love doing.” I smiled, and turned my attention back to the minute wisp of straw. Not looking up from my created play-thing, I raised my forehead and exhaled.
“I didn’t always think I wanted to be an equestrian, y’know, I thought I was going to be a lawyer or something… Now I can’t think of anything worse than that.” I grinned, sticking my tongue out slightly. It was true, the thought of working long hours in an office or a courthouse grossed me out, not to mention all those years of school. I’d probably kill myself before I went through both college and law school.

I stayed pretty busy with my little piece of hay until he spoke again, where at that point I turned to face him, smiling.
“That’s so neat! Most guys I know shy away at the mention of ‘hair’ and ‘art…’ but I ‘uppose that you’re not really most guys, huh?” I said this smiling, so hopefully he wouldn’t take offense from it. Truthfully, I found his sense of style and personality new and fun. He was definitely unlike anyone I’d ever met before.
Placing the hay in the palm of my hand, I blew a gust of air towards it, sending it skittering away across the barn. I then stuck two thumbs into my ribcage.
“ You should go into the hairstyle field, or be a fashion consultant or something. I think that more guys should dress like you. Or, hey, you could have your own show on the style network, and you could incorporate your art into it or something.” I grinned, impressed with my own thought process. I was about to speak again, possibly about another idea which had sprung into my head, when Dale spoke. Instantly my mouth clamped shut, eager to hear what he had to say.
As soon as the last period had left his mouth, another ‘pffft’ sound left mine. This uncle of his didn’t sound like a very supporting fellow. Oh well, I’d try to make up for it.
“Naw, I’m sure your drawings are very good, even if they are of silly things. Have you ever heard of spongebob squarepants? You could always craft something similar to that.”
I smiled and nodded my head matter-of-factly, as if I actually knew what drawing a cartoon like that would entail. Whatever the case, I was sure Dale could conquer it. After all, if a guy could pull off dressing like that and looking good, then he could pull off anything.

[Dale McCall]

Dale felt his body shiver underneath his arms thin embrace around his knees; the nip of the nightfall breeze chilly through his flimsy shirt and tight-legged pants. He was starting to miss the thermos cup; the feel of the torrid liquid between his palm’s and the warm feeling it left as it flowed down his throat and into his stomach. Oooh he was feeling warmer at the mere thought, already. You’d think that he’d be used to it - the cold - London weather could be quite unpredictable. Londoners were known to regularly carry both sunglasses and an umbrella. But the weather was never so extreme as to detract from all the great things to do in the city. He had loved it, every bit of it. From the BBC, to the parks, markets, boutiques, cafe’s, pub’s and clubs, to the high-street Topshop and clothing stores.

He missed it all, too, and could not help but reflect on the circumstances that led him to where he was, right at that very moment. Dale had lived with his uncle on and off for many years. In innumerable way’s, the man had been more of a father figure to Dale then his own father had been, which was why, he supposed, he decided to help his uncle when the man got into a little financial trouble, and take a less than honest way out of it.

Howard never gave Dale any specifics on what he was going to do. All he asked of his nephew was to drive to the underground parking of the Royale Bank, in London. Dale was told that when Howard, and two other ‘associates’ exited the car, he should wait for three minutes. If they weren’t back in the car by the end of the three minutes, Dale had permission to leave them. Howard didn’t want to get his nephew any more involved in this than he already was. So while Howard and the other two men were in the bank, Dale decided to distract himself with one of his CD’s instead. ( Link ).

Dale’s large eyes widened slightly and an amused grin spread across his pointed features as Giselle began to mimic his lilt, a light giggle escaping his lip’s as his tongue flicked to curl around one of his incisors. He began to clap his hands. “Very good, love,” He chuckled, tipping his own invisible hat in response. “We’ll make a cockney ou’a you yet!”

He thought it funny when people tried to mimic his accent; though he was terrible at mimicking others, himself. It was almost exciting to be able to interrupt and alter language; laying dirty lingo egg’s that people are going to have to say, then watch like a voyeuristic cuckoo as they hatch - ’There, speak like that. Now talk all stupid.’

When everything is homogenized and bland, nothing need’s to register; if you put things in an unnatural, or foreign fashion - even if it’s just saying someone’s name in silly voice, or changing the way it’s pronounced - it always make’s people want to listen more.

“You’re very welcome,” Dale smiled up at her, noting the earnestness in her own tone of voice. He was one hundred percent certain that if Giselle did keep that steady mind set of her’s, she could certainly achieve her goal to become a world-renowned equestrian, no problems at all. She certainly seemed very different from most other girl’s he’d met, that was for sure. There were quite a few people, women in particular, he had known, who’s main goals in life was to settle down with a wealthy partner, and have children. There was more to life than that.

All dreams have to come from somewhere; it’s just a fact of life, the same way that gravity and death and taxes are. You don’t question it - that’s just the way it is. You don’t wake up one morning suddenly wanting to be a stunt driver, or a photographer, or a binman, or a rock ‘n’ roll star, or the world’s first time-travelling acrobat, for no reason whatsoever. Even if these things may seem like sudden whims or random flights of fancy, everything we do - every desire we have, every choice we make - is based on previous experience and mistakes of the past.

Giselle was definitely the sort of person that Dale could see himself catching up with again. He was impressed by the fact that she seemed very goal orientated, utterly beautiful, and expressive when it came to the way she engaged you in conversation; her subconscious seemed quite close to the surface. Of course these were all first impressions. He wasn’t sure what she thought of him yet, though he was confident that he’d made an alright impression, at least.

Giselle was right in asserting that not all work was boring; Dale knew that was true. It was just a matter of finding what sort of work you’d want to dedicate yourself too. Something that gave you a feeling of self-acomplishment. “Well, yeah, your righ’. Bu’ there’s always so much stuff goin’ on in my head. It’s all...” Dale finished his sentence by waving his arms around and making a funny face. “Y’know?”

Dale blinked his large grey eyes, surprised as Giselle stated that she hadn’t always wanted to become an equestrian. He couldn’t have seen her as a lawyer-type, but he decided not to vocalize this, after all he did not want to offend her if she took the statement the wrong way. She looked as she would be far more at ease here in the stall’s, around her male-execrating horse, drinking cocoa from a thermal cup, rather than pen pushing in some building.

His father had worked as a doctor in Dalston. Because his father was very academic, he and Dale would often have nothing to say to one another. Learning stuff from books was just his father’s thing. He’d ask Dale about school and Dale would politely, hesitantly, say that school was never really his thing, and it showed. Dale wished that he had brought something, just to prove that he could do anything. His irrational desire to win this man’s approval often confused him, and left him resentful, and even more determined not to sit in a room all his life reading books and pushing pens, as he put to herself.

And whenever Dale went to visit his uncle, the thing he most wanted to ask him (but didn’t, because he feared hurting his feelings) was why and how they ever got along well enough to live together as children.

He bowed his head slightly, and smiled in embarrassment when she mentioned that he was not like other guy’s she had met before. He did know that it was most likely true, but it was a little different hearing it verbalized from someone else’s mouth. He did love both hair, and art; he didn’t know anyone - man or woman - who spent almost as much time as he did making sure that his hair looked interesting. He couldn’t help but notice other people’s hair either. It was almost an unconscious act for him, to look at someone’s hair and try and work out what sort of product they used, or how they could improve their hair styles.

Dale could be described as a budgie at time’s, he seemed that trapped in his own reflection. He just liked mirror’s okay? What’s so wrong with that? His hair was an intrinsic ingredient. Almost unconsciously, Dale’s grey orb’s swept over Giselle’s blonde hair. Allot of girls would be envious of the light quality of her hair. It framed her face quite perfectly, the way she wore it loose. He wondered if she always wore it freely or if she wore it up every now and then? It seemed so smooth, and velvety as well, and he had to admit, it took a little effort to abstain himself from asking if he could touch it. Wow. That definitely didn’t mean to sound as creepy as it had, just then.

Dale blinked away his little musing’s however, as Giselle suggested he enter the field of hairstyling, or becoming a fashion consultant. He was flattered that she held him in such high regard, but could he really accomplish something like that? Well... he supposed he could, if he put his mind to it. Listening to the way that Giselle had spoken so self-assuredly, he could not help but feel no doubt in whatever she was saying. She could probably tell him that she worked out that clouds were made out of marshmallow’s and he’d have no doubt that it was true. (If you say something with enough conviction, after all, there are some folk’s out there who will believe it was true.) She’d given him something to think about, however.

His eyes brightened immediately at the mention of Spongebob Squarepants, his back straightened up and a large grin spread across his pointed features. “O’ course I’ve heard’a Spongebob Squarepan’s” He beamed, “Who hasn’?” Almost instantly, a mantra of the Spongebob Sqaurepant’s theme song began to repeat in his mind, and he had to force himself not to break into song and dance. “Tha’d be genius!” he spoke with enthusiasm. “ ‘nstead of a sponge, there’d prolly be a spot’d penguin or somfink ay? Could prolly ‘ave a pret’y blonde equestrian princess innit too.”

[Luke Peters]

There was a splinter in my finger. I hadn’t noticed until now, but it had started to smart, leaving me quite disgruntled. I must have picked it up whilst rubbing my hands about Romeo’s stall – bad idea now that I looked back on it. Sure, the woodwork was smooth enough, but like anything, it was beginning to wear down a little. Become a little rough around the edges, so to speak.
Where I first made the discovery, grinding my thumb into my side, I gave a little yelp of pain. Nothing to frantic to freak Dale out, but enough to surprise myself. I was never very good at dealing with pain, which may come surprising since I dealt with it so well. Being a little bit of an oxymoron, there? Well, I guess that I didn’t deal with it, but rather just kind of tolerated it. I was never a real ‘emotion shower,’ and pain came as no exception. Inside I would be screaming and crying, but outside I would remain calm and composed.

Screwing up my features, I attempted to suck the ailment out, placing my thumb in my mouth and holding it secure with my teeth as I vacuumed it out. This is what the cavemen did, I thought, tugging on the skin around the splinter in attempt to loosen its hold, they didn’t have Neosporin.
It was a long time before I reaped the bounty of my strange little harvest, finally managing to extract the lilliputian irritation. I spat it – yes, quite un-lady like – across the barn floor, scraping my tongue with my teeth to make sure that it was really off. I’d had an incident similar a few years back where I’d pulled a splinter out via mouth, only to find that it had re-stuck in my cheek. The result, as one could imagine, had not been pretty. Now I made sure to take extra precautions. Idly I focused my attention to a blank point across the way. I was still listening to Dale, just not looking at him. My eyes needed some exercise now and again.

When he complimented my imitation accent, however, my full attention flicked back to him, and I smiled despite the gloom.
“Aw shucks, I said lightly, shooing it away with my hand. “Thank ye kindly, but truth be told, I’m better at French.”
Instantly after making this remark, my cheeks turned scarlet. Hopefully he’d disregard what I had just said, for I would be most embarrassed if I had to practice my accent in front of him. Oh well, wouldn’t worry too much.

His sincerity in believing in me was nearly too much to handle, and I knew that if I wasn’t such a hard-ass that I would have broken down. I really wasn’t lying when I said he was the only person in a long while who’d given me support on achieving my dreams. Sure, I knew that being a world-class rider was a little bit of a stretch, but I figured that if I put my mind to it enough, it would be in the bag. I smiled softly and blinked, but did not respond again with words. The subject matter of my job would not be discussed any longer, for it was Dale now who we needed to fuss over.
I did not doubt that he had talent, although I’d yet to see it in any outlet other than his dress, and even was diluted in the shadows of the barn. When he made the impression that his mind was like a jumbled ball of string – that’s how I interpreted it – with ideas pertaining to one thread, all interlocking and weaving through each other, I could not help but become flustered. You see, my mind was very different, for I tried to keep everything as organized as possible. I pushed all the horrible memories to the back of my brain, and kept all my dreams and aspirations to the front. Occasionally one of the bad memories would dislodge and creep towards the front, but for the most part I kept them pretty sectioned off. It seemed as though Dale’s mind was a whole different animal, and this confused me a little, but I laughed anyways. I couldn’t empathize with him, since I in fact did not know what it felt like. Although I was planning on keeping this to myself, I decided to share it with him.
“Actually, Dale,” I replied, laughing lightly, “I don’t really know. My mind is more… color coordinated, if you catch my drift. More like…” I thought of a way to visually express this, opting with drawing boxes in a line with my fingers. After this, I laughed a little more and sucked air into my lungs. Breathing was a rather nice thing, eh?

Beginning to feel cold again, I had a revelation. Twisting around to face my tack trunk, which shimmered slightly in the faint light, I flicked through the combination and opened the lid. It was quite clean since it had just been moved not too long ago, but I was sure that it would become more than messy by the end of the year. I blindly reached inside, and it did not take my fingers long to locate the softness of one of Romeo’s dressage pads. Dressage pads, which had rarely been used, since at the moment I was training him on the jumps. Still, there they lay, their length slightly extended past the width of a regular pad for sake of the sport. I took one out and draped it across my lap as I searched for another. I only had two, which happened to be quite handy since there were only two people. I drew the other one from the box, knocking over what I assumed to be a bottle of Thrush-XX. I was pretty sure that the cap was on, so I tried to forget about it for the current moment. Tomorrow during class I’d sneak over here and fix up anything that had fallen. I just hoped that it wouldn’t start leaking the typical green substance.
Locking the trunk and turning back to dale, I passed him a pad with a smile. He hadn’t expressed that he was cold, but I kind of figured so. Placing the pad long-ways, it covered me completely if I sat cross-legged. Sure, the sides were open, but it was better than nothing!

I couldn’t help but giggle at his recognition of Spongebob. I didn’t realize that it was such a well known show! When he mentioned his own cartoon, involving an ‘equestrian princess,’ I couldn’t help but smile and blush, averting my gaze downwards. Sure, I was used to being complimented and or flirted with, but for some reason I still turned red in the cheeks every time it happened.
“Well, I’ll be sure to watch every episode of that show.” I smiled again, a little wider, and added as an afterthought, “And when I’ve just won the Olympics, I’ll be sure to give you a shout-out.” I nodded matter-of-factly, and turned back to face the opposite wall, a smile still plastered on my face.