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

[Dale McCall]

Dale’s pale brow creased in slight confusion as Giselle’s expression scrunched up. Watching as she lifted her index finger to her lips. It took a moment for his mind to register what it was that she was doing, before she unceremoniously spat out a tiny chip of wood from the excavated skin she had just bitten into. In an absent fashion, he began to rub his own thumb over the tip of one of his own index fingers, wondering how anyone could bear to bite into their own flesh. He could never willingly do it, that was for sure (if zombies ever rose from the dead, he knew he’d be screwed). He’d rather wait before he had access to a stickpin and some tweezers.

Back on the topic of accents, Dale’s smile grew as Giselle mentioned that she was rather good at mimicking the French accentuation. “Aww, go on then,” He urged, rather brightly, inattentive to the fact that she appeared quite unenthusiastic about vocalizing her faculty.

Dale’s attentive stare fell to confusion again, as Giselle mentioned her mind was more ‘color coordinated’, whilst his often felt jumbled and disorganized. Despite what people may think, Dale did have allot more going on in his head then he might let on. His right side, which he visualised was in all likelihood occupied with all of his little pink pineapples, spotted penguins, stars, rainbows, sunshine and all of the other pretty thing’s in the world, took up most of his brain-space. He was, by nature, a very creative guy.

The left side of his mind, he pictured, was probably about the size of a broom-closest; where all of his analytic thought, logic, and handle on system of knowledge resided. They probably looked like weird little stick figures with sad faces and dark rain clouds scribbled over their little cylindrical heads. These two sides simply did not get along together at all. So Dale’s poor little brain cell was caught somewhere in the middle of everything.

Whenever Dale’s little brain cell did decide on which fraction of his mind to focus on, a little snippet of his imaginativeness side always seemed to slip through.

Dale let out a small shuddering breath as his torso shivered, ever so slightly, as a cool breeze filled the stalls. The could feel the hair on the back of his neck, and gooseflesh beginning to prickle his pale arms as he rubbed his thumbs over his wrists. Squeezing his eyes shut and yawning widely, he then noticed that Giselle held out what looked like some sort of duvet, towards him. “Cheers,” He said gratefully, and unfolded it so that he could take a better look at it. On closer inspection, he realized that it wasn’t a duvet at all, it was a dressage pad, used on horses.

“Could’a brough’ these ou’ when the thermos wen’ empty, y’know? Save us from gettin’ hypothermia earlier on.” Dale poked his tongue out at her, before sweeping the dressage pad over his shoulders, Dale curled the blanket around his entire body and his head, like a nun. He leant forward slightly, crossing his arms against his stomach so that there was now little space for any of the cool air to creep in, but not before he flicked some strands of fringe against his face so his fringe didn’t separate too much, laughing quietly in despair at himself as he realized how shallow that was. He didn’t really care if he did look too ridiculous right now, wrapped in the dressage pad like some sort of pointed-faced nun. Some nun, he’d make. Dale was never baptized, and with his feather cut, and pointy features, if you put him in the ‘50s, he’d probably be imprisoned for being a witch. Locked in a trunk!

“Y’know we could make this into a new fashion,” He looked down at his blanket, a grin crept on his features. “I’s a good look. Very blanke’-chique. It’d save me all tha’ time I us’ally spend ge’ing ready – just wake up ‘n go!”

He felt warmer immediately, under the confinement of the dressage pad. It easily covered most of his small frame, save his boots, which were sticking out at either side, as he sat in a cross-legged position. As he slowly began to warm up, Dale noticed something flitter just outside of his peripheral vision; his grey orb’s pursuing the little gnat that had tried to dine on his hand earlier had returned, and was dancing just above his forehead now, daring Dale to try and swat it away.

Dale’s arms fidgeted under the dressage pad as the little gnat landed on the tip of his nose, resulting in Dale’s eyes to criss-cross as he strained to see it. He could feel it crawling around the tip of his nose, trying to find a suitable spot to nip at, before Dale suddenly felt his nostril begin to itch. “Achhoo!” The sudden jerk of his head being thrust forwards as he sneezed, resulting in the gnat to dart for it’s escape. Stupid li’l berk, Dale sniffled.

Sniffing again, Dale chuckled as Giselle declared she’d give him a shout-out once she became a famous equestrian. “It’s a deal, then.” He nodded affirmatively, uncovering one of his arms and holding it out in a type of invisible handshake.

[Luke Peters]

So he was going to make me speak French. I should have never opened my big mouth. Pursing my lips, I thought of something to say. Sure, I could chicken out, but that wasn’t me. After all, he’d been a good enough sport to compliment me on my English accent, why not give him a little taste of my French? Clearing my throat, I turned to face him, lazily blinking, and began.
“ You see, I lived een Frawnce for a leetle while, derfore, I know ehm, how do you say, how to speek the lang-weesh. Eet is very pretty – a romance lang-weesh for good reason. Eet has a certain… je ne sais pas.”
With the last few words, I smiled and made a round-about hand gesture that might imply searching for something. In truth, I was not at all upset by speaking to Dale, probably because I felt I had done a good job. Still though, I blushed heavily, and averted my eyes. Didn’t want to seem too conceited.

I remembered teaching French once to a boy who was going to flunk without my help. He was the kind of guy who nowadays I’d try my best to disregard – you know, the type who just screams obnoxious – but back then, I’d thought he was the cat’s meow. I was only in seventh or eighth grade, whereas he was easily a junior, so that may have explained my infatuation. Still, I was his teacher, and like it or not, he had to listen to me. Most of the time, he’d completely slack off, but when he continued to fail test after test, he’d taken my advice to heart. Now, I’m not going to lie and say that we didn’t establish a relationship, but like I said, he wasn’t my type. At most we’d hang out on the weekends when I entered high school, but our affiliation was purely ‘just friends.’

I snuggled up under the pad, nodding in silent acknowledgment at Dale’s thanks. I loved feeling warm and cozy; although the pad did not fully cover my body, I felt contained enough to be comfortable. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the side of Romeo’s stall. In the dark, I was almost sure that this would not be visible to Dale, but I would have to watch myself to make sure I didn’t fall asleep.
I’d actually had that happen before, which was quite embarrassing to admit. Me and a couple of friends had gathered around the television to watch a scary movie once, and I have to admit, all the holding of pillows over my head had made me tired. I remember being woken up by a gaggle of giggling girls who poked me in the side with the remark, ‘you’d been snoring.’ This must have been exaggerated, given I have never snored in my life – really, go ask my dad or any long-term friends – but I was still blushing like crazy. It probably didn’t help that one of the guys I’d liked at the time was there too. I usually upheld a high self-image, but being told I had been snoring had cut me down. He never asked me out, but I hear it was because he already had a girlfriend, only she went to a different school. He was older than me, and had moved to New Mexico after high school, and now apparently he has three kids. Weird.

As per usual, Dale’s voice had brought me back to attention. I hadn’t realized, but all the reminiscing had almost put me to sleep. I wish I had a watch, for right now the time seemed like half-past freckle. When he spoke about bringing the pads out earlier, my eyelids flickered and I smiled, releasing a little ‘hmmmf’ sound. When he spoke about the fashion statement however, and brought me out of my daze further, I had no choice but to reply. Not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that my mouth found it a lot harder to form words lately. Sleep deprivation will do that, I hear. Inhaling heavily, I shifted my position and lazily flicked up my eyelids to search him out in the dark. Good thing there wasn’t very much light difference, for the worst was waking up in a bright area and getting an instant headache.
Really listening to them, Dale’s words made me laugh, and my body shook with the tremors of giggles. It seemed like laughing was like hiccups – it just kept coming back in waves. When I had ceased my chortling enough, I rose to my feet (with some problems) and began modeling down the barn isle, nearly tripping over hidden objects many a time. It probably wasn’t the best idea, judging on my rapidly decreasing energy level, but I figured that it would get me moving a little.
When I was sure that I’d modeled my fashion in as many different ways possible, I took a little curtsey and sat back down just in time to administer a ‘bless you’ to Dale.
It seemed there was little else to say. After all, he hadn’t asked me any questions recently. I supposed that meant I had to take the initiative. Clearing my throat, I re-wrapped the pad around me and adjusted myself on the floor.
“So,” I said casually, brushing a thin layer of dirt off my exposed foot, “what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?” My eyes flicked from the ground up to meet his own, and I smiled in the darkness. Hey, might as well make some interesting conversation!

[Dale McCall]

“Magnifique!” Dale praised, unwrapping his arms briefly to clap his hands together. He had no idea what , ‘Je ne sais pas.” meant, but he was beguiled by the accentuation none the less. The most he could say in French, was “bonjour”, or “oui” (which he could never say without cracking a smirk, or snickering softly). Even the mere thought of the word caused the tiniest of a smile to work it’s way onto his features. He wondered though, if there was any truth to her statement. Had she really lived in France for a while? How genius was that!

Now perched fairly snug in the large pad, Dale rocked silently, inhaling deep, even breaths. His large grey orbs glanced rather lazily over at Giselle, who was now leaning her head back against Romeo’s stall. Under the dull lighting it was difficult to tell whether she was falling asleep or not. In this lighting, even with the torch, it was difficult to make anything out, really. Not that he’d mind if she did fall asleep; after all, Dale had fallen asleep in stranger places, himself. He could quite possibly fall asleep right there and then if he could. The time had evaded him completely. For all he knew they could have been sitting here for half an hour, an hour, or even two hours and he’d be completely oblivious.

Without much warning, Dale heard his companion shift position, rising to her feet as she began to model her ‘blanke’-chique’ attire. Dale grinned, as he viewed her parade down an invisible cat-walk, resenting a curtsey before she hunkered back down into her seated position beside her stall, and wrapped the pad around her body once more. “’Least we know tha’ if our chosen career’s don’ work out we got the blanket idea’s to fall back on,” Dale yawned loudly, palm raised to his mouth to try and stifle it so as not to seem rude.

Dale then took this as his opportunity to unwrap himself from the small pad and lay down against the stable floor, laying the pad over his torso as he twisted his body into a pose that didn’t seem ultimately comfortable; but it seemed to suit him just fine in his unnervingly static and sleepy state. From the waist up, he sprawled: left arm stretched out across his stomach against the wooded boards in which his torso leant, right palm supporting the back of his arched neck. His head lolled backwards in an awkward position, chin pointing heavenwards. His legs told another tale, each one folded almost frighteningly neatly together.

Normally, Dale would not have just sprawled out against the hard floorboards of the stables, but along with the jet-lag he had still not quite gotten over, as well as the enjoyment he was receiving spending time out here with Giselle, he really didn’t want to leave - just yet. As stated before, it was not the strangest place he could have fallen asleep. He’d slept in stranger places before. This one time, he recalled in particular, was when he was about five years old, still living with his parents, in a time where thing’s were a little simpler.

Even as a child, Dale was quite dainty. He had been an absolutely adorable, but possibly one of the naughtiest babies in the world. He once cried so hard and for so long that the doctor thought that he had meningitis. Turned out that he only fancied a cry. His first word was, “no!” and his first sentence was “I want the whole packet!”. He was exhausting with his constant need to be held and played with. If he thought that someone or something was getting more attention than him, he’d throw a tantrum.

Feeding him was an absolute nightmare. Whenever breakfast, lunch or dinner time came along, Dale was resolute on making it as difficult as he could. His mother would try everything to make her son eat a whole meal without throwing it, or spitting it out; there had been one time where she had spooned a small amount of bananas for breakfast and started to go through a succession of mimes to try and get Dale to open his mouth. “Here comes the aeroplane. Nyerm! No? How about Gary Numan’s aeroplane, better?” She hummed the opening few bars to Cars and Dale would look at her with as much disdain as his little face could muster. “I’m doing my best! I’m not an eighties pop star. How about a train? Woo woo!”

Meanwhile, Dale’s father would read the morning paper, drinking a cup of tea and devouring his bacon and eggs without a fuss.

“Oh no, Dale. I think Daddy’s winning the race. He’s going to see the bottom of his bowl first!” Somehow, this approach would work and Dale dropped his jaw instantly. His mother sighed in relief whilst her fed the baby chewed on his food, triumphantly. Dale could twist everyone he met around his little finger.

There was a small park, not too far from where they had lived. Most of the time, there was hardly anyone there, so Dale often had the swing set to himself. He loved the park; almost every day the huffy little toddler would drag his mother to the playground and sit himself straight onto the little swing set, waiting for her to start pushing. He would shriek with laughter, kicking his legs in an attempt to push himself further as his mother pushed the swings.

After the swing’s, she would take him down to a small duck pond. Keeping Dale back by clutching his coat, as he leant right over the pond, sprinkling bread crumbs over the surface of the lake, giggling as each one dived to get more. She had always been fearful that he’d fall in, even if the pond was only maybe, 3 feet deep. If Dale ever fell in, he wouldn’t go very far.

One day, after walking home from the park, Dale suddenly looked over at his mother and grinned cheekily. “Can we go back an’ feed the duckie’s another time?”

“Yes li’l man, and tha’s a promise” Dale fell silent for another minute, before adding,
“When I grow up, I wanna live in the park.” Dale’s mother started shaking with silent laughter, this was such an innocent little statement to make, she couldn’t help it. Thankfully Dale was looking at her so he didn’t know.
That evening, his parents fought terribly, resulting in a plate being thrown across the room, and Dale to fling himself out of the house, straight down to the park.

He sat there for what seemed like an eternity. Luckily, it had been one of the very rare night’s where it wasn’t awfully cold, or rainy so even whilst his heart wrenched as he curled up underneath one of the swing’s, Dale had been able to lay without too much discomfort.

He was unsure of how long he had slept under those swing’s, but when he opened his eyes, he realized that someone had swept him up in their arms, welcoming him in their embrace, and willing all of their energy and heat to transfer into Dale. Running finger’s through his hair, Dale’s mother was almost crying, shushing Dale and rocking him slightly.

“It’s ok now li’l man, there there, sshhhh, it’s going to be okay”. And Dale believed her.

Dale suddenly felt like a rain cloud had taken up residence over his head. ‘Stupid cloud, you’ll get my ‘air wet!’ he though crossly. But then Dale’s solitary brain cell shouted at him to stop with the pining; it was getting too dark in Dale’s mind and his brain cell wantes to read a magazine.

Realizing that he’d been silent for more than a moment, Dale’s alertness was brought back to the present as Giselle queried him about the coolest thing he had ever done. Tilting his head slightly towards the direction of her voice, lifting his eyes upwards trying to search out her own in the dark, when he found the two sparkling orb’s, he smiled. Then, inhaling lethargically, he thought about an answer. “Coolest thing I’ve ever done?” Dale considered for a moment, “well there was this one time I pu’ someone in a ‘eadlock. ‘E wasn’t even in the same room as me!” He bantered lightly, chuckling softly at his own bad joke. This was a tough question to answer. How could you only pick one coolest thing you have ever done? One memory came to mind, but it wasn’t as cool as it was scary, and it was too fresh in his mind to talk about just yet. So Dale tried to think a little further back.

“I go’a say tha’ the coolest thing I’ve ever done’s go’a be when me an’ my uncle saved this whole bunch of dog’s from gettin’ put to sleep at a pound,” he decided, tapping the toes of his boot’s together. “I was abou’ fifteen, and it was pre’y late at night an’ we drove abou’ twenty minutes to get there. It was a well foul place; jus’ a tin shed really. While Howard, my uncle kept watch, I snuck over ‘nd freed the lo’ of ‘em by cuttin’ open the fence with some bol’ cutters.” He grinned through the darkness. “I wanted to keep one, but ‘e wouldn’ let me. ‘E’s allergic to ‘em, so it was well nice of ‘im to help out.”

Though sleep was slowly but surely claiming him, Dale still grinned at the fond memory, before a violent shudder ran through his spine. ”Cor, I think someone just walked over my grave.”

Promptly, Dale sat up, and wrapped the pad further around him, exhaling loudly. “I’m freezing to death ‘ere,” He whined melodramatically, bottom lip sticking out more than what should be humanly possible.

Dale let a few silent beats skips by, and then spoke, looking up at Giselle with his large, grey orbs. “D..do you think I could sit with you?” An after thought. “I won’ jump ya, I promise. I just wanna ge’ a li’l warmer.

ooc: edited the bottom two paragraph's slightly. wasnt happy with how I ended it last time.