.:Bright Colors:. {Open}

[Ashley James]

Ashley James

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Spring was one of Ashley's favorite time of year. She stood in her dorm, thinking of what she was going to wear. She looked out her window and saw the sun was out, showing all the bright colors of nature. She smiled and grabbed a white tank top and blue jeans out of her dresser. She also grabbed her sparkly belt and heart neckless to put on. Today was her first official day at Firefly Fields, and she was going to make it a good one.

After getting dressed she walked to her mirror and brushed her hair, putting it up in a messy ponytail. She was going to the barn, no need to look perfect. She smiled, put on her boots, and headed to the barn across campus.

Ashley entered the barn, seeing a few people around. She just smiled and walked down a ways to a stall labeled 'Riddick'. "Hey Boy!" The horse threw its head and walked to the stall door, hanging its head out. She put her hand under his chin and rubbed his head lightly. He had his night sheet on so all she could see was his neck and head. She laughed slightly and opened the stall door, the stallion backing up out of the way. She started uncliping his straps and pulled the blanket off the horse. His golden buckskin coat brightened up the stall, silky and smooth. She smiled, patted the horse, and walked out, locking the stall behind her. She was going to put his blanket in the tack area.

Now Riddick was a gentle horse, and she loved him for that. He was Lusitano stallion, and knew his stuff. She smiled as she walked back to his stall, the stallion's ears perked forward. "Come on boy, lets give you a good groom." She grabbed his halter and slipped it on him, walking him down to the cross tie area.

[Dale McCall]

Sun is shining and you’re feeling fine and the birds are singing in the trees.

It was Thursday afternoon. Dale hadn’t been planning on coming out here, at first. After the last bell rang, signalling freedom from the restrictions of the classroom, all he had wanted to do was have a duvet afternoon. He had just wanted to lay in bed for the rest of the day, all cosy and warm like a little bug in a rug. Sure it wasn’t very productive, but life wasn’t always about being productive was it?

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.

Dale stood within one of the stalls; his inky black hair, which had grown around his temples, and shoulders, framed his face as he bridled the Paint horse within the stable he was currently standing in, carefully loosening some of the strands around her mane as they got caught around the reins. Dale loved hair - his own hair in particular. It was a basic back-comb structure, slightly root-boosted framing a cheeky fringe. He was a thin man, quite petite really, standing roughly at 5’6”, with powdery grey eyes. His face, in his opinion, was quite interesting. Though he knew that he was quite handsome, he thought he looked like a troll wearing a woman’s wig backwards. He loved his image, and what he could do with it.

Dale loved to dress up; always been quite fascinated by his own image and what he could do with it. Dale had a non-masculine aspect to his attire. Probably due to his androgynous, danyesque dress sense; Dale usually conformed to specific subcultures which he considered vogue, such as mod, goth, punk and new rave, adapting them to fit his androgynous dandyesque appearance. 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.

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.

This afternoon, Dale was wearing red boot-leg jeans, held up by a pink belt, as well as a green tank top, a trashy PVC coat with furry collar and silver pointy boots. Cowboy’s wore boots didn’t they? Well, nothing like what Dale was wearing, obviously. His boots were way better.

A soft nicker broke the cessation of sound that enclosed the small stall as a Paint mare grazed on loose hay, peacefully. Zappa, as she was so fondly christened, was a 14 hand, white, sorrel, and grey mare with high white marks on her legs, white belly spots, a white vertical stripe from her nose to her forehead, and patches of grey patterns on the edges of the sorrel colors of her shoulder-blades and flanks.

She was a beautiful, agile and intelligent mare, with the stamina and surefootedness seen in many horse breeds. Bold and with lots of courage and determination, but gentle as well as calm. Dale hadn’t expected to gain her as his own horse; he had expected that once he arrived at Firefly Fields Academy that week, he would need to borrow one of the school owned horses. Zappa had been a gift, from his uncle.

There weren’t many students in the stalls as Dale unhooked the latch of the stall and began to lead the mare towards the cross tie area. As mentioned previously, Dale didn’t know a hell of allot about horses. His uncle lived in a tiny homestead just North of London. Owned a couple of horses up there. So Dale would sometime’s spend a couple of day’s up there and his uncle would show him how to ride. It was his idea to send Dale to Firefly. 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.

A soft whicker broke the silence as Dale led Zappa towards the cross tie area, causing Dale too look up from his musings and become a little more aware of what was going on around him. “Oh! Hey,” He smiled, friendly as he realized that he was not alone. Standing in front of him, tying up her own horse, was a young blonde girl with light curls. “D’ya mind if I se’ up?” He motioned towards the cross tie’s with his thumb, not wanting to intrude. He really only wanted to tie Zappa up to see how she would respond to it, before saddling up to go out for a ride.

[Ashley James]

Ashley James

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Ashley walked her stallion to the cross ties, clipping a hook to each side. Now, for a stallion, Riddick was a calm one. He never really acted out around mares. He was gentle as a gelding, and always had manners. He was the perfect horse for Ashley, they where a lot alike. They even both had blond hair!

Ashley was always a jolly person. Rarley would you see her sad or upset. Most the time, you could almost see a bounce in her step when she walked. Just don't judge her too quickly, she may be blonde but did not act like it. She loved her horse, her was the only thing she had now, well around her anyways. Her family was a long way away, and she had not made any friends yet.

She sighed as she reached for a brush to groom out her horse. She was not sure if she was going to ride today. It was only her first day here and she did not want to push her luck. She grabbed his halter as she started to brush his face even though he was already clean. She prided herself in keeping him clean, almost snob like.

She could still remember the first time she saw the buskskin stud. He was more playful then you could imagine. Her best friend lived next door where Riddick was. Ashley would go over there just to see him sometimes. See, Ashley lived in a high end neighborhood with a house that barley had a yard. She could never have a horse there, and her parents would not buy her one till she could take care of it herself for boarding. Luckily her best friends neighbor gave her riding lessons and such, and eventually sold Riddick to her. She loved it. She came to Firefly Fields to get a good education, and learn more about horses at the same time, she loved it.

She jumped at the sudden movement of Riddick, throwing his head, ears perked. She glanced over to see a guy walking to the cross ties. Automatically Ashley smiled, showing her white teeth. "Hello!" Her tone was sweet and soft. "Um yea, i don't mind." She smiled and switched her brush out for a mane comb to get Riddick's mane all nice a pretty. She glanced at the horse the guy was walking. "Your horse is sure a beauty, your a lucky guy." She smiled and dragged her comb through the mane. Riddick threw his head up and down as in agreement, making Ashley laugh slightly.

[Dale McCall]

Instantly, Dale’s mouth upturned into a grin, showing two rows of white, slightly crooked teeth. as the girl agreed to let him use the cross tie’s with her. Clicking his tongue, Dale led Zappa towards the stalls, maneuvering her in so that she faced towards him, before clipping a hook on each side of the bridle, to the stalls, making sure that it was long enough for her to lower her head comfortably if she wanted to, but not so long that it would be possible for her to become entangled or step on the rope. He also wanted to make sure that Zappa would not bother the other horse, or get tangled with him either. That would not look good for neither horse nor owner.

“Cheers,” He spoke, with his usual cockney lilt. There were many variations of the London accent. Most people cut them down to three variations: ‘cockney’ or ‘posh’ or ‘street’. Dale’s particular accent, was cockney. Culturally, it referred to working class Londoners, particularly those born in the East End. “You’re stallion’s pre’y genius, too. ” He said, admiring the girls horse.

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.

Taking out a curry brush, Dale began to move the rubberized teeth it in firm but gentle circular motions around Zappa’s neck. He could remember doing the exact same thing with a couple of his uncle’s horses, whilst staying at his homestead in England.

Zappa was playing a little shy, today, shifting on her feet, and edging closer to Dale, little by little as if she thought he wouldn’t notice. Then, with a snort, she butted her forehead against his thin shoulder. Dale chuckled, gently scratching her forehead with the fingers of his free hand. Dale loved Zappa’s smooth, easy gait, and the way she responded to every flick and touch of the reins. “A’right, simmer down, love.” He cooed, and Zappa stood still. She flicked her ears, as though she were taking in his word’s with weighing them carefully. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t made any other attempts at talking to the girl. Feeling a little bad, he turned his head to look at her.

“A’right then? My name’s Dale, by the way.” He spoke with a friendly smile, turning his attention towards the girl with the blonde curls. 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. “Wha’s yours?”