northclifflogs | A horse is a horse

WHO: Detlef and open
WHAT: Detlef finds and takes in a tiny horse
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Forest and stables
NOTES: There better not be any need for content warnings, guys.

1. The Forest

It isn't unusual to find things roaming in the forest. Detlef avoids a majority of them when he wanders; he wants to read in a sunny, warm place. Preferably with a cat crawling on him, but he's not going to bring them out where there might be predators. He's barely settled in, book open to chapter five, when he hears a rustling. With a sigh he gets up and looks around to see... a horse. A very small pony, unusually small. Any annoyance at the disruption is immediately gone as Detlef kneels by it.

"Oh, hello there," he says quietly, reaching to start getting burrs and snarls out of its mane. He can't risk using the Vice out here where anyone might come across him, but he knows how to handle a horse without it. It tries for a bite but he pulls his hand back in time; this he knows too. "You've been out here for a while. I'll get you an apple to bite soon, all right?"

2. The Stables

The tiny pony is now clean, with a few ribbons in his hair and his hide starting to gleam from brushing. He seems content enough to munch on the offered food, and Detlef is content enough to hum to the animal as he tries to come up with names.

"You need a small name, one that's not too imposing," he tells the pony. "But not too small. You deserve a little dignity to go with your little hoovesies." There isn't really any question of ownership - if anyone anywhere around owned a pony like this he'd know. He's Detlef's now.

[ooc: feel free to make something else up if you want to run into Detlef and neither prompt works!]

Threaded | Flat

"What," comes the blunt question, before Ben can stop himself, "is that."

He's pointing at the pony, impressed by just how small it is. It has ribbons in its hair. It's sickening.

And cute, but he'll never admit that.

It's early enough in the morning to still be cool when Faro heads down to the stables for his first riding lesson. He dressed for the warmth and ease of movement, wearing a cotehardie with looser sleeves and that stops at mid-thigh rather than around the knees like his usual style. He's worn his most comfortable shoes, too, even though they don't really go with his leggings.

He pauses to give a good couple knocks on the stable doorway just to make sure Detlef knows he's arrived before heading in to his still-unnamed mare's stall to greet her.

Waen stops by about mid-day with a wheeled cart full of sacks and his dogs meandering at his heels. It's a delivery of oats, something ordered from a traveling caravan, and he'd just returned from Northcliff with them. Some went to Detlef, as was required for all the horses the man kept, and some went to the store, but it was faster to deliver the bulk before heading home.

He knocks on the wall by the stable doors and lets out a sharp whistle to have his dogs come to heel.

"Delivery," he calls.

Despite how rude Fíadh had been on her last meeting with Detlef, true to her word she is on her way to the stables now with finished horseshoes in tow. In fact, she spent extra time and care on each one. She’d say it’s because she’s absolutely dedicated to quality, more realistically she was putting off handing them over. But now they’re done, and with no other options she’s determined to drop them off, grab her payment, and leave just as quickly. When she reaches the stables, however, she’s not able to find Detlef right away. With a frustrated huff she tightens her hold on her bag and makes her way further in.

Fíadh actually slows a bit as she passes each horse she sees, taking in their strong stature and dark eyes. She’s actually quite the fan of horses, but never spent much time around them. She resists the temptation to reach out and touch their faces as she moves forward, eventually seeing Detlef. She picks back up her pace with a deep breath in and rounds the corner.

“I have your shoes, it will be …”

She’s forgotten what she’s going to say. It could have been important, she can’t recall. All her mind can think about right now is the very, very small horse standing in front of her. And she knows that it’s weirdly tiny, it has to be, she just saw a line of very normal-sized horses. Her eyes are wide and her brows furrowed low, trying to piece together what the hell she’s seeing. Her mouth flaps briefly like a fish on land before finding the next words to say.

“...What’s wrong with your horse?”

2

2

no subject

no subject