ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
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Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Jun 15, 2019 14:50:26 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Herr Von Muellerhoff][googlefont=Nixie One][googlefont=Spectral] THE PEMBERTON HUNT PRESENTS
The Newcomers' Weekend
[ upstate new york, late october ] Every year in mid-September, the Pemberton Hunt Club- founded in 1884- hosts the first hunt of the season.
You are not invited to that hunt.
You are, however, cordially invited to participate in the club’s annual ‘newcomer’ weekend, typically held in late October. The purpose of the event is to bring together those new to but interested in the sport of fox hunting, and to grant them the chance to try it out for themselves in a slightly less formal environment, without fear of bungling the etiquette or getting underfoot (or underhoof!) of seasoned riders, whilst still learning and participating under the guidance of experienced field staff.
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WHO MAY ATTEND?
You do not need to be young, fit, brave, or know anything about fox hunting! This event is open to riders aged 10 years and up (minors must, however, be accompanied by an adult) The Pemberton Hunt requires only that participants are courteous and capable of keeping control of their horse, both on the ground and in the field. All riders will be assessed by a Field Master prior to the Hunt to determine if it is safe for them to ride or not.
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WHAT ABOUT MY HORSE?
The Pemberton Hunt recommends all riders hunt on a sensible horse who knows how to stand quietly, will not kick other horses or the hounds, and is not panicked in mud, scrub, or open country. Horses do not need to be especially fast or good jumpers to participate, though those who have difficulty over obstacles should alert the Field Master so alternate routes can be made available.
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- Event Schedule -
12 PM - PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB
Ballroom
Welcome to beautiful and historic Pemberton! The first event of our weekend will be a group lunch, hosted in the sumptuous ballroom of the Pemberton Country Club. Become acquainted with your fellow riders over canapés and drinks inspired by the region and its specialties, and get to know the hunt staff who will be guiding you during the hunting tomorrow.
3:00 PM - PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB
Stables
Participants are to be assembled in the field by the stables to have their riding proficiency, horse’s condition, and equipment suitability assessed by the Field Masters. In addition, hunting rules and jargon will be briefly explained and each rider will be assigned a position in the Field.
After assessment, embark on an optional group trail ride through the serene wood and fields of Pemberton's outskirts.
8:15 AM - PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB
Stables
Tally ho! The Hunt starts at 8:15 AM and the hounds will not be waiting for late risers! The stables will be open from 5:00 AM; it is recommended participants arrive at least an hour before departure to ensure they and their mounts are ready to ride on time.
11:30 AM - 5:30 PM
Pemberton Region
The Hunt is expected to finish anytime from mid-morning to noon, leaving participants the afternoon free to spend as they see fit. Perhaps wander into Pemberton’s historic town for lunch and a spot of shopping, or enjoy a picnic and a walk with stunning autumn views at nearby Heartbreak Lake. Or, for those in need of pampering, perhaps enjoy a spa bath, sauna, or massage at the Country Club’s spa facilities, which will be open to hunt participants this afternoon.
6:15 PM - PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB
Ballroom
What would the weekend be without a taste of a Hunt Ball? Glamour up for one last jaunt together, recounting good memories and laughing about who fell off over dinner and dancing in the splendour of the Club's ballroom at night.
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Jun 15, 2019 14:50:40 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Herr Von Muellerhoff][googlefont=Nixie One][googlefont=Spectral]
This is, first and foremost, an excuse to get people writing, developing their characters, interacting with other members, building story lines- and just having fun.
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HOW WILL IT WORK?
The 'weekend' is broken up into events, as you have seen. To maintain a universal sense of time and general order, and to keep the pace moving comfortably along, each 'event' will be formally opened and closed by myself. There is no set length of time in mind regarding the duration of each event; they shall be closed with warning when it feels natural and appropriate to do so.
Each 'event' will have its own unique directions, the most important of which is the type. There will be two types of event: - Written Event - Much like you'd expect in a traditional RP; tell your story with the written word
- Free Event - In which you may select your preferred mode! Participate traditionally, with photographs, or a combination of both.
The purpose of having different event types is to enable those who wish to participate but lack the confidence to join a written RP to still have a chance to join in. (And because who doesn't want to take fox hunting photos?! It'd be such a missed opportunity.) The second important facet I want to note is that collaboration, while encouraged, is not compulsory. If you do not wish to write with a partner or a group, your character may still attend and simply mind their own business. This doesn't stop other people from approaching you, however. An index of the characters present on the weekend (and thus available to RP with) will be available in a separate thread for easy reference, and will be continually updated until the day the RP opens.
Finally, each event is optional. If a writer wishes to skip a particular part of the 'weekend,' they may- I do, however, require that they can explain their absence somehow within the story.
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WHAT IS EXPECTED OF ME?
Very little- this activity was designed to foster creativity and help people enjoy themselves. That in mind, please be considerate of others by observing the following:
- All Equus content rules still apply. If you need a refresher on what they are - here.
- Writing is to be in third person. For the sake of consistency, please.
- You may participate with a maximum of two characters. Let's not overcrowd it.
- Please pay attention to the directions. You look a bit silly if you write about snow on a summer day.
- Respect the timeline. Please don't post for an event that has been closed, or not yet opened.
I also ask that you follow a few basic RP and posting rules, outlined in a small doc. For those of you unfamiliar or uncomfortable with RP- don't worry! We're in the same boat and I've tried to lay them out as simply as possible for your benefit. Please note that these may be updated!
Finally: it's very important to me that you feel comfortable and free to follow your ideas. Please know that every participant is free and encouraged to approach me with questions or concerns, be it nit-picky details about the settings, extra information about the world of Pemberton, help understanding how the hunt works, or whatever else niggling away in your mind.
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GREAT! HOW DO I JOIN?
Firstly, please decide whether you are going to write, or whether you are only in it for the pictures. I ask this because if you aren't going to interact with other characters (ie. writing) then there is no need for us to clutter up the character post with profiles of people unavailable to talk.
Photographers- You don't need to do anything but keep an eye on the thread, read the directions posted at the beginning of each event, and if you notice Free events, that's your cue! Jump in at your leisure.
Writers - Please visit the separate character sign up thread, copy either code, and reply in the thread along with the information it asks of you and a photograph of your character. Please be assured that entering as a writer does not mean you cannot post photos when the opportunity presents itself. 
Sign ups are open from today, Saturday, June 15, and will be closed on Saturday, June 29; plenty of time to submit your character information and make a small avatar. Please bear in mind that I'm in a +GMT timezone and this could mean Friday night for some!
The first setting will be posted on Sunday, June 23, to allow writers a week to get thinking before the Hunt is officially opened on Sunday, June 30.
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I HAVE QUESTIONS.
Please send me a private message rather than posting here- I'd like to keep this thread as clutter free as possible. In the post below, I'll be providing the answers to questions asked, for the benefit of everyone.
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Jun 15, 2019 14:50:58 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Herr Von Muellerhoff][googlefont=Nixie One][googlefont=Spectral] THE PEMBERTON HUNT
Question & Answer
Does 'current location' in the character code refer to where my character will be when the Hunt takes place?
No. It asks for where your character currently lives and operates from; their home base.
Can I include my horses in my sign up post?
Absolutely! It's not necessary, however.
My character doesn't exist in game. Do I really need to provide a photograph?
For your main character, yes; it's preferable, as you'll be asked to post your replies in the RP with your character's avatar at the top. However, your character's companion- if you are bringing one- is not required to have one (though it would be nice! We all want to see!)
Can I link to my character mood/story boards?
I'm not going to say no, because I'd love to see, but it's worth bearing in mind that part of the fun of RP can be learning about other characters organically, through the narrative- and watching our own characters react to what they learn!
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When and where does the Hunt take place?
Late October, and it's set in Pemberton, a relatively small [fictional] town in upstate New York, USA.
Can you provide visual references?
Yes! Here is a link to a World-Building board about Pemberton, the fictional town in which both this event and my personal story is set. Within this board you'll find all sorts of written information and anecdotes about the town; the places in it, the people, the nature, things to do, along with a few of photographs to assist and inspire you. Please bear in mind that it is unfinished, and I'll no doubt be adding to the board over the course of the event!
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What should my character wear?
This will vary. Each event will be opened with an introductory post, which will include a set of 'special directions.' In these directions you'll find a sub-heading for attire, which will contain suggestions about what your characters should- or shouldn't!- be wearing. I also suggest you keep an eye on the temperature and weather conditions listed when deciding how to dress your characters.
Is there a code I should use when I post my replies?
If you like, you may follow in style with my posts-
[div align="center"][div align="center"][div align="center"][div align="center"][div align="center"][googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Spectral]
[div align="center"][div style="width:700px;font-size:12px;font-family:Spectral;"][img src="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/a59cb1_799abfd708de4e74ba1b60835c24e22f~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_415,h_415,al_c/a59cb1_799abfd708de4e74ba1b60835c24e22f~mv2.png" alt="" width="275px" style="max-width:100%;"]
[/div][/div][div style="font-size:28px;font-family:SPECTRAL;letter-spacing:2px;"] NAME HERE
[/div][/div]
[div align="center"][table][tbody][tr][td][div style="width:700px;font-size:12px;" align="left"]Now dazzle me with your words.
[/div][/td][/tr][/tbody][/table]
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Jun 23, 2019 15:59:13 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Herr Von Muellerhoff][googlefont=Spectral][googlefont=Spectral]
PEMBERTON HUNT,
DAY ONE
Welcoming Luncheon
12 PM - PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB
Ballroom
56°F / 13°C
Overcast; occasional gusts of light wind.
It has rained intermittently for most of the morning and continues to do so now.
- The Setting - The clubhouse itself is a sufficiently grand, classically colonial building of light grey-brown brick, stacked stone accents, Georgian windows, and more chimneys than makes sense. The landscaping is simple yet sophisticated: a sparse mix of evergreen and deciduous trees, trimmed hedging, and several kinds of currently flowerless shrubs. The smooth asphalt drive keyholes around a man-made pond, complete with a single fountain pluming water into the air. The lawns are nothing short of immaculate.
A sign directs hunt participants directly from the parking to the ballroom’s external entrance on the terrace via a paved and curving path, edged with a low, dark hedge on one side. The terrace itself is paved and fenced with natural stone, stepped with the same style of garden- less the trees- and is dotted with wooden outdoor furniture. Puddles sleep in low points and shine in the crevices between rocks.
The ballroom is a room of high ceilings, panelled walls and parquet floors. Sloped, triangular windows stud the vaulted ceiling, allowing a cool grey glow to drive half the darkness from the room. Two of four walls are fitted half their length with tall, rectangular windows; a third wall- the northernmost- is windowed entirely. The light it affords the room is almost as marvellous as the views they offer from the clubhouse's slightly elevated vantage point at the top of a knoll.
To the east, one can view the terrace from which riders are entering, along with the gardens and a partial view of the golf course beyond.
To the west, the corner of the parking lot is visible, as is the start of the path leading to the terrace- hunt participants can be seen scurrying along this route through the rain. A glimpse of the tennis courts can also be seen to the west, through the shrubs and wiry trees of the gardens around them. Beyond the parking, a portion of the club's drive, sloping and rolling back to the main road in the distance.
The middle of the path passes through the view to the north. Behind it, nothing but lawns, folding down the knoll and across the plain until they reach the darkened feet of the boundary wood, and the end of civilisation: miles and miles of wild trees, leading the way to the cold, cloud-crusted hills on the horizon, and an endless expanse of sky.
While dance floor makes up two thirds of the room, the remaining third contains a sitting area, with an alcove bar built in the far corner of the room. A half dozen large, round tables occupy a portion of the floor space; eight seats each. The tables are cloaked in russet cloths with a square of golden silk brocade laid over the top in a decadent flourish. Someone has folded cream cloth napkins into bows. The glasses are spotless, the crockery looks expensive, and the silverware shines like it was polished by an underpaid member of kitchen staff all morning. Arrangements of dried flowers make up the centerpieces. A waiter in white dress shirt, black slacks and white half-apron is serving drinks, while a second member of waitstaff adjusts the tablecloth on a long buffet table to the left of the terrace doors. Enticing lunchtime smells occasionally slither in from the confines of the club kitchen.
The sitting area consists of three long, moss-green Chesterfield lounges, neatly placed on three sides of a heavy wood and iron coffee table. A large Persianesque rug lies underfoot. The remaining side of the coffee table faces a spectacular fireplace, the fire offering a welcomed warmth to bystanders and filling the room with the comforting crackling unique to open hearths. A small assortment of oil paintings adorn the wall occupied by the hearth. Pastoral scenes, mostly. Flowers; farms; a few of the nearby lake. Potted plants dotted about the room round out the decorating.
Aside from the terrace entrance, the room has two other sets of doors: the first, leading into the foyer; the second, a staff-only door leading into a passageway, which presumably grants access to behind the bar, and to the kitchens.
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- Special Directions - - This is a Written Event. Your focus should be in telling a story with the written word and/or interacting with other characters.
- Attire: Smart casual. Organisers wish participants to be comfortable, but also that they respect the standards of the venue.
- Photographs: If you wish to provide images, I suggest photographing your characters getting ready. Dressing for lunch, driving to the venue, or even preparing to leave home are possible options.
- NPCs: Several waitstaff dart discreetly between dining tables and kitchen; one waiter remains off to the side. Many of the Hunt staff are present, including the secretary, the Master of Foxhounds (MFH), and the Field Masters, as well as one of the Country Club's associates. A dozen or so first-time fox hunters and event entrants are crossing the grounds and mingling in the ballroom. A handful of the Country Club's patrons are also about the grounds, golfing and lounging and taking lunch, but their access to the ballroom has been restricted for the afternoon.
- First Posts: I ask, please, that after posting their first post, writers wait until the host's second post to post again. This is to give your fellow writers a chance to get their character(s) through the door, so to speak.
- Briefing: Field Master Archie Vandover will be briefly assembling the group during the event in order to go over some basic hunt etiquette and help the group get to know each other.
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Jun 30, 2019 14:24:00 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Mr De Haviland][googlefont=Spectral] ARCHIE VANDOVER
The rim of his cup halted at Archie's lips. The smell of coffee with milk and sugar hovered beneath his nose. The warmth reached out and brushed his face. The clock on the opposite wall had, once again, seized his attention. 11:42 AM.The sound of the second hand marching around the clock face had occupied his thoughts for the last half hour, as had that of rain on the window panes. There had also been the quiet murmurs from the room over. The occasional decisive stroke on a keyboard, passing through the archway leading to reception. The muted sound of silverware being placed on tablecloths; the armchair beneath him alerting the room of his movements. And the aromas of the place- wood polish; freshly laundered fabric; the faded, floral scent of dried flower arrangements- they too, playing keep away with his concentration. How easy it was to notice little details when one needed most to drown them out. His eyes fell down to the papers he'd spread over the table. THE PEMBERTON HUNT CLUB,
IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB,
PROUDLY PRESENTS:
THE PEMBERTON HUNT CLUB'S
NEWCOMER WEEKEND
Archie pressed his lips together and took another sip. The view from the dining room's eastern windows was clouded by the lustreless gauze of rain passing across the lawn. The wood waited in the distance, a sodden stretch of black and bronze, standing against the hairline fractures in the sky that were the hills. How dreary the forest looked without its autumnal fire; the famous October blaze which set the trees alight each year having burnt down to nearly nothing this late in the season, and particularly after the handful of good storms they'd had earlier in the month. A stick season, locals called it. A wood of ragged branches, bare boughs, soggy dander. There were a few sprays of colour left- showers of sparks in the midst of ashes- but on the whole, it fell far short of typical tourist brochure glory. Landing the cup back in its saucer, he turned his attention back to his brief. Q. Will the fox be hurt?
A. No. We stop chasing when the fox goes to ground (into his den). We do not aim to catch the fox and we do not hurt it- we may not even see one.They definitely wouldn't be seeing one, he'd learned, unless chance dealt them an interesting hand. Mclaren, the MFH, had revealed they'd lay a trail for the weekend's event. Guarantees them a chase on the day, he'd said , and covers our backsides if any of those damn activists show up. He'd then gone on to expound strong opinions about people who held strong opinions with neither education nor experience to support them. Archie had smiled politely and opted for a smooth change of subject when given the chance to speak.
Q. Do you drop foxes?
A. No. That would be inhumane and contrary to the spirit of fair sport.He picked up his pen. Q. Do you drop foxes?
A. No. That would be inhumane and contrary to the spirit of fair sport. not to mention illegal.Hunts altogether should be illegal, Archie thought as he lowered his pen, because then there would never again be the possibility that he'd have to be part of one. His involvement in this one neared the definition of tragedy. The only people who held something resembling the power to make him participate- and had exercised it before- were five thousand kilometres away and had no part in the event. They knew nothing of it. This was not one of Lord Rothersay's country hunts; his mother had not gently guilted him into joining the party after an initial refusal; he was not a minor subject to the requests of his parents. No, the only person upon whom Archie could rightly appoint the blame for this sorry affair was himself. … Himself, and the wicked young madam of the Lowmax property who'd let slip his experience to one of the country club's most avid supporters. Quite on accident, he'd been assured. Archie had in turn assured her that he was quite assured there was nothing accidental about it, and he thought her assurances were quite false. Agatha had only smiled. In the subsequent weeks he'd tried on numerous occasions to appeal the decision. It didn’t seem to matter that it made no sense; no heed was paid to his logic, no consideration given to his arguments; Mister Foskett was a great supporter of all things Pemberton, including the country club, and if he’d given his word that he would find them an extra field master for their special event, then they would have an extra field master for their special event. The Foskett belief in finality of word was hereditary, it seemed, for Agatha appeared entirely indifferent to his pleas and had not entertained any conversation on the matter (he did, however, suspect she reaped some kind of wicked pleasure from it all.) Taking the last of his coffee, he stared absently into the rain and tried not to think of the chaos to which he'd resigned himself: he, tasked with guaranteeing the safety and enjoyment of two dozen first-time hunters- people he'd never met!- as they flogged about on two dozen horses in rough and open country. Yes, he thought. What could possibly go awry? Never mind his personal feelings on hunts, which, after thirty-something years of history, amounted to roughly equal parts aversion, resentment and dread. They all laughed at him and his apprehension back home; loved to recount the stories to new acquaintances, old friends, or whenever occasion permitted it. Have you not heard of Baldie's bad hunting luck? Infamous! And the stories would tumble forth. Nothing was off limits. The first unfortunate episode as a lad of seven years, the most recent disaster, nearly fifteen years ago; every sort of calamity experienced in and out of the field in connection with the damn things. Tossed into hedges, tipped down banks, chucked in mud, dunked in water. Attacked by swans, chased by cows. Stung by hornets and flies and nettles. Burnt by giant hogweed (a story beloved by those who knew it, for it really was the kind of story you didn't often hear) He'd been clawed from his saddle by trees and scratched to pieces by underbrush and screamed at by anti-hunting protestors- one of whom had tried to run him down in a car- and embarrassed in front of girls he'd fancied and, in general, failed to have the good time promised on each and every occasion. ... And everyone who knew about it had the cheek to find it all so very amusing. That, apparently, included Miss Foskett, whom he'd done the fool thing with in telling her about it at some earlier, friendlier point in their lives. Prize idiot. If he'd kept a clamp on it he might've been sitting in the tea room at Lowmax, finishing a cup of tea and biscuit before stepping out to work quietly with one of his sensible students, instead of downing a nervous cup of coffee- without a biscuit- and preparing himself to be the picture of affability and good spirits whilst inwardly consumed with anything but. Drawing another heavy breath, he collected his papers into a neat pile and stood. He'd be fine, of course- he'd feel better once he started mingling. Something to eat would help; perhaps a sneaky wine at lunch. His spirits would surely lift. Failing that? He was British. Restraint was his speciality. Able to delay no longer, he started for the reception. As he reached for a handle on the ballroom doors he found himself wondering, not about the people behind or the events which lay ahead, but whether Agatha's part in sending him there had been her dark sense of humour at work, or if it was because she genuinely wanted him to suffer. |
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Post by Christina on Jul 4, 2019 14:28:45 GMT
Ryan
Ryan O’Neil entered the foyer of Pemberton’s country club in the same fashion he entered every country club: with all the swagger of a man who had nothing to lose. Old habits die hard, he thought with a smirk.
As far as clubs went, Pemberton had its charms, but Ryan only gave a damn about two of them. The buffet and somewhere warm to sit my freezing ass.
He glanced over at the woman walking beside him. Aria Haywood was notably taller in her heels, her brown hair dotted by the rain but still remarkably held in place on top of her head. The corner of his mouth rose into a cheeky grin as he caught the color in her cheeks. Something about it warmed him through to his toes, “Do you need my jacket?”
Aria
No stranger to a country club, Aria Haywood couldn’t help but feel a pleasant familiarity as they arrived at Pemberton, though her early morning massage and present company had also gone a long way toward putting her at ease. By the time she’d entered the foyer with Ryan by her side she was feeling comfortable, refreshed even. The weekend away together was well deserved, and she had no intention of letting anything, not even the weather, dampen her spirits.
“No, thank you,” She turned to smile back up at him, tall and handsome in the new jacket he was offering her. She’d warm up quickly by the open fires, though most already had a group huddled around them, and what she really needed was to rest her swollen feet - at least until her tights began to dry, “I could use a seat, though.”
Ryan
After a quick nod in Aria’s direction, Ryan glanced around to get a bearing on the place, but all he really had to do was follow his nose and the soft thrum of voices to know where they were headed. Something smells good at least, he thought as he took in the smells on a long inhale. The savory aroma was a special form of torture for a man with an empty stomach. He threw a devilish look in Aria's direction. If only I hadn’t been too busy to eat breakfast.
As had always been his thing, the impulse to do the opposite of what was expected of him struck as if on cue the second they turned to face the ballroom doors–they could easily skip out on the luncheon to explore what else Pemberton had to offer that didn’t involve meeting anyone remotely like those they’d left behind in Twinbrook.
But as much as this was about a vacation, about getting back in the saddle and getting a taste of adrenaline that he was starved for since his injury, Aria was right. Morgan was right. This was also about networking. Everything was always about networking, especially in such a small, crowded industry.
And the man did, after all, have a business to run.
As they faced the ballroom doors, Ryan let his hand wander to the very lowest part of Aria’s back, the first in what was sure to be a series of impish behaviors, “After you, then.”
Aria
A few people had started to bundle up behind them, so at Ryan’s word Aria led their way toward what she assumed was the main attraction; A ballroom on one side off the foyer. His hand on the small of her back - no, call a spade a spade, on her backside - forced an involuntary smirk to her lips, one she’s glad he couldn’t see. This was it, the tone for the day ahead; She knew he’d be doing everything in his power to get a rise out of her, see her flustered. Especially so publicly. It was always his thing, and she could never predict when or where he’d strike with it.
And so she waddled into the ballroom, with perhaps a little more of a strut than normal just to let him know she knew what he was up to.
Things were a little warmer in there, thankfully. Like the ballroom of any other country club, it was obnoxious - but it would have to be, wouldn’t it? With views like that to compete with on just the other side of the glass. Groups of people in their Sunday best had already gathered in huddles, chatting away and sipping from Champagne flutes being dished out by a single waiter making the rounds. A quick scan of the room confirmed to Aria what she already knew - she knew no one here. That was one of the things that had been so enticing about this trip; A weekend away in Ryan’s world.
Just short of the centre of the room, she slowed her pace, turning to him; She might have been desperate to make a beeline for somewhere to sit, but she chose instead to look up at him with intrigue. Did he know anyone here? Recognise anyone? Green eyes just could never help but beam when they settle on him, on her Ryan, “Do you want to get a drink or something?”
Ryan
The ballroom was…a ballroom. Not unlike the ones he'd been to back in Twinbrook. High ceilings and expensive trimmings, paneled walls and sparkling chandeliers and curtains as thick as tapestries.
They just weren't the kind of place that Ryan liked to be. Too stuffy and full of people with a penchant for small talk.
But Aria might as well have been the only person in the room when she stopped short and spun around to face him, the look in her eyes pinning him in place and making him grin like the fool he was. Not his well-rehearsed smile, not the ones he put on for show, but a real one. The ear-to-ear, light-up-your-face kind.
“I’m working on an empty stomach,” he said with amusement, meeting her gaze with his own, “One drink and you’ll be carrying three of us out of here today.”
Aria
“Oh will I now?” Her laugh was wholehearted in response. Things had started to feel so easy between them, like they always had before, “Perhaps I’d leave you here instead? Lord knows, I might actually get some sleep without your snoring.”
Ryan
Ryan took no time in rising to her bait, “It’s not my snoring that keeps you up at night.”
Aria
Too easy. Her eyes flashed him a look, one that said got you, “Are you calling me a liar, O’Neil?”
Ryan
“I know better,” he said casually, “You'd just argue your way out of an accusation.”
Aria
“So I’m an argumentative liar.” Tightly pursed lips were trying their best to hide Aria’s grin, “Got it.”
Ryan
Ryan, knowing that look on her face, was unable to help himself, “A very convincing, argumentative liar.”
Aria
Aria’s mouth fell open, feigning shock. Slightly stumped, though, she was glad for the intrusion of one of the wait staff. Sometimes, she just couldn’t match Ryan’s wit, though not for want of trying.
“Can I interest either of you in some bubbles?” She asked, a pleasant smile on her face, lowering her tray to the pair.
Ryan
The girl–no, woman–who approached them was as well manicured as the lawn outside. Her ruddy hair was neatly braided, not a strand out of place. Her uniform had recently been pressed, a starchy, flawless white fabric that was as bright as the smile she wore on her face when she extended a glass in their direction.
Ryan returned her pleasant smile with his casual charm, “Have anything stronger than that?”
Aria
Aria threw Ryan a look that was almost threatening; The rest of the room were politely sipping on fine, sparkling wine and here he was, asking for something stronger. Aria about snorted, especially as the waitress didn’t seem to be equipped to deal with such a request so early in the day. Aria’s lips fell to a smile, sweet as honey she requested, “Could you please get me a soda water? Lime, no ice. And a small Macallan for my gentleman friend, here. To warm the bones.”
As soon as the woman was out of earshot Aria’s eyes flash right back to Ryan; “You realise this isn’t a frat party, right?”
Ryan
“We could easily turn it into one,” he said, smiling as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they took toward a nearby arrangement of Chesterfield sofas. He liked the look of them, but he liked the warmth of the fire better.
When they reached the edge of the first couch, Ryan glanced around at the faces sitting in the nearby chairs, none of them recognizable. But why would they be? They were hundreds of miles from home.
There was only room for one, so Ryan leaned against the edge of the couch and gestured for Aria to take the seat on the end beside him.
OOC
We put these two together in one post so it's simpler. Hope that's ok!
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Nora Pigott
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Trail Dust Taster
Posts: 4
Likes: 9
Main Stable: Oxlip
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Post by Nora Pigott on Jul 6, 2019 22:37:45 GMT
NORA PIGOTT & KRISTIANA DOVER
6:05 am…
It was easy to get lost in the rushing scenery; long stretches of blacktop lined by not so bare trees gradually giving way to a small town that reminded them of a village just outside of Wicklow. And in the fog of the early morning rain, the sleepy little town seemed to just draw them in with its small shops and cozy aesthetic. It was nice; really after a month …more like three, of being beyond the reaches of civilization, to come to a place that reminded them a bit of home. The mares had been left at a nice little layover yard just outside city limits and they had taken a cab to the nearest inn.
6:45 am…
Welcome to Pemberton…
There wasn’t any fanfare to their arrival. Just the steady deluge of rain and gloom that had caused them to come into town in the first place, that…and a promise of a long hot shower after check in.
The hostess had been polite when she had passed over the key to their room along with a hodgepodge of a fliers and advertisements for the local area. They would go through them once they were settled, but all that was on their minds currently was getting rid of the layer of grim that had clung to them since their last town day; which had only gotten worst with the weather that seemed to follow them.
Three and a half hours later both women had showered, Kristiana had taken to the small patio just outside of their room. The quite little seating area was covered with their breakfast dishes and the copious amounts of advertisements that they had received earlier. Nora had taken to one of the queen beds, blissfully floating between the realms of sleep and consciousness.
“I’m bored…” Nora didn’t bother to look up; this was nothing new for Kristi. She would often proclaim moments of boredom whenever they had town days, normally just before dragging Nora out to a pub and drinking every poor lad who thought they could keep up under the table.
“Did ya wanna go to this?” A deep breath; and then a rolling her face from side to side in the plushness of the duvet before finally lifting her head to see what her friend was talking about.
THE PEMBERTON HUNT CLUB,
IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE PEMBERTON COUNTRY CLUB,
PROUDLY PRESENTS:
THE PEMBERTON HUNT CLUB'S
NEWCOMER WEEKEND
“I thought you wanted to relax and wait out the rain…not go galloping through it,” she says as she takes the flyer from the brunette’s hands.
“Could be fun...” A snort escapes Nora as she reads through. She looks up to Kristi curious to see the look on her face but not at all surprised at the mild interest she finds there.
“We’ll have to go shopping.” The other woman’s groan causes her to grin, but she knows Kristiana has made up her mind about the affair; dress code be damned. She glances at the clock; they have some time, they could easily hit up one of the shops for some presentable clothes and make it in time if they managed to pull themselves from out of the nest they had made for themselves.
11:45 am…
Shit…The snort that sounds behind her was clear indication that the vulgarity hadn’t stayed behind closed lips as Kristiana nudges her in the ribs. They had entered the ballroom with quite clicks of brand new heels, their strides in cadence out of old habits. Double trouble… Kevin’s voice seemed to echo in her head as they make their way towards the large fireplace. They wouldn’t cause that much trouble if she could help it.
“Don’t be a twat,” the warning was there even with the grin that split Nora’s face. There was no way she was going to let Kristiana get a rise out of her. And besides… two could play it that game. But it wouldn’t do them any good to get kicked out of the place before they even spoke to anyone. They would never hear the end of it if they did.
“You’re walking too slow Pigott.”
“Is there any point in me asking you to behave?”
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Nora couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that left her. No…where would be the fun in that? This wasn’t her father’s place. Pemberton thankfully lacked the cold hollow impression that the ‘old house’ seemed to fester. And yet; even with its quaint colonial charm…it was hard not to stiffen up and remember another time.
“I would rather not get an earful from Chloe`, because she always finds out, especially when I’m with you.” They stop just before reaching the fireplace in order to take note of new people who managed to slip in. A small menagerie of …How would Chloe` put it? Crucial assets? Would it be nice to come across someone willing to make the Lord knows how many hours trip out to their yard back home …absofudgeinglutely… But truth was…this sort of thing was normally something the ‘Ice Princess’ herself was better suited for. But the deceivingly temperamental red head had rather loudly refuted the idea of living out on the trail for four to six months. And let’s not forget having to sleep in a tent. The sour look on her face was more than adequate to give across her answer.
No, it was left up to them. A hilariously horrifying thought that was sure to bring about the temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums should a certain red head actually find out that they were there.
If she finds out…
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OOC Sorry if this is a bit much XD. |
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callixta
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Saddle Polisher
Posts: 145
Likes: 347
Gender: Female
Main Stable: Foxberry
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Post by callixta on Jul 8, 2019 16:46:43 GMT
DEMET VALENTINI & AYSE MERENLAINE
"This place is impressive," Demet stood now gazing up at the sprawling structure of the country club they'd been deposited at, keeping her tiny black bag pressed against her rumbling stomach. Ayse had always admired the way her friend showed every emotion on her innocent face; she'd often considered Demet's excitement to that of a child staring in awe at a heap of brightly wrapped gifts, and almost envied the colorful way she saw life.
"Can we move out of the rain?" Ayse huffed, pulling her smart black jacket closer around her front. The two girls were polar opposites in so many ways but had no closer friend than each other. Whilst Demet somehow seemed to survive any weather, Ayse hated anything other than blistering sunshine. The heatwaves back home in her small Istanbul village was the only thing she missed about their homeland; especially now as they stood in the drizzling rain.
Demet gave a small shrug, her dark eyes trying to capture all the sprawling land and golf course surrounding them. Ayse shook her head and began to walk along the stone path. Her father was what she considered a stiff upper lip; a man simply born to wear a suit and enjoy the luxury of a glossy office full of glass windows and sit in country clubs, drinking expensive whiskey and networking. She'd spent enough of her childhood in these types of places that she was certain they would, for the most part, go unnoticed and without trouble.
A small yelp behind her made her spin around to see Demet wobbling on one leg, attempting to cradle her other foot mid-air whilst muttering Turkish curse words as one of the many stones lining the pathway. Demet had two go-to colours; yellow or red. Although she was confident enough in any crowd, she wasn't overly confident but rarely opted for more subtle tones that helped her actually blend in, rather than stick out. Even now she stood out in her bright yellow; another thing Ayse both admired and cursed at the same time.
"Come on!" Ayse linked their arms together and safely escorted them into the dry warmth of the club; a high ceiling and walls full of windows and old paintings, comfy sprawling sofas and a roaring fireplace already the centrepiece of a small cluster of people.
For Demet, it was something new and overwhelming entirely; strangers full of stories and wisdom, jokes she probably wouldn't understand and experiences she could only dream of. For Ayse, it was a sour reminder of exactly the type of life her father had preened her for. She gulped down too much of her drink to squish away the painful memories and cast a look at Demet who was wistfully staring at landscape paintings on the far wall.
"I hope we can eat soon," Demet murmured, guiding them past a loud group and closer to the windows where she could better enjoy the scenery. Even after such a short time living with Benedict she'd come to realise just how much she too enjoyed the outdoors; at one point being nestled in a warm room on a cold, rainy day sounded like heaven but today it felt depressing and restricting. Food and books were her best distractions and the three pastries she'd sampled in town had done little to conquer her never-ending hunger.
"Don't you dare ask for another plate," Ayse hissed; memories of mortified waiters and amused guests at various eating establishments springing into her mind. Demet had the biggest appetite she'd ever known, yet was far too much of a bookworm to actually work out but never gained an inch of weight. Ayse just had to look at food and she felt the weight join her hips. "So...do you know anyone here?" |
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eowyn
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 80
Likes: 287
Gender: Female
Main Stable: rosehill & windchase
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Post by eowyn on Jul 9, 2019 12:24:01 GMT
She’d been here before. Perhaps not the same building, nor even the same state..but the panelled walls, the clink! of glass, the crowd of strangers...it was all the same really. The memory gaped like an open wound, ragged edges long since scarred and yet the injury itself still pulsed like fresh, bleeding a steady poison that seeped into her bones, her mind, her soul. Oh how pretty she’d felt, a flaxen haired angel in her ivory gown, twisting his ring around her finger again, and again until the skin tore and bled. And here she stood, 10 years later and nothing had changed, trading the hand that had once held hers for a glass that trembled a storm within her grasp. Outwardly she was serene - a perfectly put together woman standing by the windows, framed by the dark wood behind her and the hazy ribbons of light that fell across her face. Tranquil, and yet in her hand the wine continued swirling; around and around and around.
The parquet flooring shone to perfection, spotless as was expected and beneath Nona’s feet it screeched . Every step was an audible protest as she dragged her converse clad feet, delighting upon what she saw as an attack upon something so.. bourgeois. She was an activist, a vigilante, a rebel and the thought of snubbing high society was nigh irresistible. She’d always scoffed at such ideas as ‘fox hunts’, a bunch of toffs in top hats spurring on horses who’d happily dump their riders in a ditch if they could get away with it. The very thought both offended and amused her, and at scarcely 19 she was bold enough and brash enough to act upon it. She had a million arguments loaded up and yet...she’d promised, hadn’t she, and so the loose knots of her hair and the sternness of her gaze would have to do…for now. She continued across the ballroom, sidling though the great lances of hazy light as she looped her arm around the stoic blondes, glancing up with an expression that was all fire, teasing and silent laughter. She was the rogue element, the uncounted for variable that had thrown an almighty spanner into Eowyns best laid plans - her desperate, grasping attempt at freedom from the yard and position that cornered her burdened suddenly by a certain red headed child . She’d been kicked out, shoplifting…or was it a bad boyfriend? She didn’t know, she didn’t remember and she certainly didn’t care , but oh how that minuscule maternal side of her just seemed to explode. To be entirely truthful, Eowyn felt safer taking her with than leaving her back on the yard with no supervision - she was sure her four hoofed investments would thank her.
For all the elegance and refinement her companion had Nona was entirely bereft, her shoulders gracelessly slumped and fingers forever searching for a phone she’d been forced to give up - nay, abandon - upon arrival. She was like wildfire turned human, her presence filling the room, restless and impulsive. She was always bouncing madly between topics, her mind a mile a minute as she sought the most controversial course of action. Eowyn however had the charisma of a statue, stilted in conversation and swathed in an impression of indifference that kindled offence in most. Together they formed a mystery of their own, one that was frequently guessed at but never truly unveiled. They shared no appearance, no relation and at times no civility..but they stuck together like limpets, playing off each others annoyances and quirks in their own fractured little world; one thrilled to learn from an idol, the other silently grateful for the effortless and openness of the others companionship.
It was a conference that had brought them here initially, and Eowyns restlessness that had driven them so far from the beaten path and into the idyllic little village of Pemberton. It had been so long since she’d been in the saddle, finding herself confined more and more to that damn office as the weeks sped by. Cobhar had turned almost feral he’d been in the field so long, inches deep in mud and lashing out at her like something unhinged. The youngsters were well in hand, and the older ones off trotting the globe in a way that made her heart ache. It wasn’t a midlife crisis, it wasn’t, but when she’d heard of some off the track thoroughbreds being sent to Ireland for sale she couldn’t help but to intervene, negotiating for a certain hellcat of a mare that had caught her interest. What was another quick trip from Larne to Cairnryan anyway?.
// this is the worst thing i have ever written im just getting it out the way so i can interact with people omg |
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Paige Price
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Saddle Polisher
Posts: 114
Likes: 205
Main Stable: Calcott Farm
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Post by Paige Price on Jul 12, 2019 15:00:11 GMT
 KEITH FORBES
It was one of those trips where Keith questioned his sanity, on the entire journey over to Pemberton. His children questioned him every day, but he had to laugh at himself, as he packed a home made "medical kit", infront of worried eyes as Leanne and George reeled off terrible google information, flight times, travel directions, and the outcomes that may be from their old dads devotion to breaking his body even more than it already was. On another journey was Joe, Keiths seasoned partner of the hunt, Packed up and flown by capable hands. Keith only had to worry about himself, taking his meds correctly, and not overdrinking..
Which meant plenty of alcohol, buying cuban cigars and forgetting to take the pain relief (which he would curse for the following day)
Settling in was pretty standard; the club was nothing he hadn't seen before. Bland green/grey/brown tones, way too much gold, even more money than sense but the beautiful women serving food on polished trays never got old. Keith entered without so much as a glance at the architecture, or the history. That was of no interest to the haggard irishman, who just wanted to perch at the bar and listen to the introductory speech, maybe work the crowd a little, and get some sleep. 10 years ago he may have been "that one" at an event who bought the entertainment to the party tents, with a little help from his friends. "Friends" who had dropped off the radar, a few in particular he was hoping to catch here today. It had been well over a year since he touched USA soil, or been to any international events. the years of graft were taking its toll on him, and now he was leaning on an archway to rest a moment before heading off to find the bar. |
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Aug 8, 2019 2:53:53 GMT
[googlefont=Special Elite][googlefont=Mr De Haviland][googlefont=Spectral] DOROTHY LAWLEY
Dot closed her eyes and leant backward, listening to the patter on the window behind her.
In her mind she pictured the big, bled-out sky and the clouds, billowing through like heavenly smokestacks, bearding the hills with grandfatherly tufts of pearl. She saw the trees, the straggly and striped trunks of quaking aspen; the confetti of sycamore, black willow, beech and maple leaf decorating the forest floor; the pointed tops of balsam fir and black spruce making pin-pricks in her sky. Rain scattered down over sodden crops and ungathered hay and empty tractors; it caught in the pipes of matchbox barns and clapboard farmhouses where it sang in gurgles and wet, metallic chimes. She thought of looping valley roads, of chimneys leaking smoke. Rickety, rumbling bridges and pine cones on the road and the rain-studded eyelashes of dairy cows, waiting to be let back inside; everything a raindrop would see as it free fell over Pemberton before it died on the window behind her, shattering with a soft and aqueous pat on a pane of glass; the most anti-climactic of ends after such a marvellous journey.
As she thought of raindrops zooming to their fate, Dot was distracted from the anxiety which had kept her company from waking. This was mostly induced by thoughts of the hunt and the wealth of faux-pas she expected she'd commit during the course of the weekend, but had steadily increased when she caught that first sobering glimpse of the clubhouse waiting at the end of the road. And when she got lost on the way in and had to be retrieved from the lawn by an attendant. And when she set foot in the ballroom and saw it to be clustered with people she didn't know, each representing an opportunity for her to embarrass herself, to feel the acute burn of her own inadequacy, or both.
It was also being added to by the woman standing a few feet away- tall, solitary, aloof; eyes fixed on a world beyond that behind the windows; passive-aggressively swirling a whirlpool into her wine. The tension she radiated would have been enough in itself to magnify Dot's nervousness, but the familiarity of it was pushing her close to the edge.
It was her bearing. It reminded Dot too much of her employer, a woman who emanated a similar air- an air best and most concisely described as go-away-on-pain-of-death; a kind of fearsome and final gravity not unlike what Dot imagined circled around black holes in space as they sucked things inevitably and irreversibly toward first-degree doom.
That.
Dot tried to avoid Agatha when she had that air. Avoiding this woman, then, could also be a good idea.
Discreetly angling her body away from the wine-swirler, Dot made another furtive survey of the room and pulled her phone from her pocket.
12:01 PM.
Late.
Once, Archie had told her that arriving at social events at the appointed time was the height of rudeness. One arrives ten to fifteen minutes after the given time, Dottie, he'd said. To allow one's host a bit of wiggle room- you know, in case of a dreaded soup emergency, or Uncle George refusing to dress for dinner.
At the time, Dot had decided he was joking-
(mostly)
(maybe?)
- but now she was beginning to reconsider. Archie was never late for anything. And yet he was absent. Decidedly absent. There was no chance she'd missed him in the crowd- it was too difficult not to notice Archie, all six-feet-and-altitude-sickness-inches of him, making cautious clearances through doorways and stooping slightly to shake hands. One would have to be very blind or very short to miss him.
Dot was neither.
… and if she were, the hot blush which poured itself out like an oil spill in her face would do the trick.
Feeling the pre-emptive creep of heat in her cheeks, she turned fully to face the window.
Dot always felt out of her depth around Archie. In every way. Accomplished and skilful and smart and embarrassingly good-looking but especially because of his wit. Rarely could she differentiate between when he was playing and when he was being serious. The mannerisms he adopted for each situation were used interchangeably with the other; his tones of voice and bearings were sorted into contradictory pairs based on whim. Good news came in tones of dry pep; bad news was borne with all the optimism and cheer in the world. Requests were made laughingly; discipline was administered gently; jokes were delivered with the level tone of a man who has every conviction that what he is saying is true and correct and that he has the authority to be saying it. The number of occasions on which she’d interpreted his dry humour to be earnest and literal was embarrassing. What an idiot they must think her. Baste those apples in sherry and sugar the next time you want to treat him, Dottie; only the best for Agatha Foskett's horses. // Oh, didn't you know? Feeding them bread with crusts left on makes their tails curl, Dottie. They've just proven it.
(How was she supposed to know he was joking?!)
For the umpteenth time that day, she began nervously smoothing out a pigtail. Had she arrived at the right time? Was this even the right place? Worse- had she been right to take his answer of 'mink or pinque' as a joke when she'd asked what hunting people typically wore to lunch?
(she'd assumed it was a joke)
(right?)
(… wasn't it?!)
'GATHER ROUND, PLEASE.'
Dot jolted- the voice was as sharp and loud and brassy as the clanging bell that accompanied it. She turned to discover the culprit: a middle-aged woman with a clipboard tucked under one arm, wearing a modest brown pantsuit, standing in the midst of two-dozen dining chairs arranged into a large circle. She lowered the bell and glanced up at the man next to her.
He was wearing a charcoal sweater over a button down with dark jeans, and look of vacant surprise.
Be cool. BE COOL.
'GATHER ROUND, GATHER ROUND.'
Dot stared at the scuffed toes of her Doc Martens the entire way from the window to her seat, hoping no one could see the resemblance her face bore to a pink balloon.
'Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh.' Archie paused to draw a sharp, deep breath. Then, he lifted his eyes to the group and smiled. 'Well. Welcome one and all to the Pemberton Country Club. And to Pemberton itself- I do believe we have some visitors. Some from as out of town as the UK, I'm told.' His brow lifted into an amused expression. 'You ought to feel quite at home in the current weather, I expect.'
Equal measures of groans and snickers flickered around the circle. Dot noted a few craning necks and several sets of nosy eyes. Archie continued.
'My name is Archibald- but do please call me Archie- and I'm to be one of the field masters this weekend. We're going to get into field rules and such in a minute, but first we're going to have a little getting-to-know-you session.’
Dot seized.
Oh no.
‘We'll go around the circle and, one at a time, if you could tell the group your name, where you've come from, and three random pieces of trivia about yourself- the more fanciful, the better. Let’s make it interesting, shall we?'
He turned to smile at her.
Dot felt her stomach fall into her boots.
'Let's start with my brave young friend over here.'
Later, Dot would marvel at how she managed to lift herself out of her seat. How she managed to stand. Speak. Breathe.
In the moment, she thought of none of that.
She thought only of getting it over with as fast as she possibly could.
'My name is Dot- Dorothy. I’m just from here. Pemberton. Well- Well I'm really from M- uh, no, it doesn't matter. Um…'
Three random facts? "The more fanciful the better." Archie didn't realise what a tall order that was when you were the most boring person on earth. She tried to think of something about herself others might find remotely out of the ordinary. I don't know who my dad is; I like to eat condensed milk out of the can; I collect model horses and name them after my favourite real ones; I'm still a little bit scared of the dark; I have stuffed animals on my bed; sometimes I pretend I'm more important than I really am.
'I like to read adventure novels… um, and to listen to music. Indie and alternative, mostly. And as unproduced as possible. Live… music.' Nobody cares, Dot! 'And I like beach combing. Decorating with what we find on the beach and making things with it.’ Not that there are any beaches around here.
And with that she sat abruptly, the ringing in her ears drowning out the kindness in Archie's voice as he thanked her along with the words of the poor person fated to follow her lead.
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OOC
If you are desirous of the woe-is-me explanation as to why this post comes two weeks behind my schedule, do send a private message! Otherwise, I'll try to keep a shred of dignity; thanks.
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Zinnia
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Saddle Polisher
Posts: 100
Likes: 163
Main Stable: Rocky Mountain Estate
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Post by Zinnia on Aug 27, 2019 3:51:29 GMT
A trip to Pemberton is surely something special. Especially when the air is crisp, the trees sway in all sorts of warm, decorative colours, and when the feeling of nostalgia overpowers an already frail heart.
Carlie and Zinnia were used to the beautiful autumn season in Austria, but there was really nothing quite like upstate New York. The winding, narrow and leaf covered roads were like something straight out of a magazine. It was a different kind of beauty. One that reminds you of your early years, when everything you touched and saw was surreal. Carlie and Zinnia drove around all morning simply taking in everything. There were far too many stops on the drive and a few close calls from aggressive New York drivers. The crisp air made the girl's cheeks and noses rosey red, but their eyes twinkled as they looked up at the colourful trees and saw the golden sunlight cast magical rays through the orange leaves. Throughout the morning Carlie encouraged Zinnia to stop thinking about how the horses were doing on their travels. The two walked around a charming little town decorated by nature's autumn touch, and filled with shops and old buildings. One of the old building's was a quaint coffee shop that displayed fantastically delicious pastries in their window sill.
"We should go in, just look at those pastries."
"Do you think they have apple cider? I really just want apple cider."
The coffee shop was just as you would imagine. It was warm with wood floors and walls. The air smelled of smoky warm coffee, and every now and then swirls of cinnamon and sweet pastry danced in the noses of costumers. Carlie bought her pastries (one pain au chocolat and some sort of tart) and Zinnia got her warm apple cider (with extra cinnamon). As they were leaving Zinnia spotted two girls ordering at the cash register, one was looking around intently while the other spoke to the barista. The soft golden rays of light dripping into the coffee shop gave everything a cozy feeling. The small wood fire crackled every now and then.
"Carlie. Carlie! They look so familiar.. Oh! That's Demet and Ayse."
"What? Wait. Who?"
"Oh come on remember Demet was the one who bought Sabazios and Aesthete from us! And Ayse I, and you should, sort of know just from online." Zinnia was talking and very obviously staring directly at the two girl's. As she talked and smiled at the recognition, Ayse's eyes drifted right into Zinnia's eyes. Ayse gave a confused smile and Zinnia returned it with an awkward smile and panicky retreat. With a quick grab of Carlie's arm the two rushed out of the coffee shop. Carlie couldn't help but laugh and wave at Ayse and now Demet as they hurried back outside.
The way back to the bed and breakfast was everything one would consider a relaxing drive. The steady flow of light rain showers created a hazy feeling, the grey clouds and wet weather made the colours of the leaves pop and the rich green grass vibrant. On the return to their bed and breakfast Zinnia watched as horses grazed peacefully in the distant, scattered hilly landscape. There were scattered trees providing protection for the horses from the rain (which no horse opted to use (and was that a goat?)). As they returned to their room a cat rubbed up against the girls legs and invited herself in. Zinnia went into the bathroom to prepare for the welcoming luncheon. Meanwhile, Carlie sat on her bed gently stroking the purring cat. She thought about what she should wear, even though she already knew, then thought about Rio and Berlioz, then thought about things that could happen at the luncheon. 'Will anyone like me? Maybe. Will anyone want to talk about nerdy horse things? Maybe. Will people get bored as I ramble on? No. Because I won't ramble!' These were all key thoughts that flashed through Carlie's mind. Zinnia finished her hair in record time, the soft curls were braided and tucked away into a neat do. She added some coconut oil to her lips to give them a glossy look, it always seemed to work. In the midst of getting ready she stopped and simply listened. Not too long ago it was silent, besides Carlie's occasional talk to her new feline friend of course, but now there was a light tapping on the roof from the rain. Oh the sound of rain.
12:05 pm
"Are we late!?" Zinnia's social anxiety was starting to rise as she thought about how terrible it would be if they arrived to a room of people sitting. And to her horror, have to sneak into a chair, that's probably up at the front, which means awkwardly sneaking past people.
"Oh calm down there's a pretty good chance we'll be just on time." Carlie was quite self assured, a good companion for Zinnia. Not to Carlie, or really Zinnia's surprise, everyone was still mingling. Zinnia was taken aback by the club's grandiosity. She couldn't believe she was really here, somewhere where she could finally dress elegantly and be appreciated for it. And the exciting part- have her horse join her in only a matter of a few hours now. Zinnia let the feelings settle before she joined Carlie in the ballroom. She admired the classical paintings on the wall and listened to the quiet music coming from the ballroom. 'I suppose I should join them now, maybe if I quietly open the doors no one will see me? Don't be silly just walk into the room. Gosh.' A little bit of panic set in and her skin warmed up. 'Why didn't I just go in with Carlie?' She bit her tongue, opened the elegant doors and walked in. It wasn't so bad. The ballroom was large and open, the music and the hum of voices drowned out most of the other sounds. Zinnia noticed a few familiar faces and smiled at those who greeted her. Carlie was already talking to someone, was that Demet! Zinnia took a better look and it in fact was Demet. The two seemed to enjoy speaking to one another, both of them fueling each other's talkative nature. Just then a shrill call gathered all the hunt club members into a circle. Carlie approached and smiled at Zinnia, the type of smile suggesting she had a good talk and had to tell her all about it, later. Archie introduced himself and talked for a few minutes before, to Zinnia's displeasement, announcing the fact that there would be group introductions. 'Oh no' Zinnia's skin radiated with heat, she listened to everyone speak, most spoke so calmly and confidently. Zinnia could relate most to a girl named Dorothy, or well... Dot.
The beauty of Pemberton was overwhelming, the luncheon was exactly as Zinnia had hoped. She sat on one of the Chesterfield lounges as the sun made it's quick appearance casting a warm band of light on the cushions. Zinnia bravely talked to those who sparked her interest. Zinnia was intrigued by so many of the participating members, but she knew that she would have to make the effort to get to know them. Carlie continued to talk to different people, and yes brought out her notepad, once.
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ariadne
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Mane Quality Supervisor
Posts: 72
Likes: 247
Main Stable: Lowmax
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Post by ariadne on Sept 20, 2019 12:44:20 GMT
OOC Note!I know some of you are intending to respond to this scene, so I thought I'd give you all the heads up that I'm going to post again to move things along some time after October 1 (which means you'll be out of time to stand up in the spotlight and introduce your character!) I know there's a running joke between some of us that even if it's just you and I at the end, it will end... ... but I'm not actually joking.  |
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Nora Pigott
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Trail Dust Taster
Posts: 4
Likes: 9
Main Stable: Oxlip
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Post by Nora Pigott on Sept 24, 2019 0:12:55 GMT
NORA PIGOTT & KRISTIANA DOVER Neither spoke about the neat row of delicate glasses that lined the mantel of the fireplace like glittering Christmas ornaments. Nerves, that's all it was. A silent mantra between the pair as they settled in for what was sure to be an interesting afternoon.
It was a cozy little alcove, partially hidden by open curtains that generously offered a view of the sodden grounds beyond, backed by a roaring fireplace that Nora had claimed as her spot and easily missed by prying eyes. They had established themselves in the little niche after the last group had meandered in; silently plucking glasses from passing waitresses and their sparkling silver platters with an ease that had only come from years of practice.
They were sure that the wait staff had been briefed to limit guests as the day wore on, but that hadn't stopped Nora. Her long arms seemed to dart out from the hearth like some fire fae, with a deftness that gave very little time to react. She would, of course, blame the new decor on the unfamiliar faces that managed to slip past their little haven. The reality well, that was something best kept drowning at the bottom of a whiskey bottle that had been figuratively binned years ago.
"Gather round please!"
The woman's voice was shrill, made more so by the bell that she rang in her hands. Her crisp, clean appearance and personal slight to their own countenance. A cold echo of what had been and the shadows left behind. The pair hesitated, this wasn't anything new to them, they had done this same song and dance through much of their childhood and well into their first years at Uni and then...and then...
And while neither woman would admit it aloud, they knew they could no longer hoard themselves in the corner; no matter how tempting. Yea, because voices from a corner are totally normal. Yeah right...
They slipped into a blessedly empty table; masks of cool confidence taking over their features, though scarcely held together by the wine that coursed through their veins. They would laugh later at the absurdity of their actions. Preferably back in their room with a couple of bottles between them. But at that moment they would have preferred to continue to drink sulking in the corner.
'The more fanciful the better!'
It was probably more a testament to the depth of their relationship that kept Nora from reacting to the expression on the brunette's face, hazel eyes not once looking from the rather tall male that stood in the center of the room like he owned the place. Years and years of pub crawls followed by events just like the one they were attending; experience, as there was no other word for it, whether wanted or not. And damn the glee that had the nerve to sparkle in her grey eyes. No matter to the nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Chloe`. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Nora grinned, content for the moment to sit back and just watch. But Kristi...the woman seemed like she couldn't sit still to save her life.
"You'd as well go before you hurt yourself." She tried not to flinch when she realized that her voice had carried across the room, the noise in the space dying in time to hear her remark and all its sarcastic glory.
There was nothing discreet about the kick that Nora sent to the laughing girl's shin, but Kristi waved her off with a snort as she stood.
"Kristiana Dover, you can call me Kristi. The sour puss is Nora Pigott; ouch that hurt you, witch..." Another kick, though not as obvious as the first, followed by a devious smirk.
"You love it, don't lie." Kristi narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the quick comeback and unsure if it was yet deserved. There was that one lad in Dublin. Or perhaps... it was completely justified.
"Right..." She takes a rather comical sidestep away from the smirking woman but soon has a grin of her own splitting her face.
"From Wicklow, nice quiet spot right along the river, nothing fancy but it's home."
"Three random facts huh? I actually enjoy the rain in spite of its frequency, especially in the autumn. I love old horror movies, black and white are the best; they must be binge-watched on Halloween, opening with Dracula. And before I started riding for a living I was a tattoo artist in Hampshire. Right, your turn sour puss."
A finger in the ribs sent Nora from her seat with a short laugh.
"Brat... I'm Nora Pigott. My place is in Wicklow, like she said along the river, and through the woods..."
"All joking aside. I enjoy having a good laugh, preferably over good food good drinks and the occasional philosophical narrative amongst friends. I'm a sucker for a good book, one that I can sit in bed for days and just drink up the pages. Always with tea, four shots and a lick of honey with any apple spiced candle I can get my hands on."
A small, almost wistful smile came to her face as she thought of something.
"I bought a pub in April. Well, what I hope to be a pub anyway. Right now it's just a hole in the wall with some pretty windows and an oak door that's seen better days. But, I'd like to see it as something more. Even if it's just to feed my lust for warm and cozy buildings."
Without any further flair, she sat down next to her friend, who was looking at her quizzically.
Nerves...definitely nerves...
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[/div] [/div][/div][/div] OC...well this took longer than I thought. Sorry you had to suffer through XD |
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callixta
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Saddle Polisher
Posts: 145
Likes: 347
Gender: Female
Main Stable: Foxberry
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Post by callixta on Sept 26, 2019 9:42:14 GMT
DEMET VALENTINI & AYSE MERENLAINE;Ayse watched with mildly curious eyes as the smart lady armed with a clipboard marched into the crowded room, owning the space and her own authority as her voice rang out loud and clear. A second command from her, and a blanket of quiet fell over the room, drinks were lowered and feet shuffled across the floor. The gentleman next to her began his introductions - his comment about the rain made her look across at Demet who was still wistfully staring out of the window. She jabbed her finger into Demet's side, resulting in a startled yelp escaping as her friend stumbled to face her.
"Ssssh!" The mention of the getting-to-know-you session made Demet flashback to memories of a scrawny, freckly version of herself standing at the front of her laughing classmates as she stuttered and stammered her way through her new school introduction. Really, who wanted to know about her? She wasn't interesting - and she'd much rather stay hidden in the background. Ayse was the one used to these situations and usually dealt with introductions and dealing with people whilst Demet stayed with the animals. It was just their way. "Pay attention," Ayse hissed, aiming her foot at Demet's shoe to made contact. "And for the love of god, don't embarrass us when it's our turn." Demet shrugged her shoulders softly, trying to look casually interested as a young girl lifted herself out of the chair and introduced herself as Dot. At the mention of novels she instinctively cradled her bag closer, knowing her current book was nestled in there somewhere along with chocolate she'd bought in town and the camera Benedict had reluctantly loaned her. Ayse was paying more attention; watching as two girls fondly squabbled and aimed kicks as they became the focus of the group. A quick glance across told her Demet was lost in yet another daydream, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes and turn her attention back to the women. "Jeez, their just like you," She couldn't help but whisper, leaning closer in so Demet could hear. "Books and tea!" She had never really understood Demet's devotion to books - or the insistence on leaving heaps of them around the yard back home. The tack room was full of piles of books and magazines, even the wash bay had books up on the shelf of horsey shampoos and tins of hoof oil. The little riders room was full of them; Demet wanted everyone to have something to read during the quiet moments and as far as she was concerned, a book was the best gift to share with her friends. As it became clear it was their turn, Ayse took a small step forward and found a focus point on the far wall, staring at it rather than making eye contact with anyone. "I'm Ayse; I'm...well, we're both from Turkey, we moved to England for...well, we ended up there and never went home. I hate this weather," She cast a scowl over her shoulder as she glanced back out of the windows. "I'm a summer girl, I need heat and sunshine. I draw a lot in my spare time, just as a hobby. And, erm, wow I'm really struggling here...I erm, I love horses and most animals actually, but dolphins are my favourite. I've been lucky enough to see them a few times, but I'd love to see them closer one day. Okay, your turn." Demet stared blankly, nodding her head as she tried to put the words in the right order in her mind. "Demet...my name is Demet. I have a photographic memory, which comes in very handy. I love reading, my house is full of books. And once I've read a book, I gift it to someone because it's stored in my memory, I can just re-read it in my own mind whenever I want." Ayse tried not to pull a sour face; why did Demet admit to such weird things? Not everyone was as open about hearing voices in their minds as she was. "I love food; I eat so much! I can't cook though, that just isn't a skill I ever acquired. My better half comes up with the most adorable excuses why we should eat out or order takeaway. And that's all there is to know, really." She confirmed that with endless nodding again, still feeling her burning cheeks as she stepped back into the crowd a bit more. |
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