[For Rogue] keeping me safe in these chains

[girlsolo]

Imriel (he's Imriel today, nicknames hurt, especially 'Gorgeous') still hasn't taught her to ride, but she's had stable lessons. Grooming, picking out the stalls and the hooves, and if Savannah won't let her take care of the kids, at least she can fucking take care of Bonny (who chewed through her tie and found Kate again) and England.

Kate attacks England's white (gray, fleabitten, whatever the fuck, it doesn't matter, Archie's gone, so who cares?) coat with the curry comb. The horse makes this low little noise at her that sounds...it's probably supposed to be soothing or friendly or something, because it's not loud or shrill, just a little sound like a horse-purr and then he tosses his nose. She's not hurting him. He's just talking horse talk.

"Sorry, British," she says, and then instantly bursts back into tears. She'd been trying to make a play on his name, trying to fake herself out (nicknames still hurt). On Archie being so British. But it just reminds her that Declan's gone and Archie's gone and...she shouldn't even fucking miss the Chief of the IPD. What kind of fuckery is that? But she does.

Somehow he was important. Or maybe it's just easier to miss him never quite trusting her, always calling her "Miss Freelander", never knowing what to make of her jokes than it is to let go of Declan whose bed she didn't even sleep in the last night he had on the island. Who she's been kind of distant from while she figured out the whole Garris thing. But whose kisses she can still taste, whose hands she can still feel, whose eyes she still sees when she closes her owns.

Somehow it's easier to stand here and cry while she brushes a horse that's not hers in stable that isn't the Sanctuary on an island that isn't even an island than it is to go brave a bar and drown herself. Somehow. Right now. Right now the clean-dirt scent of horseflesh, the dry almost-fur scent of shedding out winter coat and the dusty-musty-gold scent of clean straw and the damp, tangy smell of tears from her face buried in a coarse white mane are better than the tequila she's bound to find at the saloon. Not for long, but for now.

Comments

[un_gloved]

Rogue was sick of walking, was more or less what it boiled down to. She had zero interest in interacting with the weird spectres hanging around long enough to hitch a ride in a coach, and her car wasn't going to be a car again any time soon.

She'd heard there were horses available for use in the stable, and though it had been a while, she found herself excited at the prospect of riding one. It was all she'd wanted in the world as a kid, a desire that had been dropped by the wayside along with so many others. More than the joy of it, though, she was looking forward to giving her feet a rest.

Finding a young woman sobbing onto a monster of a horse somewhat derailed her train of thought.

"...You okay, sugar?" she asked.

[girlsolo]

Oh great. Some strange chick she's never met just joined the ever-increasing ranks of people who've seen her cry. And she's calling her 'sugar'. Christ.

Kate scrubs at her eyes with the back of her wrist before she turns to look. Some strange hot chick, she amends, but it doesn't make her feel much better. She's not the bury her face in a bosom and cry type, no matter how hot the chick attached is.

"Yeah, fine. Just having a monthly breakdown. Nothing to see here," she says, as darkly wry as she can. If there's one thing most chicks get, it's that Aunt Flo isn't exactly a welcome visitor.

[un_gloved]

"Reckon that's par for the course, 'specially livin' here," she said, keeping her distance while the girl straightened herself out a spell. She paused, extending a cupped hand to the big white horse, smiling when his warm breath moved across her palm followed by the soft skin of his nostrils.

"Hey, fella," she murmured, lifting her other hand to settle it between his ears.

"Didn't mean t'interrupt. You wouldn't happen t'know anyone around Ah could talk to 'bout borrowin' a ride?"

[girlsolo]

"Name's England." Somehow that seems important, to get it right, even if she doesn't remember the color. His skin twitches under her hand and she lifts it, then strokes more firmly. He seems to like that better. "The horse, I mean. I'm Kate."

She tips her chin at the girl, acknowledging the question. "I don't know who you'd ask, but you can probably take England out." Her fingers tighten in the horse's mane again until the coarse hairs cut into her palm. The pain of it steadies her out, but she still swallows a little hard before she says, "His owner's gone."

[un_gloved]

"Is it? He's sure regal enough. Ain't ya," she said, stroking the horse's nose and smiling more.

"...'m sorry," she added, glancing over at Kate, "t'hear 'bout that. Lotta folks seem to've gone since winter. Name's Rogue." She stepped around the horse's head, ducked in curiosity and, it seemed, enjoyment at the attention, and offered her hand to the other woman.

[girlsolo]

"We weren't close, me and him," Kate clarifies when she takes Rogue's hand. It sounds made up, like Freelander. But Freelander's not and if Rogue is and that's the name she wants to go by, that's none of Kate's business. Not just now.

"But it's a rough one for the island anyway, since he was the chief of the IPD." She's not sure who the new chief is and she's not sure she's gonna like him as much as Archie. Maybe it'll be Dunham. "I think Archie's partner's gone too, so I was just brushing England in case there wasn't someone to take care of him." Like Bonny.

[un_gloved]

"Jeez, Bush 'n Kennedy in one go?" Rogue murmured.

"Ah didn't know 'em much, either, but. Just in passin', the way you get to know so many people here." She looked back at the horse, the big dark eyes and gently dappled coat, and went back to stroking the fine high cheek bones, down the length of his nose.

"'n he got left behind, huh? Well, it's good o'you to do it. They take a lotta work. He probably misses 'em, too."

[girlsolo]

"It's better. Both of them going," Kate says in a quiet tone that hints she maybe knows a little too much about getting left behind. "For them, anyway. Not him."

She rubs her fingers down his shoulder, petting him and learning about the horses the way she's supposed to from working in the stables. He feels solid under her fingers, real, and the dry straw, crunching under her heel when she steps back, gives up a golden warm smell that isn't familiar to Kate and sometimes it makes her feel a little panicky. She's more familiar with the dank, wet, dirty smells of the the city, but today it's a comfort.

"I don't know much about them. Do they get attached, like dogs?" If he was mourning like Bonny, that would break her heart.