The Price We Pay (open)

[Anthony Lovasz]

Thunder. It rolled with such tremendous power that the earth shook as if it were going to open up and swallow all life. But the sun was shining brightly, not a could in site... and that meant it could only possibly be one thing making such a surge of electricity in the air. Horses. Down they came, 'round the turn and into the home stretch, straining with the effort to drive to the front. Chestnuts mixed with blacks, grays, and bays, all of them creating a picturesque abstract image of the very essence of a racehorse. Astride each was a jockey dressed in brightly colored silks, perched perilously atop the charging beasts. They were said to be the bravest sort of men, balancing so carefully on inch wide metal strips, restraining the bursting power of the animal beneath them as they catapulted down the track at 45 mph, almost certain death awaiting them should they fall.

The horses stretched themselves out into full gallops, fighting with everything they had to take the lead. Two ran neck and neck for a few strides before the smaller gray head bobbed out in front, followed by the neck, then shoulders. The finish line flashed by, but before anyone could react to the dramatic come behind and one of the biggest upsets in the history of the Santa Anita, a horrible screech blasted out from the second place horse and he leached sideways into the winning stallion, sending the other pair crashing through the rail. The jockey heard the crack of breaking bone before he felt the pain that seared up through his arm, followed shortly by pain from everywhere else as the 1,200 pound animal rolled over top of him. As the horse's body crushed the jockey's chest, he felt like all the oxygen was just sucked out of the universe and he was lying there suffocating. Luckily, he had managed to get his feet out of the stirrups before going down, and as the horse jumped back up onto his feet, he left his rider lying there in pain.

He felt like everything was just starting to fade out, going out of focus. The voices were getting quieter, the pain was beginning to dull, and quite suddenly, the choppy ground where he lay felt much more comfortable than it had before. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let the unconsciousness have him. Somehow though, everything was still registering in his subconsciousness, and after only a few moments had passed all the voices and sirens and panic burst into his mind, and his mind screamed at him to come back and stop all the doctors from doing whatever it was they were doing to him. His eyes opened again with a jolt as all the pain came rushing back and his lungs filled with air once again, and instinctively, he reached out and stopped the EMT's hand from coming any nearer. He knew in that hand there was a syringe filled with whatever sort of drug they felt was needed, and that was the last thing he wanted them doing.

They had managed, already, to get a brace on his left arm, and had surveyed the damage enough to know that he had broken his arm just above his wrist, had a good sized gash on his left lower leg, had at least two broken ribs, probably a concussion, and a lot of bruising. Don't The jockey nearly growled, a tone that was uncharacteristically serious for the 19 year old. He pushed the doctor away, and sat up slowly, ignoring all of the gasps and pleas of the EMT's. He shifted, and slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, knowing much better than to stand quickly. His vision still hadn't returned to it's normal state, but he could see well enough. When he pushed through the crowd of track officials, media, and medical teams and grabbed the horse's reins from the frantic handler trying to control the panicking horse, a cheer went up from the crowd, but he didn't hear it. He was in a lot of pain, and knew he probably should have let the doctors take care of him... but that wasn't his style.

As soon as they were back down to the stable area a groom, and the horse's regular handler came rushing out to take the horse off Anthony's hands, and someone else... he was guessing the trainer... hurried over to help Anthony to somewhere to sit before he passed out. I'm fine he muttered before anyone had the chance to ask, though he clearly wasn't. He was currently going through a bit of shock from the accident, and the pain was making it worse. He looked pretty good all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. There was a bit of a comotion outside the stable, and he could see security guards reinforcing the blockade to keep the press out. Neither horse nor jockey needed those people around asking questions and taking pictures. They'd been hurt, it was a normal part of being in the horse racing world... people and horses got in accidents, and life went on.

The tell-tale feeling of bone grinding against bone followed by a rather unpleasant pop and pain. It was a feeling Anthony Lovasz was all too used to. Even as many times as he'd been thrown, landing even just slightly on that shoulder always ended in a dislocation. He took a moment to catch his breath, then sat up slowly, and snapped his shoulder back into it's proper position. Yeah, it hurt like hell... but he'd done it so many times, he hardly flinched anymore. Like any jockey, he was a mess of fractured bones, torn ligaments, stretched tendons, and any number of other problems caused by the perilous life he had submitted him to when he was only 13 years old. Once he had gotten his arm back in it's appropriate place, he headed across the track and over to the gate where the little gray horse was standing just outside the gate as if nothing had happened.

I'm not as young as I used to be Shock. he said as he grabbed the horse's reins with his left, still braced arm. Even now, 3 years later, he still wore the brace to cut back on the pain. He knew it hadn't healed properly back when he was 19 and he went through the rail, but it was mostly just an inconvenience now, the same as his shoulder being so easily torn from its socket. Normally Anthony was a huge proponent of getting back up on the horse after falling, but when the horse was Shock and you'd just injured yourself somehow, it was probably wiser to stay on the ground than get back up on the horse. For being so small he could certainly give his rider a hell of a time trying to ride him. They were complete.

When they arrived back at the stable, Anthony clipped the horse in the cross ties and set about removing the tack from the sweaty animal. He had managed to get a decent workout in before the horse exploded. They were making progress, but Anthony still expected to be thrown at least once during the workout. It wasn't that he was a bad rider... certainly not, he was a superb rider, and everyone who knew him knew it was true... but with your stirrups up so high like they always were for jockeys, and a horse that could move like a rodeo bronc... even the best rider in the world would hit the dirt when Shock decided to have a temper tantrum. He was just so agile, and incredibly unpredictable. He could appear perfectly fine, running on a nice open gallop, changing leads and listening to his rider like a fine gentleman, and the next moment you'd find yourself without a horse as you hit the ground and the horse took off.

For a moment, Anthony completely forgot that he'd dislocated his shoulder, and without even thinking about it reached up to pull the saddle off of the horse using his right arm. The pain was quick to remind him though, and he winced painfully, and moved his arm back down to it's normal position. Shock turned his head and looked over at Anthony as if trying to figure out what he was doing just standing there instead of getting on with it. Anthony just smiled and patted the horse's neck with his left hand. This is your fault you know. he said to the horse, even Chase hasn't thrown me in the past six months, you need to get in on the deal. Shock just shifted his weight lazily, his appearance suggesting an old retired trail horse rather than a training racehorse. He was the wolf in lamb's clothing, that was for sure.

[Grace Lacombe]

Grace had taken today off, for obvious reasons. One, it was a beautiful day, and two, she had been working way too hard lately. Always a shadow around the barn, Grace had been neglecting to ride dear Angie. It seems more and more people were assigning their horses to her. Had she more of a voice, she would have softly explained to them that simply because she was a groom, it didn't mean that she was their slave. It seemed like a lot of people dumped their horses on her, and so she knew each horse in the barn well. Although the faces of their owners were obscure, the happy looks of horses were engraved into her mind.

Slowing Angie from a lope back to a walk, she rode back to the barn in silent happiness. She loved getting out, but hated the fact that other people kept her back. People she worked for, but rarely spoke to. Not even a thanks was given to her, as it was assumed that it was her job to keep their horses happy and healthy. It was a good thing she loved what she did, or she would have quit out of frustration by now. Some people's horses seemed more happy to see her than their owners, which really said something about how much time they spent with their four-legged companions. Grace was all too used to having to softly correct people on their horse's personalities.

Leaning over Angie's neck slightly to give her a soft pat, she pushed her sunglasses back up on her nose. The thoroughbred was softly winded, sides falling and rising in an excited but calm fashion. The mare was normally unpredictable, but a good run tired her out enough to be manageable. Grace had took her out on the trails today, hoping to get the prissy mare over some of her fears. If only she could get over her own fears with the braveness that her trusty steed held. Alas, Grace couldn't get over her shyness by starting conversations with people, as Angie could get over her fear of falling leaves by walking amoungst them.

Angie and Grace might have been polar opposites when it came to personalities, but they formed some sort of bond, a deep trust that was evident any time she was around Angie. Angie may bite and kick others, but never Grace. Grace didn't really talk to anyone else, but she often vented to her horse. Horse venting, believe it or not, was probably the best therapy ever invented. Even now she was humming under her breath, occasionally interrupting the melody for a couple of soft words and a pat on the neck. Her way was through gentle words, although some might have looked down at her for it. Restriction was never the way Grace dealt with Angie's little nips.

Riding back to the barn, Grace looked a little odd in comparison with other riders. Unlike some other Western riders, her posture was straight as a board, stiff and yet somehow perfectly fluid with her horse's. She insisted on using a snaffle, and using proper reins rather than split reins. She didn't compete, and so she never ran into problems with regulation at rodeos. All of her equipment was black. Her saddle was black leather with silver accents, western in style but somehow looking more polished. She used a large saddle pad meant for western saddles rather than a blanket, a hunter green that complimented Angie's pale coat.

And last but not least, was Grace herself. Pale, thin and lanky, she looked well put together, standing out like a sore thumb. But it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. For however quiet she was, she stood out when she was on her horse. Currently dressed in a white and floral blouse with cream-colored tights, she held the air of femininity and a schoolgirl like naivety that didn't wear down with age. Her near waist-length hair was pulled into a messy bun, bangs sweeping infront of her eyes, looking like some sort of independent film star.

Stopping at the barn doors, she dismounted carefully, hitting the ground with a light 'oof'. Despite owning Angie for a few years now, as long as she'd been here, the 17hh drop was still something to get used to. Taking the reins, she held her composure as she walked into the barn, keeping a tight leash on Angie. She was already prancing about, neck arched as if Grace hadn't tired her out at all. Alright, now another hurdle to jump.. there was someone else using the cross ties, as well. She hoped Angie would behave and not be a cow, but Grace knew that was probably a long shot.

Leading her thoroughbred over, she made sure there was an empty crosstie stall between the two horses, knowing Angie would make a fuss about being close to another horse. She clipped her in, her mare already tossing her head and making soft aggravated noises. Blushing before anything even happened, Grace pressed her hand onto Angie's nose, a silent sort of 'shut up and put your head down' to the big mare. Grace recognized the horse next to her, but didn't quite recognize the guy. This didn't surprise her, as she probably paid way more attention to horses than guys, anyway.

Starting to untack Angie, she put her things away neatly in the tack room, a little surprised when the other guy didn't work as quickly as she had become accustomed to. About to ask if he needed any help- her compassion would outweigh her shyness this time- Angie let out a full out bellow of a neigh to the other horse. Going bright red, Grace pulled Angie's head down and gave her a soft glare of warning. "Quiet, you." She mumbled, before taking off her bridle. Damn mare. Clearly embarrassed, she took her bridle to the tack room and placed it on her saddle rack, trying to remain composure. You can do this, Grace. Just talk to the horse and not to him. If Angie can overcome her fears, you can-

Her pep talk was cut off by another loud call from Angie. Apparently, the mare was feeling social.

Striding back to her horse, Grace bit her lip nervously as she greeted the man's horse. "Hello, Shock, boy. How are you?" Grace's voice was very soft, timid; it had an undertone of richness to it, the sort of voice you wouldn't mind listening to for ages. She patted the other horse's neck, well aware of Angie's jealous nature, but she deserved it for embarrassing her. Walking back to the horse's head, she peered at the man shyly, baby blues wide in shy curiosity. "Do you need any help..?" Grace asked, acting like she was working today instead of taking the day off. She was used to people dumping their horses on her at random. She flipped her sunglasses onto her head, revealing her large eyes and long lashes. Stroking the male thoroughbred's nose, she was too shy to look at the man, still blushing intensely from Angie's obnoxious neighs.

words; 1218.
notes; new here! (: hello.
tagged; anthony.
muse; will holland's remix of afterglow by ana criado.[/font][/size]

[Anthony Lovasz]

Most people who saw Anthony never expected a Spanish accent when he spoke. He was relatively fair skinned, though tanned from all the time spent in the sun, his hair was a medium brown, and his eyes blue. Nothing about him suggested that his home country was the impoverished part of Mexico. No one ever expected that he would have lived the kind of life that he did before moving to the States either. It was a rare occasion to find him without a broad grin and an almost impish look in his eye, neither of which suggested a life of abusive drug addicts/alcoholics for parents. Most people who knew much of anything about horse racing knew the name Anthony Lovasz, but hadn't heard it in years. Once upon a time he was the jockey to beat, until that fateful accident ended his illustrious career... for the time-being.

There was something about Anthony that just downright wasn't natural. He spent the earliest years of his life with nothing. His parents were drug addicts and alcoholics who seemed to only procreate so they could have weaker humans around to take out all their frustrations on. He mostly raised himself, and his younger siblings along side his older sister and brother who did their best to take care of them, though in the failing economy of their world, there were many days when they all went without food on the table. He had four younger siblings, all of whom depended on him and his two older siblings, add to that his older sister's three children and his brother's one, and it was all they could do to survive without starving to death.

At the young age of 10 Anthony took it upon himself to change that... a huge role for a 10 year old to play, but that was just who he was. He always wanted to help in any way he could. He found that at the race track, doing whatever jobs a child could do. He fed the horses in the morning, brushed them before workouts, cleaned the tack every day, and did whatever else he could to earn a little money, all of which was sent directly to the family. At 12 he started riding, and by 13 he was jockeying in races. Yes, he was too young, yes he got hurt a lot, but it paid exceptionally well all things considered... and even though he started out doing it for money, he had quickly found that he loved it too.

No one would even guess he lead a life like that before his fame started. He never spoke about how things started or his life before he was "discovered" by a rather famous trainer from the States. The way he saw it, that was in the past, and this was his new life. Of course, he would really prefer to be following the race meets around the country as a jockey, but settling for training racehorses for Chey wasn't such a bad thing either. Besides, considering how "broken" he already was, all it would really take would be one bad fall and he could potentially be crippled for life, which was not ideal. It wasn't like he couldn't ride them in races later when they were ready for it anyway, and this was giving him a good chance to get in some recovery time before getting back into the game. Of course, he still got thrown regularly, but at least there weren't a bunch of horses behind him to run him over now.

He glanced over at the girl who brought her mare into the barn and set her in one of the other cross-ties, but she seemed pre-occupied with her own horse. He took his own sweet time taking care of the horse. If there was one thing Shock could stand a lesson in it was patience. The longer he could get the horse to stand there quietly the better it would be for all of them. He was distracted again from his own horse when the girl greeted the thoroughbred. He wasn't sure if it was such a good thing that she recognized the horse... most people only knew him because he was such a holy terror most of the time. He turned to the girl and smiled when she asked if he needed any help, I think I've got it covered, He said with a grin, Until he realizes he's not a carnivore I don't think I trust him to play nice with others. He couldn't even count the number of times he, or someone else, had been bitten badly by the thoroughbred. He'd been trained in a very "old-fashioned" way with the mentality that if you got the horse dirty and sweaty, it was your job to take care of it, no exceptions, and he stuck to that.