Welcome to Hickstead, home to both Seven Oak Stables, and Blue Acre - two rival stables. Both offer opportunities for their clients to reach the highest level of excellence. Each stable differs from the other, so choose wisely and never forget, loyalty is everything... Meanwhile as the stables battle it out, there's trouble brewing at the university. Be careful, if you don't pick a side you may get caught in the cross-fire...
This is an chilled out rpg with a super friendly and relaxed atmosphere! Remember to sign up with your characters full name in all caps and don't forget to do your claims! Thank you and Welcome, we've been established since 10th March 2009 but unfortunately have had to close guest view of our boards due to multiple sites ripping off our hard work, such a shame! Come chat to us in Discord before joining if you like!.
Zira had had a long day. She'd spent some time running around after a twat of a person in order to bring them in. It had been a short and sweet chase compared to others but he had put her in damn dirt, bruised her face and tried to cut her with a pen knife. So kind of him. She didn't need a new smile. It had been tempting to go and work off her frustrations of the day on a punching bag at the gym, or see if Greg was around for another play in the boxing ring. Unfortunately, by the time she'd dragged the ass to the police station, gotten him booked in and then been paid, it had been too late, and she was dirty, sweaty and surprisingly bloody. Home it was. She'd gotten a few looks on the walk back to her flat, but she'd shot every judgemental person the kind of look that would melt the flesh of bones and wisely, all had given her a very wide birth.
She ran a bath. Very girlie of her, she knew, especially as she added a bomb and some salts to it - but she found it helped, and so what if she found that kind of thing relaxing after a stressful day of chasing down crims. Zahira paused in the floor length mirror in her bedroom, her eye caught by the large rip in her t-shirt. She growled low in throat and picked up the material. "This was my favourite, for fuck sake." She complained, dropping the slice material with a shake of her head. Another shirt for the bin. She yanked it off over her head, releasing her hair from it's messy pony tail, and had just tossed the shirt into her rubbish when someone knocked on the door. Zahira paused in her living room, glad in dirty jeans and her sports bra, she narrowed her eyes on the door. Odd time of night to be knocking, it was nearly midnight, and the knock had been more of a weird bang - like something hitting it. She figured she could handle whatever might have come to kill her, but she picked up a knife from the kitchen and went to open the door with the chain still attached.
Seth found himself in an odd place, doing something he never thought he'd have to deal with or simply do. He'd gotten into a fight and for once he'd ended up on the losing side of the battle. And somehow while on autopilot he found himself going straight to her apartment. Of course he knew where she lived, it had only taken him a week or so to find it - more a passing curiosity than a marked place to steal from. He hadn't done that before, but there was something in their traded remarks, the consistent banter and game of cat and mouse when he failed to lift cash off her person.
He didn't want pity, he didn't want to spend the night like a lone leper, he just... he just wanted help. It was a large and bitter pill to swallow, it really was. Looking down at himself, the vibrant red of blood dribbling from the large cut across his chest through the pale grey t-shirt, it was a mess. He almost didn't knock, mentally kicking himself for being such a sod, but he'd stopped himself from leaving and tiredly knocked - or thudded - a fist against the door.
His leg started bouncing as he waited, but he was too tired to try and fight the tick and correct himself. Hopefully she was home. If she wasn't, who knew when or even where really. He wasn't sure he'd cope trying to go through the hospital. Sighing softly he began walking in a small circle.
"Sweet heart, you in?" he asked, his voice not all that loud, almost distant. "I hope you are..."
"Sweet heart, you in?" As soon as she heard his voice she sighed and deflated - just a little anyway. You could never be too careful, but she removed the chain from the door anyway, the rattle clear that someone was in at least. "I hope you are..." Zira raised a brow as she opened the door, tilting her head and standing in the doorway as she surveyed the wreck of a boy currently trying to bleed out on her ridiculous welcome mat. "Dios Mio. Honey, I am, but why the fuck are you here?" She sighed and shook her head, the raised eyebrow dropping as her brow furrowed instead. He looked like he was barely upright, and she was sure she could see beats of sweat on his forehead - clearly in pain, especially if that splash of bright red across his chest was anything to go by. It was hard to tell in that moment though whether it was his blood or someone else's. She gritted her teeth and shook her head. "For fuck sake, get in here." Bloody pathetic stupid kid.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him unceremoniously into the flat and shutting the door behind him; not caring that it would likely hurt. She locked the door again and then went to drag him over to the light of the kitchen, lucky for him that her presence of mind remembered the knife in her other hand and she quickly put it back in it's rightful place. God since when did she become the home for stray morons. And yet, she had opened the door and let him in. She would not be feeding him though. "Sit. Over there." She indicated to one of her chairs - that she didn't mind getting a bit of blood on - before he could pick one she liked. "What happened?" She asked, ignoring the fact that her bath was getting cold and that she was still covered in blood and sweat of her own as she went to tug on his shirt, "this needs to come off."
Seth looked up at the scraping noise, she was there. His smile was a fraction of its usual smart-ass self.
"Dios Mio. Honey, I am, but why the fuck are you here?"
He frowned, genuinely having to think about an answer to it - why did he turn up here of all places?
"For fuck sake, get in here."
Before he could utter a reply she was dragging him into the flat, hissing slightly as his body sent out a wave of fire over his body. Fuck did it hurt.
"Sit. Over there."
He sat in the chair she indicated, knowing at least to an extent not to piss her off by sitting somewhere else. He didn't even know why he was willing to give a shit about her stuff if he was honest. He let his head fall back onto his shoulders with a slight hiss of pain, unaware for the moment that his hand was shaking and his leg was bouncing again.
"What happened?" She asked, "this needs to come off."
His eyes slipped shut, he could relax a little bit. Just a little bit. He brought a hand up his face, brushing over it like it was going to help.
"Picked a target a few leagues too out of reach," he grunted, lifting his head back up to orientate himself, "Decided to teach me a lesson for being the scum of the Earth."
He watched her for a moment before realization hit that she was going to remove his shirt. He loosely batted her hands away.
"No, the shirt stays on," he huffed, "I'm only cut up top, you don't need to see the rest."
He looked down at the cut, still bleeding rather than staunched because of normal function. It was a decent wound, deep enough it would probably leave a mark.
She didn't hear a damn peep out of him as she dragged him inside - perhaps the pain was worse than she'd first thought. She had a high pain threshold, mostly thanks to how she'd grown up, but it meant she had little patience for others and their lack of ability to handle it. Seth seemed more on her level, so she took stock of his pasty face and lack of response as something being relatively wrong. It was one of the reasons she didn't turn him away to a hospital like she should, or at least that's what she told herself anyway.
A hiss of pain escaped him, well he could still make noise at least, it proved he was with it in the very least. She left him for a moment as she went to get her supplies. Used to patching up both herself and her family, Zahira had a whole host of medical supplies that were of use. Less of the plasters and stuff and more like needle and thread, some morphine, forceps... it sounded ridiculous but she was more accustomed to bullet and knife wounds than splinters and paper cuts. She grabbed a bottle of vodka - the cheap shit - and her bag, and then headed back over to the chair, pleased to see he was still sitting on it at least. "Drink this," She thrust the alcohol bottle at him. He would need it, but she wasn't wasting the morphine on him. Sorry kid.
"Picked a target a few leagues too out of reach, Decided to teach me a lesson for being the scum of the Earth." She gave a tut and rolled her eyes. "Well, how stupid of you. Vives y aprendes." Zahira muttered, frowning when he battered away her hands. "No, the shirt stays on, I'm only cut up top, you don't need to see the rest." She let out a frustrated noise at his protest. "I'm not trying to molest you, or take advantage of you. You're not my type," Well, that was a bit of a lie but she didn't go for Labradors'. "I can't clean shit with your shirt in the way. It comes off or I'll cut it off." So much for not needing the knife, she turned to the counter to grab it again.
He didn't even check to see if she was serving him bleach, just took the bottle and drank dangerously fast. He wasn't exactly ashamed to admit that he was capable of downing the bottle quick - he'd done worse things. He was almost half way downed the bottle when he stopped to breath again.
"Well, how stupid of you. Vives y aprendes."
"I'm not trying to molest you, or take advantage of you. You're not my type. I can't clean shit with your shirt in the way. It comes off or I'll cut it off."
Her words hit him like a tonne of bricks. It was enough to make him freeze over and the only thing that kept him from freaking out was the alcohol that was rushing his system - helping to calm and deaden him. It wasn't fast enough, he knew that, but it was starting to kick in and he needed it. There was a brief flush of rage and shame that swept him and he immediately ripped his shirt off before the coldness that followed the idea - he was vulnerable. He didn't like it. Tilting his head back, he went back to the bottle despite his whole body shaking.
When he stopped the rapid rush of Vodka, he tilted his head back and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to keep his wits. He had to murmur reassurances to himself, "This is not them. This is not them. It's ok."
He was panicking so he bit down on his tongue to try and stop the wave attacking him. But he subconsciously knew that all the marks were on display - all the scars from being stabbed, from being beaten, from shitty in-house surgeries, the cruel carvings and tattoos in his skin branded there like tramp stamps. The alcohol wasn't fast enough and he knew it, but he was trying to clamp down on the thoughts that were hitting him.
She glanced at him for a second as he took the bottle and drank, not caring to count his swallows, or to check he could handle the flavour - that was on him whether he would take her advice or suffer through the pain. Alcohol for the next best choice after pain medication for numbing shit. When she glanced a second time, it was to see a healthy amount of the bottle gone, the liquid sloshing now well past the halfway mark on the bottle. That was exactly why she'd also given him the cheap shit - she wasn't wasting the good stuff on the lad and his big wide eyes.
The next battle seemed to be the shirt, and she impatiently twirled the knife in her hand - warning him that her threat was true and real; she would cut it off him and strap him down if she needed to. Clearly, there was some kind of deep seated issue there, under the surface of his pretty body exterior, but she didn't have time to unpick that now or deal with it - she had to deal with his injuries before he bled out all over her kitchen. She gave him a moment though, she didn't rush it too much, even with impatience written all over her face as she watched him debate his options. "Knife or not buddy, the shirt's coming off - which is it?" She reminded, once again flicking the knife in her hand to make her point. Sighing, she let him take another long swig of the alcohol and then suddenly the shirt was gone.
She made no comment or anything of it, as if nothing about it was abnormal - she barely saw the marks on him, though they were clear enough to anyone with working eyesight. She didn't care though, considering where she came from, she had a whole host of scars herself, and she'd seen plenty of people with scars and marks too. These were somewhat unusual in a way, but made no different to her. Finally, she could see the wound, and she reached for the swabs, moping up as much as the blood as she could to start with so she could better see the wound. "This will sting." She warned, amazing herself with her politeness for once, before she grabbed the antiseptic and started swiping over the wound with that to clean it up. She could hear him muttering something, but Zira drowned it out, not caring about it - even if he asked her to stop right then, she'd carry on. She huffed as she got a good look at the wound. "Someone made a real hash fucking mess of this, idiot. What were you fucking about with this time?" and her voice trailed off into Spanish as she grumbled, working on cleaning it and then going to fish out her needle and thread to pull it together.
"Knife or not buddy, the shirt's coming off - which is it?"
He ignored her words, having made a rough job of pulling the fabric over his head before he could talk himself out of it.
"This will sting."
He hissed slightly, trying his hardest not to make too much noise in light of the fact she had neighbors. It would be rather awkward if there was a sudden flux of emergency services after reports of screaming. He sipped the bottle again, languishing in the fact he could not taste it, just feel the burn that washed over his throat.
"Someone made a real hash fucking mess of this, idiot. What were you fucking about with this time?"
He moved slightly, rotating so she had more space to work with, feeling a slight tingle in his fingers.
"I don't know," he grunted, "Just another person... I guess. Someone who wasn't having it..."
She made no comment as he wordlessly removed his shirt, no comment at the sight of what he showed her. It wasn't her business, it wasn't her comment to make, and in all honesty with her family and line of work, there was rarely a person she saw that wasn't littered in scars and ugly welts and cuts. How else had she gotten so good at patching people up, the issue was patching up meant you healed looking a bit like you'd come out of a meat grinder. The only way her work had improved was through practice, and it still then depended on the day and the tools she had to work with on weather her job would be any good or just effective. She always said if you wanted pretty then go find a surgeon.
She worked nimbly, surprising with the speed at which she had the kid cleaned up in order to survey the actual damages. In her pause, he moved, and she narrowed her eyes as the action welled a fresh drop of blood. "I don't know, Just another person... I guess. Someone who wasn't having it..." Zahira rolled her eyes. Because that was really informative. She cleaned the wound once more before she began working on piecing it back together. "What trouble were you getting up to?" She asked, it might seem annoying but speaking was the best way to keep someone awake in these kinds of circumstances. If they started to get drowsy it usually meant game over. And if he was talking it meant he was conscious and she didn't have to look at his face to keep checking, instead she could work on the issue at hand. She muttered a few curse words when the sound was uncooperative, but once she was finished she cleaned it up again and stuck some gauze over it, leaning back. "You have to go easy with this, or it'll tear and you'll completely fuck it up. I don't like doing repairs." She warned him then glanced at the remaining alcohol. "Finish it."
