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!.
Dustin was tired. Scrap that, Dustin wasn't just tired - he was exhausted. That cold, heavy kind of tired that sunk into your bones and dragged you down. He wasn't sleeping - not that he wasn't sleeping well, but he wasn't sleeping at all. He managed a quick hour here or there, but since the incident with Hayden, he'd found his brain impossible to switch off. He hadn't told her. She wanted him beside her every night, wanted him in their bed, but every time he laid down beside her the fear set in. He couldn't sleep. What if he hurt her again? What if he hurt their baby? Intentional or not, he would never forgive himself for it, even if she did. He often got up in the middle of the night and took a power nap before the dawn broke and woke him up again on the sofa downstairs; usually where he frequently ran into Joe.
It wasn't just that though. Joe was another of his worries. Between all the secrets he was holding back, the one's Dustin knew and the one's he knew he didn't that Joe still clutched to his chest, and the arguments with all of the family, and then his recent stunt with the meds and drink. It was enough to drive a man to the bottle, if Dustin had been prone to that kind of behaviour. Instead, he could feel everything rising in him and he didn't quite know what to do with it, where the outlet was. He felt like a drowning man trying to plug holes in a ship riddled with them, his usually calm and quiet mind a rush of panic and fear, of constant worry and stress over what was going to happen next, who was going to flip at him next, what the day would bring as he watched the sun rise over the back fence in the garden, unable to shake the image of the sun rising over the deserts he'd served and lighting the lifeless bodies of his friends.
Heather was another wonderful contended for his frantic mind. Their argument the other week replayed over and over, but he found it hard to know what to do with it. He'd made good on his promise, despite how hard it had been. It was rare to anger Dustin, but the frustration was there sometimes when he was pushed past the point of his seemingly endless patience. One too many buttons pressed with his youngest sister, he couldn't do it anymore. He'd felt spent from their constant head butted, exhausted from finding her opposing him at every turn like a petulant child. He understood it, to a point, but sometimes he just wished beyond God that she would get him in turn. Why she couldn't do things she thought she wanted. It made his experiences feel pointless if he let her go off and join the army, if he let her go off wild in the world and drop out of uni; he had done the things he'd done in life for her, for all of them, and what a pointless way to spend his life to have it thrown in his face. No, he couldn't do it anymore.
Dustin had spent the morning with his mare. He rarely rode anymore, she was a glorified lawn mower at the local yard, he paid out a small fortune for her excellent care and popped in to see her to keep an eye and fatten her with treats. It had been a small breath of air today, a small reprieve from his crowded mind but he had to return home eventually. He had work early tomorrow, and he needed to make a start on dinner. Kara was teaching and she'd passed the metaphorical ladle to him for the night. He rose from his chair at the kitchen table where he'd been stewing and bent to retrieve a couple of pans. Casserole perhaps. It was a favourite of his, something he'd grown up helping his mother to cook and it did help him settle as he got into the swing of chopping veg.
heather woke with something of a start as her phone slipped from her hand and landed on the floor next to her bed with a soft thud. she blinked as the afternoon sun shone through her window and she inwardly cursed at herself for falling asleep. she's just been resting, texting with sam and the last thing on her mind had been sleep. she'd been fighting it for days now. since kara had found her passed out on the floor last week, she'd been told to take it easy. doctors said it was just a flu but it was lingering. the lack of energy was beyond a joke and when she was out of bed for longer than a few hours her body cried for her to curl back up again. most days she didn't though, she sat at her computer or in the lounge, keeping up on her school work, editing the photos she'd taken before she'd fallen ill and trying to do everything she needed to around the house. if she wanted to prove to her family that she was a responsible adult, she needed to keep on top of things right? not let them slip through her fingers.
she rubbed her fingers into her eyes as she remembered the fight that had brought on this sudden desire to prove her responsibility to her family. she could remember the words, what she and dustin had said to each other and it still made her feel guilty she'd not walked away sooner. their fights had always been impressive, both too stubborn to give in and both too stubborn to apologize but this one had felt different, more intense and things hadn't gone back to normal after it. they were both making good on their promises to each other, his to not parent her and hers to not need him. though at this point she was trying to prove to herself she didn't need any of them, she could do just fine on her own.
as she felt her eyes starting to close again she pushed herself up, probably a little quick as it caused her head to spin but she did her best to ignore it as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and she sat there for a moment, getting her bearings a little as she pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail before she reached down to pick up her phone, shooting sam a quick apology message for vanishing on him earlier. then it was time to get up, head downstairs and see what needed doing. once she stepped foot onto the stairs she heard the unmistakable sound of a knife hitting a board and she couldn't help but think that it must have been kara or hayden starting dinner, so when she reached the bottom of the stairs she couldn't help but be a little surprised that it was dustin.
she paused for a second before she walked into the room and she set her phone down on the table softly, watching him for a few seconds before she spoke. "do you need any help?" she could only guess what he was making at this point but she could help cut vegetables as well as the next person could, even if her other skills in the kitchen were lacking a little. though the thought of food wasn't one she was going to entertain beyond some toast later this evening, her appetite since the start of this stupid flu had been nonexistent for more than a few reasons.
The methodical feel and sound of the knife in his hand helped to settle his brain a little. He was definitely glad for the fresh air that morning, there was something about early morning air that helped to calm his mind and reset him. He'd always been an early riser, even before the army, and old habits died hard - or whatever it was. He was ingrained to rise with the sun, or before it, with or without the sound of a screaming child for assistance. There was something about cooking, though he hadn't always enjoyed it, it was a good way to quiet the brain and just focus on one thing at a time. He wasn't the best at cooking but he'd improved over the years. Having younger siblings did that to a person - you learnt to make something palatable or else you might end up wearing it, or something going to waste. Dustin couldn't stand waste, too many years of having no enough or very little did that to someone. In the end he'd gotten decent enough at a handful of dinners that were just enough to recycle on a pattern so nobody had to eat the same thing twice and he didn't have to expand past a couple of recipes.
He heard the floorboards creep. The house was a little on the old side, the consistent issues he had to fix made that clear enough, and it was impossible to tip toe without making yourself know. At least, it was if the person you were sneaking behind happened to be an old army cadet. He paused in his chopping for just a moment, debating whether to acknowledge in that second or to wait and bide time, let her come to him. He continued after a moment, finishing the first piece of chicken and picking up another. Trying to ignore the automatic wariness that accompanied the arrival of Heather's presence. He couldn't help it. Habits and emotions were learned through repeated behaviour. All him and Heather seemed to do with butt heads or argue, and his body felt ready for the fight, even as he wished it didn't.
"do you need any help?" A taste of surprise but he hid it quickly. He didn't actually need help, but he got the sense of an olive branch perhaps being extended his way. The slightest, smallest shiver of a branch, but something nonetheless. He nodded, glancing over his shoulder briefly to nod to a cupboard behind him. "Could you grab the casserole dish? And then peel some carrots for me?" He asked, having at least gotten the peeler and veg out ready. "How are you feeling?" felt like a safe question. He knew she'd been unwell, but Kara had been manning that fort and he hadn't done much more than help send up food and water or juice to keep Heather alive. It was hard, when he'd been told to back off, where the line was now drawn and how much he was allowed to show he cared.
