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!.
"Zach, I swear to God, if you put one more toe out of line at this school..." Zach sighed, loudly, shutting up his father. "...that'll be it. Straight off to the military. You'll wish you never fucked about then." He finished for him, mimicking his dad in a way he knew would piss him off. "Language." His father abolished. "English." He responded automatically, like the asshole he always was when his father was concerned. The abrupt silence on the other end was loaded. Zach pretended not to notice but his stomach hardened just a little. "Zach, I am at the end of my tether with you, I don't know what else to do. I don't know why you behave this way, but if you don't sort it out, that's it." He rolled his eyes, kicking a stone across the path. "That's it." Zach repeated quietly, giving a small nod and frowning. "That's it, like what?" Because what could his father do, really? He'd never cut him off - what would that look like, CEO cutting of his own son because he was clearly troubled and needed help. The press would have a field day. His reputation would take a hit. He couldn't send him to juvie, he'd already paid everyone off not to send him there. Miltary was the only threat his father had up his sleeve, and even that didn't scare Zach. It would just be another school in another long line of schools.
Again, the silence was deafening, and Zach couldn't help letting out a quiet 'mhmm', knowing how hard his dad would be gripping that phone right now, how red with anger he would be. Zach didn't know why he loved winding his dad up so much. He didn't do it to mum, not in the same way, but there was something about his father he just couldn't stop pushing. It was like he wanted him to snap, to see how far he could go before that was the end. He paused walking, tucking a hand behind his back and leaning against the corner of a shop, tipping his head back to look up at the grey of the sky whilst he waited. His dad would be counting to ten now, calming himself down, doing those exercises he's been told to do when he gets to that point of almost no return. "Just do what I tell you." Was his only response. Zach was almost disappointed. How generic - was he reading from a script? Some google page of 'what to tell your troublesome teenager son to make them behave. "You will go to class, you will go to your therapy sessions, you will stop going out every evening and drinking away my money-" Zach raised a brow at that, "It sounds like you're trying to ground me from all those miles away." Was that resentment in his tone? At least he knew his father was paying enough attention to be checking the bill charges on his credit card. "Zach." His father sighed, and he knew the conversation was done. Had he won? He wasn't sure. "I have to go." And he hung up. It was the usual way he ended the call. So much apparently still to say, but also nothing.
Zach hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket, surveying the street he'd ended up on. He hadn't been paying attention - what did it matter where you were in this town, it wasn't very big and it wasn't hard to get back to where you started as long as you had money to burn on a taxi or something. His skin itched, his blood was up. It was similar to when people got in a fight, he figured - he wasn't one to do that, he never raised his voice or his fists - but conversations with daddy dearest always riled him, and he needed to get rid of that feeling. Shoplifting usually did the trick, but he wasn't in the mood for it. It was the wrong kind of thrill. His eyes flickered to a parked Mercedes across the way and he considered it, but ever since that time.... he couldn't do it anymore. The most he'd done was sit in a car, but he hadn't been able to even try and start it. Vandalism was a nice way to go, but with nothing on him but his phone, he had no paints and he'd have to find something heavy if he wanted to start smashing shit. He frowned, he hated being bored and not knowing how to fix it.
Sabine Radley had been sitting on the street, with her back up against the wall of a building. She did that a lot in town, knowing that she had a mark on her back because of Daz Pricard. Truth be told, the teenager knew she deserved it. Had she still been back in her dad's gang in Dublin, it would have been the same. Some dumb ass walked onto their turf, tagged it, and then kneed them in the balls? Yeah, they'd be marked for death as well. A smirk graced her lips, thinking about how brutally nice it felt to take him to his knees, how exhilarating and utterly terrified she had been at the same time. Her hand went to her face, feeling the bump of the scar from the slash of his blade - still annoyed at its presence.
She had never felt pretty. This didn't help her feelings about it. Not that it mattered, Sabine supposed. She wasn't dating. Still, Sabine wondered if it made her look ugly in the eyes of a boy. A growl escaped her at the thought, ashamed that she was even fretting over a stupid thing like that as she took an aggressive bite out of her Dahlia Baker made sandwich - the sole reason why she had been in town in the first place. To pick it up from the shop. Sabine had made sure to zig zag her route, making random stops and cut across places, just in case she had been tailed. After all, it was okay if she got into trouble, but she wasn't about to drag any of her loved ones - what little she had - into her feud with Daz, just incase he knew about her life.
An angry voice perked her attention, echoing off the silent street. She turned her head, spotting a boy walking in her direction. Her earlier thoughts about her scar and being ugly flooded her all of the sudden, but it had clearly been in vain as he walked right on by her, not even noticing her. Figures. Still, her gaze remained on him, figuring she'd watch him walk around the corner. Instead, he stopped and stared at a parked car. A Mercedes. Sabine frowned, watching him as he stood there in a trance, thinking. Sabine knew that look all too well, "What did that car do to you to earn that look?"
He was so focused on the stupid car that he didn't hear the girl sneak up behind him. Maybe 'sneak' was a mean word, he didn't see why she'd bother to be sneaking around - it made her sound nefarious, like she was skulking. Which she probably wasn't. Still, it felt like sneaking because he hadn't expected it. He gave a little jerk of surprise, blinking quickly as he washed away the thoughts of his father and came back to the present. He realised then that he was just standing there, glaring at a nice car for no apparent reason - not that Zach tended to care for how things look, he was too busy getting himself into trouble anyway so people's assumptions were usually right that he was up to no good, no point denying the fact.
"What did that car do to you to earn that look?" "Hmm?" Was his first automatic response, not expecting the stranger to talk. Most people did, only so they could accuse him of something - he just had one of those faces, he guessed, cheeky and mischievous, but she didn't look like she was about to start yelling. She was a bit odd looking, not in a bad way, just with all that colour in her hair, and the gaunt expression on her face. Zac wasn't one to notice the things people usually notice, he didn't tend to consider someone pretty or not pretty, but he did pick up on nuances a lot of the time - like if someone had freckles on their ears or something random like that. "Oh, this?" He asked, pointing toward the car, "it hasn't done anything yet, it's what it could do..." Like kill someone. He shrugged, "like how fast it could go." But he wouldn't, because look what happened last time. And yet, a part of him itched, as if to repeat history or to fix it.
