Blair O'Connor | 24 (I think??) | Showjumping | Victory [schoolhorse] | Anastasia

Blair posted wearily, hands and seat holding Victory to a collected trot. The gelding was already warmed up from their short outride to the trails, but she wanted to get him moving well and on the bit before they attempted a jump. He could easily have cleared the highest fence in the arena - after all, he had won a gold a few years back at the Olympics - but she wasn't so sure that she would be able to sit it. Hence the endless circles and trotting poles.

She blew away a wisp of hair that had fallen in front of her face, her frustration slowly rising. Why wasn't she able to ask him to jump? That was what she was here for: not for dressage, or endurance, but for showjumping. She had managed to squeeze out of her morning lesson with T'sani with an excuse of too little sleep - not unwarranted, admittedly, but she'd ridden countless hours on a fraction of rest before. She simply didn't want anyone to see her like this - frozen with fear as Victory jumped perfectly, uncomfortable with anything more than a slow canter.

There hadn't been a clear point where her confidence had shifted, at least not that she could remember. She couldn't remember a time when there hadn't been a slight bubble of excitement and nerves before an intimidating fence, or the tension she fought to dispel at a show. But that was normal - this definitely wasn't. She had won her own ribbons time and time again, and been offered a place in one of the most prestigious equestrian centres in the US. Where had that talent gone now?

Finally asking for a canter, she pushed aside her thoughts. There would be plenty of time for analyzing her riding later, after she had failed yet again. Victory took the bit eagerly, lengthening his strides into a gloriously comfortable canter. Blair felt the slightest hint of joy as they moved smoothly around the arena, buried beneath the ever-present anxiety.

"C'mon, boy." Her voice shook slightly as she loosened her hold on the reins, giving him more of his head. "We can do this." Sure you can. "Just the small fence over there, see?" Coward. "Please - be good." The last sentence was barely necessary - Victory had impeccable manners both on the ground and in the saddle, and that wasn't about to change now. One ear flicked back at her, clearly listening to her quavering voice.

Blair kept her eyes on the jump even before they turned, trying to remember everything that had once been instinct. Focus on the jump. Eyes up, heels down. Count his strides - one two three one two three. The words rattled around her head as she collected him for the small fence, leaning back as they circled towards it.

Victory pricked his ears towards the jump, his whole demeanour changing. He instinctively corrected his strides with a flying change like the seasoned jumper he was, sensing without question that he had been on the wrong lead.

Blair felt her heart race into a speedy staccato as she prepared for it, one hand fearfully clutching the saddle. Coward. Eyes up, heels down. It's just a jump. One two three, one two three. Count his strides. What's it going to do, leap out and turn into a monster? Look up look up LOOK UP-

Blair was flung off the gentle gelding as he refused, landing roughly in the sand. She had luckily missed the obstacle by centimetres, although her shoulder had scraped past it in the accidental dismount. Coward. She slowly stood up and reached for his reins, eyes downcast at the sand. "Hey boy. That was me, I'm sorry." Her voice quivered as she patted his neck, breathing in his sweaty, horsey smell.

Only when she finally mounted again did she notice the other rider occupying the arena - and who had apparently watched the entire spectacle. She felt her neck heat up with a deep flush, hurriedly collecting her reins. "I'm not usually like this," Blair murmured beneath her breath, just loud enough for the young woman to hear. Liar.

[the quality is garbage and I'm still working on getting her character smooth, but here goes nothing xD]

Kirsten Obusi | 17 | Barrel Racer | Sure Ain't Misbehaving | Noelle

The red dun's hooves clattered loudly on the tarmac as Kirsty led him out, ringing in the quiet parking lot. Although almost all of the spaces were filled, it was surprisingly empty of human or equine companionship. The only other living creature in sight was a lone ginger cat, pausing its descent of the school's namesake oaks to glare suspiciously at the newcomers.

"Well, I ain't happy to see you either, honey." Kirsty raised one questioning eyebrow at the tom, tone dripping with contempt. Growing up on a smallholding just outside of Richmond had meant that she'd had to deal with her scorn of the feline species, but she most definitely wasn't their biggest fan. She was a horse-person, no question there - dogs were passably lovable, but she drew the line at cats.

"C'mon, Sam. We still gotta settle you in, and I wanna get me some food too." She tugged on her gelding's lead rope, coaxing him away from the trailer towards the stables.

***

After eventually finding Sam's stall - in hindsight, it may have been better to check with the barn manager where it was before leading the bemused gelding around the property - and unloading her large assortment of tack, Kirsty returned to her trailer to fetch her bags. She heaved her pile of bags towards the main house, shaking her head to clear the springs of dark hair that were gathering around her face.

She was grateful when she reached the building, her breath coming out in puffs of mist. The day was colder than she'd bargained for in her worn bootlegged jeans and shoulderless t-shirt, and she had been shivering before she even got out the car. Now, the cozy bubble of heat enveloped her as she stepped inside, stamping any mud she may have picked up on her weather-worn boots on the doormat.

Kirsty quickly found her assigned dorm. It was fairly far down the passage, the second to last room on this side of the building. She paused only momentarily before opening the door - partially to dump enough bags to have a free hand, and partially to read her roommate's name. It was written neatly on the small blackboard hanging on the door: Room G6. Kirsten Obusi & Noelle Smart. Clearly, either the students or dorms changed too often to add a permanent sign.

The first thing she noticed about her roommate was her bright amber eyes, and then the irrevocable sense that she was an English rider through and through. The other teen had already laid claim to the bed beside the window, clearly caught in the middle of unpacking her bags. So she's new here too.

Shoving the door open wider to make room for her mound of luggage, she dumped them haphazardly across the remaining empty bed across from Noelle. "Howdy pardner." Kirsty flashed an audacious grin, drawing out each vowel syllable. She was purposefully exaggerating her Southern accent in an attempt to rile the perfectly-kempt girl. Generally, she already fitted enough stereotypes - sassy Western rider with a strong Virginian drawl - and was it that bad that occasionally took advantage of it? She could still remember the expression on her former classmates' faces when she successfully cleared a tiny showjumping course - that they had been struggling on that entire lesson. Sometimes, it gave you authority to play into their cliched view of you - and then shock the crap out of them when you proved them wrong.

Aaron Franklin | 21 | Romeo / Diva | Hunters / Eventing | Jack

"I'll get him sorted, then." Aaron nudged Magik to the side, guiding him towards the neighbouring hitching post. The Thoroughbred threw one last nip in Midas's direction, ears pinned back as he swished his tail irritably. The sooner the two geldings were separated, the better.

"Good to know my memory isn't failing me entirely," Aaron joked, falling into a regular rhythm as he loosened the girth. Majik shifted anxiously while he ran up the stirrups, clearly not happy with the movement by his side. He could see why his rider had been thrown: even on the ground, the handsome grey was antsy and temperamental, unhappy with the 'boring' notion of standing still.

"Ah, that's cool. How old is he? - assuming Harley's a dude,the name has that ring to it, you know? Anyway." He liked Jack's energy, if he could go so far as to call it that - focused yet laidback, and a quiet sense of ease in the way that he handled horses. Not everyone here was like that - in his three short moths at the acclaimed school, he had met a wide range of riders with equally differing riding styles.

Easing the saddle of Majik's back, he replied to Jack's question over his shoulder. "About three months, give or take. It's been winter though, and Romeo - my gelding - had a mild bout of colic soon after moving here, so we haven't shown much in the hunter classes yet. Or at least, not as much as I'd've liked to." He lapsed back into a comfortable silence, now attacking the grey's sweaty sides with a dandy comb he had picked up from a grooming kit lying nearby - he could clean it before returning it, but chances were the owner wouldn't notice an extra strand of fur in the brush.

-Sandra would be already be in at a hospital that her older sister, Heather, was already in. She was in the waiting room for an hour with Toby behaving since the young woman had the large dog on a leash but she has her phone on just incase anyone at the barn tried to get in contact with her. Her freckled face was stained with tears while her eyes were a bit puffy from crying a couple of times while the German Shepherd laid there quietly with his head down on his front paws, watching every single thing in the waiting room before he closed his eyes to enjoy the pets on his head from Sandra's hand, taking it as praise for being a good boy-

Storm | Titanium | 19 | Gelding | Breed: Orlov Trotter | Color: Roan Grullo Tobiano Splash White Frame | Eventing | Owner: Heather Proudstorm | M: Shade, Open

-Storm started to get anxious as he started calling out, searching for someone as he blows loudly. Practically prancing up and down the pasture fence line with his tail held high with ears pricked forward while the Dark Bay didn't seem faded about it since he was just munching away at the grass. The gelding halted at one end of the fence line, looking around while his blue eyes continue to search before he loudly started calling out again, obviously starting to get worked up as he let out a few more loud blows from his pink muzzle, starting back to prancing up and down the fence again-

Cameron Fairfield | 19?? | SJ | Lucifer/Stardust (schoolhorse) | Heather, Sandra

Cam's driving was reckless at best, but the speed that he was currently going at was at least twenty kilometres over the speed limit, and of course he didn't slow down for corners. What sort of a geek did that, anyway?

If someone had asked the vivacious Australian why he was driving with such vicious atrocity at this moment, chances are that he'd brush them off with an idle remark that he enjoyed staring death square in the eye, or distract them with a vivid compliment (about himself or them, no one would ever be sure.) But in all honesty, it lay much deeper than what the laidback expression on his face would suggest. Something had happened to Heather.

For some reason or other, her voicemail had cut out abruptly. Maybe her phone had died, or the connection had been lost - but you didn't generally curse fearfully when your phone dropped to 1%, did you? He had stared worriedly at his own cellphone for a few minutes after listening to the message, before Luci's moody nips distracted him enough to actually think logically. His first thought had been to contact Sandra, Heather's showjumping younger sister - slightly less attractive than her older counterpart, but she was a member of the female sex, and that counted for something. A quick text had revealed what he had almost guessed, but purposefully ignored for sanity's sake: Heather was in a car crash, and was currently at the hospital being checked up.

Now, on the road about ten minutes from the centre she was supposedly at, the blond's usual unshakeable confidence seemed less immaculate than usual. Nothing less than suave would ever slip out of his mouth, but there was an air about him that hinted at a slightly frazzled nature.

Finally pulling into the crammed parking lot, Cam's eyebrows rose curiously at the sight of Kholo's all-too-recognizable muddy Jeep pulled in right next to the entrance. Clearly Heather wasn't the only one to have been injured from the school. He quickly walked into the domineering stonework building, chatted up to the receptionist - why exactly should a close friend of his almost dying affect his ability to flirt anyway? - and found out which ward she was in. Or, rather, that only immediate family could visit at the moment, and even so they were still waiting.

"A'ight, thanks." He flashed a grin at the middle-aged woman, only to be met with a stern frown. "For the help, ya know." With that, he ambled towards the waiting room, all worries masked now that he was in public. It wouldn't do for him to show any true, deep emotions, of course. Only hippies and shrinks did that.

Sandra was easy to spot in the crowded room, what with the large German Shepherd lying attentively at her feet. Her face was slightly red from crying, Cam guessed, but decided against saying anything. He opted instead for a quizzical wave, as he folded his tall frame into the neighbouring seat. "How's it hangin', Sandra?" He glanced up momentarily, but quickly dropped his gaze at seeing the raw emotion behind her eyes. "Heard anything about Heather yet?"