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Description
Previously:

Season: 6
FEBRUARY

The dawning of BCC’s next season of racing was spectacular. The press ate up the news that Canaan and Oceanic would be returning for another final year of racing. On the turnabout, Saber never fully recovered from his difficult fall season and never made it back to Gulfstream. Cyrus was displeased but Jackson was beside himself with glee and had already started booking distance mares to the sprinter for the spring.

The morning of the Holy Bull was exceptionally cold; arctic air had moved South to overtake Florida and the natives didn’t quite know how to handle it. Jockeys grumbled that their ankles and knees hurt as they rode and old trainers groaned as they hobbled up and down the barn aisles. The horses didn’t seem to mind, however. Canaan, especially, loved the colder temperatures and wheeled about in her stall so much that Cyrus sent her and Oceanic out for an unscheduled gallop just to distract her.

Aztec was as patient and vigilant as ever as he awaited the afternoon.

Noon came and went and the temperatures barely climbed above freezing. Javier used the undercard races as his warmups, though, and by the time they saddled Aztec and he hopped onboard, he was as loose and limber as he could be. As the pair trotted onto the track, the effect was unreal: Aztec’s dark gold hide glistened in the afternoon light and his mane flowed like milk. Sweat glittered on his flanks like icicles.

He was beautiful.

The race itself was little more than a paid workout for him. He cruised under the wire in 1:42 4/5 with a margin of five lengths. As far as seasonal debuts went, it was the perfect trip.

Much farther north, seventeen-year-old Alexandra grinned to herself in front of the Gulfstream Park livestream on her laptop. In her hands, she clutched a small envelope with a picture of a young filly inside and a list of horses next to it. There was a small note, too. “Pick one,” it said.

***

A week after the Holy Bull, Cyrus found himself watching the week-day undercard races on a whim. He didn’t normally—what was the point? But for some reason, he felt the itch to watch the maidens and the claimers run that day. Most of his barn was napping after their lunch-time baths and he had a few hours to himself to wile away.

Later, much later, after he was old and gray and thinking back on times long past, he would claim that Fate sent him to the backstretch that afternoon. But for now, he was merely enjoying watching the horses run without the stress of hoping they won.

It was a Wednesday, and Wednesdays meant claiming races at Gulfstream. Horse after horse moved past, a blur of bay and copper and the occasional flash of dark brown.

It was in this sea of brown that she caught his eye; she was nearly pure white and built more like hunter rather than a racehorse. Her cannons were as thick as tree trunks and her spine sloped more elegantly than most. She stood relatively calmly in the saddling paddock but danced in place on her toes and nibbled mischievously on her trainer’s shirt as her jockey accepted a leg up.

Cyrus scrambled for his racing form.

Her name was Impressions. She was four years old and still a maiden after twelve starts. Her pedigree contained little to no known runners in the immediate generations, which explained her hunter-like appearance. How she had made it onto the track was a mystery, for her breeding said leisure competitor rather than racehorse.

Cyrus didn’t make a habit of scouting out new horseflesh—that was Mira’s job, after all. But something about this mare called to him.

He watched avidly as she went into post and broke smoothly from the gate. The seven furlong race went smoothly and she held a good position in fifth along the rail, but she never kicked into gear during the stretch run. More likely than not, her breeding failed to give her the speed a racehorse needed to succeed.

But those thick bones of hers promised greatness in the breeding shed.

He called Lia. She was a sucker for color and had been looking for a white broodmare for a while now, anyway.

A week later, BCC’s owner secured the mare in a private sale for a dismal $10,000 and sent her to brood immediately. Jackson was gleeful and knew exactly who he would send her to the following month.

After all, you matched strengths with weaknesses when breeding racehorses, and her strong bones would go nicely with Siege’s speed.

***

At the tail end of February came another cold spell, and with it, Canaan’s happiness. Both she and Oceanic were thriving during their morning works.

It was one such morning that Javier and Eddie were fighting over who got to ride whom when Javier was suddenly hip checked into oblivion.

Canaan snorted at the abrupt movement, then lovingly whuffled Dani’s hair as Javier cursed from his position on the ground.

“Guess who’s official, bitches!” Dani crowed as she waved her jockey’s license high in the air. Eddie grinned at her and they high-fived.

“Congrats, Dani,” he said before bending over to help Javier to his feet. “It’s been a long time coming, eh?”

“You bet it has,” Javier cut in. “About time, tigre!”

From his watchful position along the rail, Cyrus piped up. “Get a leg up, Dani,” he shouted over the wind. “I want you to take Canaan out for a spin.”

She and Javier grinned at each other and Eddie handed the older jockey Oceanic’s reins without a fuss. He would never complain about a break in the workouts.

Eddie assisted his friends into the saddle and the two Columbian jockeys steered their mounts toward the center of the oval. Oceanic and Canaan were old war veterans now; they didn’t need any guidance from their riders. The two moved in tandem like milk and honey, their pale grey hides sliding next to each other with ease.

A few days later, Oceanic debuted as a five year old in the Grade III Hal’s Hope Stakes, securing the one-turn mile in 1:37 flat under a hand ride from Javier.

And then, it was Canaan’s turn.

Name: Aztec
Barn name: n/a
Gender: Colt
Age: 3
Breed: Thoroughbred
Height: Projected 16.3hh
Color: Deep chocolate palomino
Genotype: ee/aa/nCr
Markings: None
Temperament: Aztec is a unique individual. He is calm and highly observant, and gentle with everyone. He is a focused athlete, however, and glories in the triumph.
Discipline: Flat racing, dirt
Bloodlines: Hemali x Kohl , Poltergeist

Impressions can be seen here:

Art, Characters, and Story (C) me

Next on:

Description
Previously:

Season: 6
FEBRUARY

The dawning of BCC’s next season of racing was spectacular. The press ate up the news that Canaan and Oceanic would be returning for another final year of racing. On the turnabout, Saber never fully recovered from his difficult fall season and never made it back to Gulfstream. Cyrus was displeased but Jackson was beside himself with glee and had already started booking distance mares to the sprinter for the spring.

The morning of the Holy Bull was exceptionally cold; arctic air had moved South to overtake Florida and the natives didn’t quite know how to handle it. Jockeys grumbled that their ankles and knees hurt as they rode and old trainers groaned as they hobbled up and down the barn aisles. The horses didn’t seem to mind, however. Canaan, especially, loved the colder temperatures and wheeled about in her stall so much that Cyrus sent her and Oceanic out for an unscheduled gallop just to distract her.

Aztec was as patient and vigilant as ever as he awaited the afternoon.

Noon came and went and the temperatures barely climbed above freezing. Javier used the undercard races as his warmups, though, and by the time they saddled Aztec and he hopped onboard, he was as loose and limber as he could be. As the pair trotted onto the track, the effect was unreal: Aztec’s dark gold hide glistened in the afternoon light and his mane flowed like milk. Sweat glittered on his flanks like icicles.

He was beautiful.

The race itself was little more than a paid workout for him. He cruised under the wire in 1:42 4/5 with a margin of five lengths. As far as seasonal debuts went, it was the perfect trip.

Much farther north, seventeen-year-old Alexandra grinned to herself in front of the Gulfstream Park livestream on her laptop. In her hands, she clutched a small envelope with a picture of a young filly inside and a list of horses next to it. There was a small note, too. “Pick one,” it said.

***

A week after the Holy Bull, Cyrus found himself watching the week-day undercard races on a whim. He didn’t normally—what was the point? But for some reason, he felt the itch to watch the maidens and the claimers run that day. Most of his barn was napping after their lunch-time baths and he had a few hours to himself to wile away.

Later, much later, after he was old and gray and thinking back on times long past, he would claim that Fate sent him to the backstretch that afternoon. But for now, he was merely enjoying watching the horses run without the stress of hoping they won.

It was a Wednesday, and Wednesdays meant claiming races at Gulfstream. Horse after horse moved past, a blur of bay and copper and the occasional flash of dark brown.

It was in this sea of brown that she caught his eye; she was nearly pure white and built more like hunter rather than a racehorse. Her cannons were as thick as tree trunks and her spine sloped more elegantly than most. She stood relatively calmly in the saddling paddock but danced in place on her toes and nibbled mischievously on her trainer’s shirt as her jockey accepted a leg up.

Cyrus scrambled for his racing form.

Her name was Impressions. She was four years old and still a maiden after twelve starts. Her pedigree contained little to no known runners in the immediate generations, which explained her hunter-like appearance. How she had made it onto the track was a mystery, for her breeding said leisure competitor rather than racehorse.

Cyrus didn’t make a habit of scouting out new horseflesh—that was Mira’s job, after all. But something about this mare called to him.

He watched avidly as she went into post and broke smoothly from the gate. The seven furlong race went smoothly and she held a good position in fifth along the rail, but she never kicked into gear during the stretch run. More likely than not, her breeding failed to give her the speed a racehorse needed to succeed.

But those thick bones of hers promised greatness in the breeding shed.

He called Lia. She was a sucker for color and had been looking for a white broodmare for a while now, anyway.

A week later, BCC’s owner secured the mare in a private sale for a dismal $10,000 and sent her to brood immediately. Jackson was gleeful and knew exactly who he would send her to the following month.

After all, you matched strengths with weaknesses when breeding racehorses, and her strong bones would go nicely with Siege’s speed.

***

At the tail end of February came another cold spell, and with it, Canaan’s happiness. Both she and Oceanic were thriving during their morning works.

It was one such morning that Javier and Eddie were fighting over who got to ride whom when Javier was suddenly hip checked into oblivion.

Canaan snorted at the abrupt movement, then lovingly whuffled Dani’s hair as Javier cursed from his position on the ground.

“Guess who’s official, bitches!” Dani crowed as she waved her jockey’s license high in the air. Eddie grinned at her and they high-fived.

“Congrats, Dani,” he said before bending over to help Javier to his feet. “It’s been a long time coming, eh?”

“You bet it has,” Javier cut in. “About time, tigre!”

From his watchful position along the rail, Cyrus piped up. “Get a leg up, Dani,” he shouted over the wind. “I want you to take Canaan out for a spin.”

She and Javier grinned at each other and Eddie handed the older jockey Oceanic’s reins without a fuss. He would never complain about a break in the workouts.

Eddie assisted his friends into the saddle and the two Columbian jockeys steered their mounts toward the center of the oval. Oceanic and Canaan were old war veterans now; they didn’t need any guidance from their riders. The two moved in tandem like milk and honey, their pale grey hides sliding next to each other with ease.

A few days later, Oceanic debuted as a five year old in the Grade III Hal’s Hope Stakes, securing the one-turn mile in 1:37 flat under a hand ride from Javier.

And then, it was Canaan’s turn.

Name: Aztec
Barn name: n/a
Gender: Colt
Age: 3
Breed: Thoroughbred
Height: Projected 16.3hh
Color: Deep chocolate palomino
Genotype: ee/aa/nCr
Markings: None
Temperament: Aztec is a unique individual. He is calm and highly observant, and gentle with everyone. He is a focused athlete, however, and glories in the triumph.
Discipline: Flat racing, dirt
Bloodlines: Hemali x Kohl , Poltergeist

Impressions can be seen here:

Art, Characters, and Story (C) me

Next on: