"Hey, Lesbo!" Diana's groan was inevitable as she buried her face in her palm. She had already finished with Beatrix's post-ride care and the mare was quietly indulging in a soothing leg soak. Nearby, Diana was buffing her saddle to a sheen, occasionally treating Beatrix to a peppermint from the nearby bag, contentment evident in the mare's demeanor.
Her tranquility was short-lived thanks to Rosings' intrusion.
"Amanda, can you not refer to me by that name?" Diana demanded sharply, resting the cleaning sponge on the saddle's cantle and fixing Amanda with a frosty glare. "It's highly offensive."
Amanda's smirk widened as she secured her helmet - identical to Cellie's - and gripped her pony's reins close to its mouthpiece. To Diana, the pony seemed unruly and unpredictable, much like Amanda herself. "I beg to differ. I think it suits you well," Amanda retorted defiantly. Her pony acted out in agreement, stretching a hoof and restlessly swishing its dark tail.
The label 'Lesbo' had stuck ever since Amanda caught Diana in an intimate farewell with a former girlfriend beside her car over a year ago. With an exasperated eye roll and deep sigh, Diana turned her focus back to the saddle leather, applying cleaner in gentle swirls over its already gleaming surface. "Amanda, please. I'm busy here."
"Hmmm." Amanda eyed her briefly before engaging with Beatrix by skimming her fingers over the mare's nose - held at bay only by Amanda's firm hand on the pony straining to advance. "How's her leg?"
"It's recovering well," Diana answered tersely without looking up; ignoring Amanda often resulted in her departure – an effective tactic against persistent annoyances.
Sure enough, Amanda's attention shifted at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
"Hey, Cellie!" She withdrew from Beatrix – who voiced her displeasure – and redirected towards the newcomer with obvious relief from Diana.
"I thought you'd join us for a ride," Amanda called out as Cellie halted near them, bridle casually slung over one shoulder while her chestnut mare followed loyally behind.
"Actually," came Cellie's response as she stopped beside them, "I wanted to get my ride done early so I could catch up on some sleep."
Diana kept silent though she itched to chip in; eavesdropping wasn't polite. She instead focused on rewarding Beatrix with another peppermint.
But then warmth brushed against her face accompanied by whiskery nuzzles. Chuckling softly, Diana turned towards Cellie's mare nudging at her for treats.
"Oh! My apologies," Cellie murmured, reining in her pony with an affectionate embrace around its neck. "She has quite the fondness for peppermints."
Diana delved into her bag again and retrieved another mint. These were the luxurious kind that immediately dissolved on your tongue, often found at fine dining establishments, and were undeniably Beatrix's treat of choice. Extending her palm flat, she offered the treat to the eager pony, who perked up her ears and swiftly claimed the mint.
"Appreciate it," Cellie expressed with gratitude. She gently slid her fingers through the mare's thick forelock and playfully twitched her ears back and forth. Whispering softly in her native tongue, she murmured to the pony, "Kou, Chariot," slipping effortlessly into Japanese, "Mina ni okashi o tanomu hitsuyo wa arimasen."
As Cellie engaged Amanda in lively chatter, conspicuously ignoring Diana and Beatrix nearby, Diana took the opportunity to observe the mare more closely. Petite in stature with a refined Arabian profile, her copper skin was speckled with healthy dapples. Immaculate white adorned all four legs except where flecks of arena sand had lightly dusted them. Only the front hooves bore shoes; her rear hooves remained unshod.
Something about the way the mare rested one of her hind legs captured Diana's attention. Her eyebrows furrowing in concern, she traced the line from the cocked pastern up to where it met the hipbone.
As Amanda made a quick exit, throwing a cavalier farewell towards the figure now receding behind her with a curt "See you later, Hitchens," Diana heaved a sigh of relief that Amanda refrained from using derogatory nicknames for once when others were within earshot.
"Hey, Cellie—" Diana broke off from her task and eased the saddle down against the wall as she stood up to get Cellie's attention. "Just a moment."
Cellie turned around with a look of mild surprise. Upon removing her helmet revealing damp locks clinging to her scalp from perspiration; it struck Diana that Cellie had strikingly red eyes—a detail she surprisingly hadn't noticed before—and in their uniqueness, they held an unfamiliar allure. "What can I do for you?" Cellie queried.
Diana hesitated momentarily as she gathered her wits about her again after momentarily losing focus. Clearing her throat discreetly, she regrouped and asked with composure, "Would you mind if we take off her saddle?"
Cellie answered with some uncertainty yet compliance evident in her tone while already unfastening the girth strap from around Chariot's middle. With practiced ease, she lifted off the saddle.
"Chariot is quite an unusual name," Diana commented casually as she approached closer and skillfully palpated along both sides of Chariot's back with precision born out of experience amidst Chariot's patiently waiting stance, without any sign of discomfort despite being bereft of any riding gear.
Cellie responded with a lighthearted laugh and nonchalantly scratched at the back of her head with one hand while explaining, "Ah yes, I actually named her after Chariot du Nord—she's someone I truly admire."
Diana barely registered the conversation, her focus instead on discerning the subtle shifts in the horse's spine under her fingertips.
"You recognize them, don't you?"
"Undoubtedly," she responded absentmindedly. The reputation of Chariot du Nord as a celebrated Show Jumper for France's Olympic team was widely acknowledged in equestrian circles. Diana's hands glided towards the mare's hipbone, confirming her suspicion with a practiced sweep along the mare's back. Precisely at the fifth lumbar vertebrae, she detected the misalignment. Shifting her stance for better leverage, she applied gentle pressure with her thumbs before intensifying the force, working in broader circular motions. Beneath her hands, Chariot's muscles quivered, and as the mare shifted uneasily at first, she soon succumbed to relaxation, exhaling a breath of comfort.
Cellie observed with a mix of intrigue and uncertainty as the mare nuzzled her hand.
"Diana reasoned, meeting Cellie's inquisitive gaze with a measured look while stroking the mare encouragingly on her withers. "It's due to all those dynamic jumps you two perform. She'll be alright now. Regular visits from a chiropractor—bi-annually, at least—are advisable. There you go, good girl," Diana praised Chariot with an affectionate rub along her neck.
"Oh," Cellie responded with a fleeting look of concern while caressing the pony under its throatlatch. "My apologies, Chariot," she whispered regretfully before turning to Diana with gratitude. "Thank you."
Acknowledging Cellie with another nod, Diana settled back onto the stool and resumed cleaning her saddle—her silent cue that their interaction had concluded. Cellie hovered momentarily in hesitation, seemingly anticipating further dialogue before reluctantly signaling to Chariot and departing with a soft, "Catch up soon."
As Diana smoothed her hand across the saddle's flap, her gaze lifted momentarily to observe Cellie's retreating figure and the pony ambling after its owner loyally. Shifting attentions back to Beatrix—her own horse dozing peacefully in the crossties—Diana murmured "Charming," under her breath with an amused smile that wasn't for the pony. Reaching into her bag then, she treated Beatrix to another peppermint treat.
"Get rid of that asinine Games team!" Barbara's voice pierced the air like a siren.
Exhausted, Diana released a deep sigh and placed her highlighter on the text about Equine Pharmacology—a subject she had to master for the upcoming class week, exactly as outlined in the syllabus. Her cherished hour of peaceful study was abruptly ended by her roommates' clamorous arrival at their shared border-of-campus rowhouse.
"Diana!" they bellowed.
Removing her glasses and massaging her temples, she couldn't help but note the irony: her door was closed, yet that seemed irrelevant to her roommates' sudden intrusion. Clad in their grime-covered equestrian attire, they at least had the presence of mind to shed their paddock boots by the entrance—Diana's non-negotiable edict, aptly designed to keep their living space from mimicking a stable's pungency.
"What can I do for you?" she inquired with a resigned breath, pivoting in her chair to be confronted by two scowls seething with indignance.
"Amanda Rosings is beyond bearable," bemoaned Hannah while unceremoniously collapsing onto Diana's bed—much to her host's dismay, considering Hannah's dirt-laden state—and hammering dismay into the duvet. Stationed by the doorway with arms tightly folded, Barbara added her grievances. "Can you not mention this to Headmistress Holbrooke? It's preposterous for them to introduce such a team. What even is Mounted Games as a sport?"
"It hardly qualifies as one," Barbara scoffed, decrying Stargate Equestrian's sanctioning of such an activity.
Silently disagreeing based on Cellie's athletic prowess witnessed earlier, Diana nonetheless withheld comment. Instead, she inquired coolly, "What exactly is it that they've done wrong?" while drumming her fingers on the book and shifting gaze between the duo.
"They swarmed into the arena during our riding time and began gallivanting about wildly," snarled Barbara through clenched teeth. "I'm positive Cellie orchestrated it."
Cellie hadn't—a fact Diana knew from overhearing an exchange devoid of any plotting against them or any malicious intent toward their Hunt Team. However, instead of diving into that matter, she calmly suggested, "The arenas are meant for shared use; everyone is entitled to practice there. If solitude is preferred, perhaps try the Hunter arena?"
"That one has obstacles," Hannah grumbled disconsolately. "Why can't this Games team stick to their own? They hauled their paraphernalia into ours and chaos ensued!"
"It was only a stick," Barbara added sheepishly after Hannah threw her a scathing look—but she promptly aborted that line of defense under Hannah's furious gaze. "Yet it was undeniably an act lacking in common courtesy."
"Hannah, for heaven's sake, could you vacate my bed?" Diana implored, her tone dripping with irritation as Hannah's playful antics ruffled the bedsheets that Diana meticulously kept prim and orderly. The girl with the auburn tresses quickly retreated to Barbara's side after that stern request.
Continuing her grievance, Hannah lamented, "That pony Amanda insists on running—absolutely maddening in front of Cello! He was nearly at his wits' end. Honestly, I'd understand if he'd lashed out at the beast." At this, Barbara nodded in staunch approval. "Despite my pleas for Amanda to cease, she merely scoffed and dismissed me."
Diana's lips thinned as she contemplated this. Amanda Rosings was not her favorite person; a fact that was far from a secret. Diana considered her conduct abhorrent but reminded herself it wasn't her concern. She proposed to the girls, "Why don't you discuss this with Miss Nelson? Or better yet, speak to Miss Meridien." Known for her iron resolve and intolerance for reckless behavior, their instructor and coach of the Hunt Team carried considerable influence.
The room steeped into silence upon Diana's suggestion. She often found herself at the center of the others' needs—be it tutoring them, caring for their horses, or reminding them of basic hygiene at bedtime—and frankly, she was weary of it. More than anything, she needed to shift her focus to academics. "Now, if you don't mind," Diana said courteously but firmly, "I need to return to my studies."
While Barbara strode away in a huff, Hannah lingered with a furrowed brow. "Mark my words; that reckless team is an accident waiting to happen," she mumbled darkly with narrowed eyes. "You'll see what I mean soon enough and maybe then you'll join us in reporting them."
"Absolutely," agreed Diana in a non-committal tone, anticipating privacy. As soon as Hannah exited and the door clicked shut behind her, Diana plunked down into her chair and cradled her head in despair—their interruption had shattered her study rhythm. However, pushed by a budding curiosity about the subjects of their earlier discussion, she flipped open her MacBook and initiated two searches: "Mounted Games" and "Cellie Garcia," eager to delve into information that might refuel her disrupted focus.