[ it took a bit of adjusting to get the forge organized to jayce's tastes, but once he's done with that, it's to work. each horse has a stride, and none of them are perfect. jayce creates a lot of craft ahead of him that he probably wouldn't finish in a day, of which he doesn't actually have to do— but to be different, to stand out, he does. every single horse in this stable is going to need a repair trim. the ones that don't or can't because of a prior cut too short has him mumbling and complaining under his breath— who the hell trimmed this horse? and this one? what the hell kind of shoe was it wearing? an assistant, young and taut, only listens, nods, and does what he's told when jayce asks him to walk the horse in varying speeds.
no wonder it was reported as stubborn, lately— the fit was uncomfortable. detrimental, if it was worn for too long. jayce spends all afternoon taking notes on a single chestnut coated mare's gate by the name of Riosilitta. well, whatever "chestnut" is. all he sees is grey.
removing her fit already eases her posture, but doesn't fix the uneven slant in her hooves. she'll need custom shoes for that, each one different than the last to accommodate a specific leg. and it's there that jayce begins to shape them. the forge is hot and the clanking of molten metal is relentless. when a staff member visits to escort jayce to the young master, she calls him uncouth for working without a shirt on. the audacity!
he has his obvious reasons, but that goes more or less ignored. i'm busy, he'll grunt, and continue on with his work. he's not about to give what he thinks is a snobby child his undivided attention for play time when he's busy. if the boss didn't order it, too bad.
but she insists, annoyingly so, says something or other about it being of poor taste, especially if it fell to the ears of the mother and father. the young master was just as important around these parts.
reluctantly and pissed to be interrupted, jayce wipes the sweat and excess soot off of him, fits his uniform top which . . . is already dirty and reeks of horse and ash, before he limps along with his escort. he looks nowhere appropriate to enter the manor— his bangs stick to his temples and there are smudges of grit on his nose and cheek. his permanent brace clicks along with his step, which makes him heard like a bull wearing a cowbell.
in front of the library. augh, he's so annoyed. what does he want, to be read to? aren't there people for that? why me? jayce would have to settle with he asked for you, specifically. following a knock, the woman opens the grand, tall doors into the atheneum and announces their arrival.
jayce steps in only when told, not sure what to expect, and not exactly the friendliest of faces. he's searching for . . . a bratty kid, and does not find one. ]
no subject
no wonder it was reported as stubborn, lately— the fit was uncomfortable. detrimental, if it was worn for too long. jayce spends all afternoon taking notes on a single chestnut coated mare's gate by the name of Riosilitta. well, whatever "chestnut" is. all he sees is grey.
removing her fit already eases her posture, but doesn't fix the uneven slant in her hooves. she'll need custom shoes for that, each one different than the last to accommodate a specific leg. and it's there that jayce begins to shape them. the forge is hot and the clanking of molten metal is relentless. when a staff member visits to escort jayce to the young master, she calls him uncouth for working without a shirt on. the audacity!
he has his obvious reasons, but that goes more or less ignored. i'm busy, he'll grunt, and continue on with his work. he's not about to give what he thinks is a snobby child his undivided attention for play time when he's busy. if the boss didn't order it, too bad.
but she insists, annoyingly so, says something or other about it being of poor taste, especially if it fell to the ears of the mother and father. the young master was just as important around these parts.
reluctantly and pissed to be interrupted, jayce wipes the sweat and excess soot off of him, fits his uniform top which . . . is already dirty and reeks of horse and ash, before he limps along with his escort. he looks nowhere appropriate to enter the manor— his bangs stick to his temples and there are smudges of grit on his nose and cheek. his permanent brace clicks along with his step, which makes him heard like a bull wearing a cowbell.
in front of the library. augh, he's so annoyed. what does he want, to be read to? aren't there people for that? why me? jayce would have to settle with he asked for you, specifically. following a knock, the woman opens the grand, tall doors into the atheneum and announces their arrival.
jayce steps in only when told, not sure what to expect, and not exactly the friendliest of faces. he's searching for . . . a bratty kid, and does not find one. ]