Post by Pan Banks on Jan 24, 2017 12:07:06 GMT
Marcus Foster
Pan leaned against the silver railings, anxiously picking dirt from under her nails as the horses were slowly loaded into their start gates. She had yet to make use of the VIP viewing room she'd been granted, preferring instead to take up her mantle as a trainer and escort her own running colt to the field. It was difficult and rare to be both owner and sole trainer of a racehorse, let alone to be successful doing it. It also made watching all the harder, and racing all the riskier, as she was quite literally betting her career and livelihood on every race.
Her lips drew tighter when her own horse, Surfer's Paradise, balked slightly before his gate. He'd always been a bit twitchy in high-stress situations, and she was hoping some race exposure would help him get over the issue. It was only a maiden race, so she wasn't so incredibly concerned by the outcome; but a win was always exciting. Her hand absently raised, raking through her auburn hair once, twice. Was she always such a wreck before a race? Surely not. She'd have grey hairs in a matter of months if that were the case.
Pan breathed a sigh of relief, mouthing a thank you as her assistant returned with two bottles of hard cider. She took them both, enjoying the cool sensation. Bubbly champagne was all well and polite, but it did absolutely shit-all for her nerves, and if she were being honest, didn't taste nearly as fancy as it sounded. She turned a bottle around and whistled. "6.9% alcohol. That's what I'm talking about." Now....To figure out why she was holding two. Pan cast about for her assistant, but the young man had been swallowed by the crowd. All of the horses had been loaded into the gates, and she didn't much feel like searching him out.
With a shrug Pan turned to the person beside her, a stranger she hadn't bothered a glance at until now. With a wicked grin she placed one of the cold cans against a patch of their bare skin. "Fancy a cold one?"