the_gene_genie | (no subject)

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kate barlow

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To say he's nervous about this would be understating it a little. Not only is he weirded out by the idea of getting on a horse, he's also wearing jeans. Which is not a usual thing for him and just brings out the alien nature of this whole encounter. But! Needs must and every time he wavers on it, he just thinks of Westerns and it's enough to strengthen his resolve.

Besides, the Gene Genie isn't afraid of a damn thing and he'll be damned if some beast is going to stop him living out a dream. So here he is, early in the morning (less chance of anyone seeing) and already fortified by a good few nips of Scotch.

'Alrigh', luv?'

Stables smell weird. Horses smell weird. Grass smells weird when it's all damp like this (he's never normally close enough to it to realise that dew gives a fresh tinge to everything). He pulls at his hipflask again and eyes her.

'If y'get the urge t'laugh, jus' remember who's goin' to show you how to drive a car, yeah?'

Revenge will be sweet, should she be less than understanding.

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Her lips twitch.

"Good mornin', Gene."

Her voice is just as sweet and serene as could be, as though he'd come in with the most gentlemanly salutations.

She's just finishing up some early morning chores, as evidenced by the pails of feed she's hauling, one in each leather be-gloved hand. It's cool enough that she's wearing a kerchief around her throat, but the rest -- boots, spurs, trousers, blouse, and hat -- is her common fare.

"See y'snuck out while the mist is still thick outside. Smart thinkin'."

She's laughing on the inside, Mr. Hunt. Oh, she is.

He suspects as much but has no evidence to back it up. Which...isn't something he generally needs before throwing accusations about but in this case, he's already decided to try and keep her on-side. So he says nothing, just eyes her warily.

'They don' 'and out DCI badges in lucky bags.'

Which is to say, he's not stupid. Early, and under cover of mist.

'Lets get on wi' it. Sooner I learn, sooner I don' have to get up at such a stupid hour to do this.'

Plus, he's nervous. And when he's nervous or unsure about something, he attacks it. Usually physically.

If he physically attacks any one of the horses, he's going to have a bigger problem on his hands than a few stifled snickers in the workplace. His enthusiasm and excitement to learn are the only things keeping Kate 'on-side' as it is.

(Right.)

"You're welcome to the stable any time y'like," she informs him, with a patient smile. "Most of the activity gets done before now. Duncan's been squared away, if y'wanna head t'his stall. Jus' let me settle these last few mares, an' I'll bring you some brushes."

If he's going to learn, Kate's going to teach him the right way to do things.

In this case, he wasn't planning to attack a horse, mainly because he doesn't fancy getting a hoof in the nuts in return. Plus, it'd be stupid. All attacking in this case will be the mental kind where he actually applies himself.

This is more rare than one might hope from a serving police officer but there you go. Institutional laziness is a feature of the 70s force.

'Brushes? I din't come to give 'im a beauty treatment!'

...which isn't to say he'll be an easy pupil, to start off with at least.

That's fine. Because Kate has no real intentions of being an easy teacher.

In fact, the only kind of response Gene gets out of her is a wicked laugh as she disappears into the feed room.

Once all the horses are sorted, she makes her way up to him. She has a bridle and lead in one hand, and a pail of combs and picks and brushes, etc., in the other. She sets the bucket down on a bench, and hands him the bridle.

"First, y'learn how t'get him in this. Today, I help you. After this, you're on your own. So pay attention."

That laugh? So not reassuring. He walks up to Duncan's stall and watches him, lighting up a cigarette as he waits for her. Duncan doesn't seem to appreciate the smell and stays away which, at this juncture, is just fine by him.

'Aye aye! Bondage gear for 'orses.'

He takes it from her and raises his eyebrows in a sarcastic kind of way.

'Kinky.'

He's paying attention. Really.

Edited 2010-07-28 00:58 (UTC)

Oh, god.

Please, let's not have Gene explain the modern definitions of 'bondage' and 'kinky' to Kate. No matter how curious her expression may be.

"You're not bindin' him."

She points out the primary pieces of the bridle, explaining their functions, and shows him how to slip the bridle on in the easiest way possible.

"Be firm with the bit, but don't force it. He knows the drill," she says, stroking Duncan's neck affectionately while she unlatches the stall door.

As she opens the door, he sort of has that feeling he gets before going to give evidence in court. He knows how things should go but can never quite predict the randomness of a jury's collective mind. Still, a jury is infinitely more stupid than a mere horse so he has that shred of comfort.

'Alrigh', fella.'

Treat Duncan like a person, maybe he'll be as reasonable as one?

...actually, no. That gives no hope whatsoever.

He does as he was told though and surprisingly, it's not that hard. Duncan is used to it of course and seems patient enough as Gene stays on his left and hooks a hand over his nose, offering the bit up with the other. The horse doesn't even complain too much when he catches the leather on his ear and accidentally pinches it trying to get it free. And then it's just a case of fastening a couple of buckles.

He looks at Kate with an air of alright? but all he says is,

'Don' it hurt 'him, havin' a mouthful o'metal like tha'?'

She watches him carefully, absently going over Duncan's mane with a hand brush. When he looks at her, she answers him with a proud smile.

"Not a lick. Your bit slides right on in t'this pocket here, behind his teeth. It can be uncomfortable when they're first learnin' it, but it don't hinder 'em from eatin' or anythin' like that," she explains. "Normally, I'd have y'put him in a halter t'brush him; reason bein' you don't want 'im t'step like this and hurt himself with the bit, once he's tied. But Duncan's real docile; and, you bein' in a hurry an' all, it shouldn't hurt 'im this once."

She smirks, fastening the lead to one of the bridle's hoops, and hands Gene the rope.

"Y'know how t'tie a 4H knot?"

4H knot?

'...come again? I don' speak equestrian.'

He didn't realise he knew the word 'equestrian' until about a second ago.

"They don't teach you knots 'fore they hand out them DCI badges?" she exclaims, feigning shock. "Here's hopin' a herd'a cattle don't escape on your watch."

She winks, and gestures him out of the stall.

"I'll show y'then. Lead 'im out, nice an' easy. There are lead ties on the outside'a the stall; y'should be able t'see 'em where you are. We're jus' gonna tie him off there so we can get him brushed down an' ready."

'I know 'ow t'tie a knot. I never 'eard of 4H, tha's all.'

He hates it when people know more than him, expecially when they're women. But he has to concede that isn't that the point of this? She knows about horses, he wants to learn how to ride one. So he just flashes her a dark sort of look and takes hold of the reins, trusting that Duncan knows how to walk without being dragged.

She conciliatorily holds up her hands, slipping out of the stall and around the gate as Gene brings Duncan out, and latches the gate shut again.

"Bring 'im about face."

'Ah, military terms. Them, I know.'

He turns him around. Easy enough.

This horse-ridin' stuff's a piece of piss.

The corner of her mouth twitches, but she bites her tongue.

For now.

She shows him a simple halter hitch, and helps him get Duncan secure before reaching for the bucket of brushes. She hands Gene one with coarse bristles.

"'Fore you can get 'im saddled up, y'make sure there ain't nothin' that'll aggravate his skin while you're ridin'. This is important."

It's not a beauty treatment in the strictest sense, as he had griped.

She pulls another mane and tail brush from the bucket and starts at Duncan's spine to demonstrate how it's done, instructing him on the basics: go with the coat, not against it; never stand behind him; and so on.

He watches her tie the knot and explain it. When she hands him the brush, she'll no doubt see his look of supreme unimpressed-ness.

'If you'd just called it a quick-release knot, like it is...'

Never mind.

He brushes the horse. It's straightforward enough, though he stops every now and again to pull hair out of it with a frown.

'Hairy bastard, ain't he? An' he smells. D'they all smell like tha'?'

"Folks 'round here have all kinds'a different names for things. Could'a called it a halter hitch, but I reckoned I'd get a blank look for that."

She's undaunted yet by his unimpressed-ness, and his bellyaching only makes her grin.

She leans in just slightly, catching hints of his cologne.

"I wonder if that's what they think, when you first walk in."

She would have, as well. He'd deny it, but then she leans in and he looks down at her, wondering what she's up to until she speaks. And then is just full of righteous indignation.

'Oi, wha' you tryin' t'say? Ain' nothin' wrong wi' my aftershave.'

He nods at Duncan who, it has to be said, appears unconcerned with anything Gene might say, do or smell like at this point in time.

'A bit o'Hai Karate sprayed on him wouldn' 'urt. He might even ge' a shag out of it.'

Hey, if men have to fight off the ladies, maybe bloke horses would be fighting off the mares. You never know.

It takes effort to keep the shock on her face from looking comical.

"Maybe, if he wasn't a gelding."

Her voice is full of barely contained laughter.

"What kinda name is 'Hi, Care'a Tea', anyhow?"

'He's 'ad his balls off?'

His indignant look turns sympathetic and he leans down to look Duncan in the eye.

'You poor bugger. Did she do tha'? I'd kick 'er in the tits if I were you.'

She deserves that for laughing at him, he feels. He straightens and pulls his fags out of his jeans pocket.

'I didn' name it Kate, I jus' splash it on an' fight the tarts off with a stick.'

She's never been so simultaneously offended and amused in her entire life. The way her face reddens, stomach contracted as she holds her breath, is only evidence of that.

"Your wife is a lucky woman."

Her voice is as dry as autumn leaves.

"Y'think you boys'll be all right if I go t'pull out the rest of our tack?"

'An' don' she know it, luv.'

Heh.

He lights up and claps the horse on the neck in a matey kind of way.

'Don' worry 'bout us. You need t'take a minute to calm yerself, go ahead.'

Duncan chuffs at the contact, muscles twitching under Gene's hand, and stomps a forefoot.

Kate just smiles, like the cat who ate the canary.

"Already y'know me so well, Gene. Don't spook 'im."

She turns on her heel and heads for the tack room.

This is going to be a terribly interesting lesson.

He's just trying to wind her up. She's altogether too immune to his sense of humour for his liking and anyway, a day's not complete without a bird screaming at him about what a twat he is.

Plus...well. He's not used to talking to women like they're people. He quite literally doesn't know how to have an actual conversation with one, at least not outside a professional capacity (and there are no female coppers anywhere near his rank, and very few in the station overall).

When it comes down to it, he's less worried about getting on a horse than he is taking lessons from a bird, and one that definitely fits the description of 'totty' at that. So he just smokes his cigarette and looks at Duncan (who ignores him; definitely not a proper lad at all) and thinks about football instead.

"I don't see your hands movin'."

Kate's probably not like the kind of woman Gene's used to. It's not that she's immune to his humor -- and the day's only just beginning, so the possibility of her calling him a 'twat' isn't too far-fetched (though, there are plenty of other choice words in her vocabulary that she might sooner use).

But she comes from a point in time where womenfolk weren't always respected by men. They had their duties, their structured place in society, and often stood to the side while the men discussed politics, education, sciences and so forth.

She's not immune to his ways, she's simply used to having to prove she knows more than needlepoint and Yeats around strong, opinionated men who look and see... well, a 'totty'. She can be patient. She can also throw with just as much accuracy as she shoots, and will lob him one good with one of them hard brushes if he doesn't get his head out of his ass soon.

"Sooner y'get him brushed down, the sooner y'get him saddled up an' we start ridin'," she points out, hauling more leather bits and blankets out to set on a bench between Duncan and Beaut's stalls.