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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Blanket, check. He even makes sure its smooth without having to be told. Saddle...check. Though his handling of it is far more unweildy than Kate's.

'Bloody 'ell, this can' be comfortable. For me or him.'

He puts it where she tells him, up on the withers, but is still eyeing it dubiously.

'Am I still goin' t'have my wedding tackle attached by tonight?'

"Reckon that all depends on how much y'piss off the teacher 'fore we're through today."

It's an offhanded comment, made as she's checking his belts to make sure they're tight.

She smiles serenely.

"Think you'll need a step stool?"

'No.'

How rude! Gene is tall and also, has rather stupidly long legs. He's pretty sure he can cope, therefore, she's getting yet another glare.

It doesn't occur to him that she might be winding him up.

'Can I get on 'im now?'

Other people might stick a 'please' on that, but not him.

If it were any other woman, for as many ridiculous jokes as he's made in the last half hour, she might ask him how many times he's asked that question.

She doesn't.

(This is probably for the best.)

"Jus' one more thing."

She steps over to the desk along the back wall, and picks up a Stetson by its crown.

"You ain't gotta wear it; jus' remember it's a gift, an' it'd be rude to refuse."

She's blatantly teasing him as she offers the cowboy hat for inspection. She figures, though, just maybe it'll be right up his alley.

And it is. It really is. He looks surprised, naturally, and for a moment a bit unsure of himself (a rare thing that Kate may never see again) but he takes it from her and immediately puts it on his head.

It suits him.

'Soft mare.'

So, y'know. Thanks, Kate.

Is what he's trying to say.

Edited 2010-08-28 22:24 (UTC)

She has no idea what he's getting at.

But the look on his face -- surprising, confounding, and sweet -- is enough. She don't expect he lets his guard down easily, and so she smiles when he settles his new hat on his head.

(It does suit him.)

"Now yer ready."

Running through all the last minute details, she unties Duncan's lead and offers a steadying hand while Gene negotiates those stupidly long legs of his up into the saddle.

He looks at her hand like it's an alien creature that might try to jump up his nose if he touches it (he doesn't need help from girls), and grabs a handful of mane like she said.

It's not hard, mounting a horse. The weird bit comes when he's up there because, well, he'd sort of assumed that sitting in a saddle would be similar to riding a motorbike. He hasn't done that in more years than he can remember but he's pretty sure it didn't feel like this. Bikes are still until you move them yourself, fairly narrow between your legs, inanimate in every way until you turn the key. Duncan is rounded, making his legs bend in ways they're not accustomed to, his jeans are too tight across the crotch and it's high, far higher than it looked from the ground. And there's the uncomfortable feeling that the animal might decide to just bugger off at any moment and there wouldn't be anything he could do to stop it.

Gene is so not a man that is used to being out of control.

'OK,' he says, trying to make it sound like this is completely normal and non-freaky and he is one hundred per cent happy with the situation.

'...if he pisses off, you owe me a bottle.'

She promised he was calm, this horse. He doesn't feel calm to Gene, despite being stood almost completely still.

"I'll buy y'two," she promises, stroking Duncan's neck reassuringly.

She gives the horse a Look, as if to intimidate him into behaving. Duncan only chuffles, blinking lazily to show his disinterest. Good boy or no, you don't bull shit a horse. Gene gets a Look as well, to warn him of this.

She hands up the reins and steps back, running him through all the basic instructions for riding. She isn't afraid to correct him if she thinks he's not being firm enough, or if his hands are too lax. If it bothers him when she grabs his ankle to position it right in the stirrups, showing him 'hands-on' how to apply pressure to get the horse to move the way he wants him to, then Gene will just have to wait to have it out with her until he's on the ground again.

"Take a minute t'git used t'things. Acquaint yourself with each other. If you're gonna fall off, I'd rather y'do it here while I'm watchin', then out on the trail."

'I'd rather it didn' bloody 'appen at all, luv.'

OK, reins tight but not too tight. Engage knees, don't just sit there like a sack of spuds. And it actually feels better, like there's a modicum of control in this after all.

He squeezes too tight which Duncan seems to take as an instruction to move.

'...make 'im stop!'

(He's only wandered a few paces. But still.)

Kate really hopes she hasn't just endangered her chances at getting inside a motor car, because it's impossible to hold back one quick burst of laughter when he panics.

"Whoa, whoa," she soothes, fighting to keep the chuckle from her voice.

Duncan settles, snorting and shaking his head as if to say he has no clue what the pudgy greenhorn on his back is so worked up about. He was only stretching his legs.

"I was jus' teasin' you, Gene. It ain't all that easy t'fall off a horse when he's practically standin' still."

Okay, so maybe she didn't even try to restrain that one.

He glowers at her from atop the horse, trying very hard to resist the temptation to just let go of the reins and hang on to the saddle.

'Say's you.'

Her opinion doesn't count. If you're practically born in the saddle, you can't remember what it feels like to be new at this, he's sure of it. (He's definitely going to remember that remark when it comes to getting her behind the wheel of a car.)

'Alrigh', wha's next? Is this where I get off?'

He's absolutely half-hoping she'll say yes, despite having said something about going out on the trail. Of course, if she does say yes, he'll bitch and moan about it until the end of time but at least then it won't be him that asked to stop.

There's a pause.

"Y'have your flask on you, right?"

He gives her another of those looks.

'Wha' sort of stupid question is that? You think I'm enough of a pillock to get up 'ere without it?'

Two of them, in fact. He may, on this occasion, know exactly how far he is from the pub but that's no excuse to run dry. She might not let him turn around when the first one runs out!

She meets his look flatly.

"Can I see it?"

He blinks at her, then uneasily puts the reins in one hand so he can pry it out of his jeans pocket.

'I'll assume we're still talkin' abou' the flask.'

It's handed over. Awkwardly. He doesn't feel comfortable doing much leaning over, from this position.

She's quick to take it from him so he doesn't have to lean far, uncapping it and taking a solid swallow.

"I'm sorry, when y'asked if this is where y'get off, I assumed y'meant climbin' off the horse."

Her delivery is dry. It's going to be a long morning.

"Think y'can lead 'im outside on your lonesome, cowboy?"

(No, she isn't handing the flask back. Sorry, Gene.)

He scowls at her, partly because she just stole his Scotch and partly because he doesn't understand the question and is now going to have to ask.

'By lead him, you mean I have t'get off and pull 'im? Or sit here an' make him go?'

He holds his hand out for the flask. His turn.

'We can talk abou' other ways of gettin' off later.'

It's going to be a long morning, yes.

"Since you're so eager t'ride somethin', I'd like t'see what you've got."

She takes another swig before reluctantly handing the flask back to him.

"Unless you've got performance anxiety?"

She calmly digs in a back pocket, fishing out a pair of leather riding gloves. Beaut's been waiting patiently all this time, but she's starting to sidestep, anxious to get going.

'The Gene Genie? Never.'

If there's one way to get him going, it's to call him chicken. So his boots are vigourously applied to Duncan's sides...and that'll be him shooting out of the door, then.

It's probably no more than a trot. But it feels like a gallop to him.

"The Gene what?"

Her surprise only increases when a sudden breeze and an empty spot where Duncan once stood is all that's left in his wake. She arches an eyebrow, and quickly moves to untie Beaut's lead.

"Lean forward, not back!"

He's not aware of leaning in any particular direction at first, merely tries to stay on. He can feel himself slipping to one side, rights himself, slips to the other one. Then his brain tells him to stop being a jessie, he has feet in the stirrups and hands on the reins and all he has to do is pull, yes?

He pulls. Too hard, probably and Duncan doesn't like it but he does stop, not far from the stable.

'You bloody idiot.'

It is unclear whether he's talking to himself or the horse. He doesn't stop to decide which either, he's pulling his fags out because he needs one to calm his racing heart.

"You all right?"

For all their taunting and teasing, she asks the question in all breathless sincerity once Beaut has cantered up to Duncan's side.

There is, perhaps, the slightest inkling of guilt mixed in with the concern in her expression; aside from not exactly being professional, teasing him is probably going to irk him into doing something stupid that could get him or Duncan (or both of them) hurt.

'Still in one piece,' he says, cheerfully enough, though he's slightly paler than usual and he's pulling pretty hard on that cigarette. Duncan seems unconcerned, eating grass, and it doesn't occur to Gene to stop him.

He'd worry if she didn't tease him, not to mention get bored quickly. But it is true that any hint of thinking he's not up to the job will no doubt lead him to prove otherwise, in a definitely reckless manner. He has very little fear of anything, Gene, or maybe its fairer to say that he doesn't let fear stop him doing anything.

'Kicked 'im too 'ard. Don' worry abou' it, luv.'

Yeah, he can see that guilt. And it was his own fault and he'll own up to it.

Her eyes flick from his cigarette back to his eyes. She nods very slightly.

"Y'don't hafta kick 'im so hard."

Beat.

"S'this how y'drive your automobiles?"

'Yeah, I go' that,' he returns mildly.

And then his mouth curls into something wicked.

'Safest driver on the road, me.'

...Sam Tyler will, in the very near future, tell him he drives like a pissed-up crackhead. And he won't be wrong, either. But Gene's never hit anyone on the road so, obviously, he's a safe driver.