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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"Oh? An' how's the way it should be?"

So asks the Texas born cowgirl and daughter of a rancher to the... well, she's not sure how to describe Gene. But when one refers to grass as 'that green stuff', the answer should be rich.

'Like I've seen it. Fast.'

He wants it to look cool, or e would if he'd ever use such a word. But he doesn't feel cool up here now, he feels like a div.

Kate laughs.

"How fast d'you think you were goin' when you left the stables?"

'Dunno. Not as fast as I wan' t'go.'

At least he's honest about it? He has no designs on beng a great horseman, he just wants to gallop about the place and have fun. Which pretty much sums up his life, now we come to mention it.

They come around one bend in the path. As they leave the wooded areas and head towards warmer climes, the lane grows wider and clearer. Little streams cut across the path here and there.

"I can't account for how fast you've 'seen it', as I ain't never watched a movin' picture like that, but I'd reckon you're shootin' for somethin' four t'five times faster than when you set out."

She eyes him.

"Y'really think you're ready for that?"

He takes the eyeing as a challenge and that's only ever going to end up one way. Because no, he's not ready for it, still doesn't feel all that comfortable up here. But there's no way in hell he's going to back down.

'Prob'ly no' but lets do it anyway.'

He gets a flat look.

Beaut stops short at her command, legs shuffling to a halt. Once she's still, Kate leans forward, resting her elbow on the saddle horn. She doesn't know it, but her posture mimics that classic stance in which cowboys of yore are commonly depicted.

"Y'want to? Be my guest."

It's probably a good thing Kate's specialty wasn't in teaching young'n's to handle dangerous animals back in her teaching days.

He glares at her.

'Fine.'

And without allowing himself to think about it, belts Duncan with his heels. The horse startles, head jerking upwards with a snort, and then takes off. Gene yells something unintelligible as they disappear off round the bend in the trail; whether in fear or enjoyment is hard to tell.

The whoosh knocks the hat clean off Kate's head.

"Be mindful of your posture!"

She calmly adjusts her leather gloves.

There's a noise - sort of a thump - somewhere in the distance. Could be a noise from the bar, of course.

Only it isn't.

There are some noises Kate simply expects.

click - The sound of your mortality coming to call.

thunk - A footfall in a dark room or a cramped hallway.

thump - The sound of an idiot falling on his ass.

She flexes her fingers, then tugs on her sleeves to put everything back in order. Gathering up the reins, she figures she better go see if Duncan is all right.

Oh, Gene too.

"Hyah!"

She'll come across his hat first, because it blew off his head at some point. Another hundred yards further on, she'll come across Gene by the side of the trail, sitting but leaning back on his hands, trying to catch his breath and with a thin trickle of blood running down by the corner of his eye. Duncan's a little further on, eating grass and unharmed.

Beaut comes galloping up the trail, mild enough to permit Kate's weight in only one stirrup. She dismounts before the animal has the chance to come to a stop.

Kate takes the final few feet between Gene and herself in a quick trot, pulling the kerchief from around her throat in one swift motion. She doesn't wait for permission (she knows he wouldn't give it) to kneel next to him, carefully dabbing at the blood on his face.

(Beaut continues on to where Duncan has been grazing; the two nicker at each other and Duncan starts, leading Beaut on a quick romp through the grass.)

"Didja land on your head or on yer ass?"

The impatience is still there in her voice, but it's tempered by a softness -- a gentle concern. He's a bullheaded fool, and for that she could just about kill him; but she don't like it when someone gets hurt on her watch, regardless of the reason.

'Both.'

He sounds faintly amused and he's certainly got a small smile on his face as he looks at her, allowing her to clean him up a touch. A beat later and the smile becomes a grin.

'Tha's what I was talkin' about.'

He may have fallen off but it was fun. And for a second there, he really was Gary Cooper.

Kate slants her eyes, catching the amusement in his expression before he breaks into an all-out grin.

After a beat, the shock melts away into bemusement, and then laughter.

"You're an idiot."

It's almost fond, the way she says it. But, without a doubt, she means it.

"I think that's good enough for t'day. Y'can break more bones after we've gotten you looked over."

'Don' need t'be looked over.'

He tilts his head away from her hand, still smiling.

'Unless you're offerin'...y'know. A full physical.'

The quirk of his eyebrows is more than a little suggestive but he also obviously knows she's going to say no, or roll her eyes or something. Won't stop him flirting though, of course. Or perhaps just being outright suggestive.

She'd assume he hit his head harder than he's letting on, except this is pretty much the way he always is. She has the grace not to roll her eyes, though it's perhaps simply because he's already injured that she doesn't hit him.

Her lips quirk.

"Sorry. My beau's the one with the background in medicine. Though, if I asked 'im, he might be willin' t'give you that full physical..."

'Wha' is he, a bum bandit? You don' lool like a bloke.'

He hauls himself to his feet, looking vaguely disgusted.

'Anymore, at leas'.I'll pass, ta.'

She snickers, keeping her arms out cautiously in case he needs help getting up. Not forcing it on him, just quietly observant.

"Hardly. He wasn't exactly impressed with my Cubefall transformation."

There isn't a lot he's been impressed with, lately. Save for his plans of getting justice for the Regulator they hung down in Old Mexico. Kate frowns.

"All the same, if y'hit yer neck you'll be sorry t'morrow. We can be in an' out of the infirmary, real quick."

He rolls his eyes and sighs theatrically.

'Don' fuss, woman. I've 'ad worse than this in scraps outside the pub on a Friday night. I don' need a quack.'

He does, however, need a drink. Lucky he brought those hipflasks. A few swigs of that and a fag, he'll be right as rain.

"You're a stubborn old ass, y'know that?"

'Oi!'

Kate gets daggers for that one.

'I am not old!'

"Fine."

She presses the bloodied kerchief to his chest, silently instructing him to take it before she moves away.

"I take the old back. C'mon, the horses need t'be caught. One'a these days, I oughta see these 'Westerns' y'love so."

She bets Gene Autry never fell off his horse. Or she would, if she knew who Gene Autry was.

'Yeah, yeah, bloody nag,' he mutters, rolling his shoulder.

But he does wander off in Duncan's direction, limping a touch. When he catches him, he doesn't think twice about getting straight back on him.

'You never seen a Western? Bloody 'ell. Wha's wrong with ya?'

She doesn't like the look of that limp, but one thing she knows for certain is she can't take care of someone who don't want taking care of. Nag or no.

At least he gets up in the saddle without falling clean off again, and by her old world standards she'd say he'll end up just fine.

"A great number'a things, so I'm told," she replies dryly, settling back in the saddle. "Friend once said I could come watch 'em on 'is 'tee vee', but it just ain't never happened."