Tu Me Niaises

Right, well, because =1pen is a sneaky bug, I'm going to take you BACK IN TIME, TO THE DISTANT PAST OF EARLY NOVEMBER, LAST SEASON (AND ACTUALLY I'M GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE YOU BACK TO THE DISTANT PAST OF EARLY NOVEMBER LAST SEASON AGAIN QUITE SOON, SO GET USED TO IT). </epic voice>



"Bon, ben, tu m'niaises."

"I'm telling you, that's how it happened," Chloe insisted as the pretty black filly was led in circles around the barn. Neither she, nor Tom--who slouched a short distance away, palm on mouth--took their eyes off the new horse. "Somebody stuck her in a claimer--"

"Espèce de con."

"Yes, well, I saw her in the paddock, checked up her pedigree, and couldn't exactly let her go."

"Hostie de crisse, j'espère que non." Laurence had his hands linked behind his head, framing the filly between his elbows. She pranced a little, cocking her head and pulling on the lead; the moment the hotwalker jerked the chain she put her head up, the picture of angelic obedience. "Dere's gotta be a catch, yeah?"

"Tabarnac, c'est elle la nouvelle?" Frankie interrupted, snaking his arms around Chloe's middle in hello.

"Mana dumped her in the platers," Chloe repeated for about the hundredth disbelieving audience.

The elder jock knit his brows. "Sont-ils complètement cons?"

"C'est ce que j'ai dit."

"Ciboire."

"Exacte."

For a while, they were quiet, content to watch an unfamiliar horse walk, to become acquainted with the cadence of her gait and observe the glint in her otherwise kind eye. After a time, she appeared to grow bored with walking in a circle and yanked on the lead, changing course so that she stopped directly in front of Laurence, reached out her neck and fastened her teeth--very slowly and gently--on the hem of his white tee.

Laurence looked down at the still black head, unsure of exaclty how to react, and saw wide brown eyes rolled up at him like a playful puppy's. When it appeared she wouldn't be pushed away, the daughter of Mr. Tseng and Supercharger began to--very slowly and gently--nibble. Chloe snorted and Frankie chuckled on her shoulder, and Laurence reached down to rub the filly's cheeks.

"Donc, elle a choisi," Frankie observed.



Little nothing because I haven't written ANYTHING in a while thanks to MIDTERMS which are CRAZY and INSANE and I AM TAKING A BREAK because my brain can't absorb anything else and I'm not going to class this morning so I can study Mammalian Physiology, the midterm for which is TODAY, IN FOUR AND A HALF HOURS and AAAAAAAAAAUGH.

Good thing people like 1pen are around to gift me with PHENOMENALLY NAMED BABIES.

You won't understand for some time, dearies.

TRANSLATIONS OF WHAT MY DEAR FRENCHIES ARE SAYING:
-"Right, well, you're kidding me."
-"What an idiot."
-"Hostie de crisse, I hope not."
-"Tabarnac, is that the new girl?"
-"Are they completely stupid?"
-"That's what I said."
-"Ciboire."
-"Exactly."
-"Looks like she's chosen."

I didn't translate the cursing, because they're very particular curses. IT'S CURSING, YOU GET IT.


Name: C'est Impossible
Barn name: The Imp, Imp, Impie, Impsie, Impster, The Impster, etc.
Gender: Filly
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 3
Height: 15.2hh
Color: Jet Black
Genotype: EE aa
Markings: Star, half-stripe; LF stocking
Temperament: A darling and a schmooze, the Imp is kind, gentle, affectionate and completely unflappable. Despite her age and breed, she behaves as though she's seen and done everything.
Discipline: Racing
Preferred distance: Unknown
Running style: Unknown
Bloodlines: Mr. Tseng x Supercharger
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

2yo season:
1-1-0-0

akjdshkajhgd half to Super Saver and Brethren, y'all. Btw I am already Brethren's biggest fan. I am going to be watching him so hard next year (A DISTORTED HUMOR COLT OUT OF AN A.P. INDY MARE JUST WENT ONE OH EIGHT AND CHANGE FOR SIX FURLONGS IN HIS DEBUT AS A JUVENILE WHAT IS THIS WHY ARE THIS YEAR'S TWO YEAR OLDS SUCH BADASSES. CAPSLOCK PARTY).