Placing: TBD

Starting Number: 1
Breeders' Cup Sentient Jet Juvenile (G1) | F/M | (2) | 8F | Dirt | $2,000,000 USD

Horse: OF Beelzebub 
Jockey: Henrik Mansfield
Stable: Iron Horse Stud 

Extra Images: Arrival, Training 1, Training 2

Total Word Count: 335 + 2033 = 2368


Featured, n/a

Story

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word count, 2033
 

    Beetle was the second Iron Horse charge to go out, the mile and sixteenth for two-year-olds over dirt.  The staff remained optimistic for the son of Abaddon’s chances, but with his latest works and the works of his fellow competitors, they couldn’t shake the shred of doubt. 

    The flashy colt deserved to be here, that much they did know. He’d quite literally fought his way through a lightly raced two-year-old season to make it. Landon was in charge of prepping the colt; who stood in his ice bath, staring out at the world with sharp blue eyes. His deep brown coat glowed, faint golden and red undertones shimmering through in the warm Californian sun.

            Henrik appeared at his stall, doing a last minute check on his ride for the day. “We’ll have to saddle him in the ring. They want the horses to go past the crowd. “ The man said with a frown, running his hand carefully down Beetle’s neck. The beast of a two-year-old ignored him, craning his head to catch a glimpse of the other horses in the shedrow. 

            “Do they want  a death sentence?!?” Landon practically shrieked, rubbing his shoulder in discomfort where the colt had previously dislocated his arm from its socket.

            “Apparently,” Henrik muttered darkly, narrowly dodging Beetle’s sharp teeth as the dark colt realized there was flesh within his grasp.

            “I’ll get the gear. Don’t you have to head out?” Landon asked, moving to the makeshift tack room that contained each horse’s equipment.

            “Yeah. I gotta go get ready. Try and get this guy to me in one piece, I can do the rest.” Henrik chuckled, pounding his friend on the back as he sauntered off down the aisle.

            Landon prepped the colt the best he could in the stall, tricking Beetle to stand still long enough to smooth his run downs in place and fasten the now trademark red ribbon to his tail. Stepping back as the colt aimed a well-timed kick behind him. 

            “Enough of that today.” Landon snapped, “I can’t have you injuring yourself on the big day.” The colt snorted, either in agreement or disdain.

            Landon precariously fitted the colt with his heavy modified ring bit and flash noseband, cranking the strap as tight as he dared without causing damage.  Hearing the frustrated screams of his brother Demon from a few barns over, Beetle echoed the cry. He’d met the horror show of his sibling for the first time this month, and it’d been something both parties dreaded. The big black and white colt had gone out the day before, and some piece of Landon wished Iron Horse’s own hellion had done the same; when the crowd was smaller, the card less intense, but the competition just as fierce.

            Beetle stood there, his knees locked, nostrils flaring to the wind and a light sheen of sweat on his dark coat as Landon wrapped up his preparations. Slipping the colt a cube of cold hot dog, enough to keep him quiet but not enough to cause problems.          

            The final vet check was a whirlwind of activity, and Landon could tell as he held onto Beetle’s head for dear life that the poor vet had been dreading this particular assignment all day as the colt threatened the man with a gold-shod hoof.

            Given a clean bill of health, Landon joined up with Muirenn and Bea to take the colt to the paddock. They were dressed nicely; Muirenn in a smart navy blue dress and pearls, and Bea dressed in dark jeans and a clean shirt. Obviously more interested in dealing with the horses than dressing up for the crowd.      

            Beetle danced excitedly the entire walk over, feeding off the energy of the track much like a cancerous cell would feed off it’s host. They held him back for as long as possible, waiting until Henrik appeared with the saddle to lead the colt all the way into the bustling Del Mar paddock.

            The colt flipped like a switch, lunging out at the nearest competitor, the bewildered looking white colt, Wild Red Skies shrieked and skittered away from Beetle’s snapping teeth.

             “Dumb idea. Keeping him here.” Landon muttered, fighting with all his strength to keep the colt still as Muirenn and Henrik fit the sheet and saddle over his back.

            “It won’t be much better once Henrik gets on him,” Bea commented, handing her grandmother the over girth, which Muirenn smoothed over the saddle.  She kept a wary eye on the colt, who sized her up with his piercing gaze. Overseas for most of the year, Bea hadn’t met her grandmother’s newest purchase until this month, and it was clear the two hated each other. Then again, Beetle hated the world.

            Gritting his teeth, Landon stared the colt down, running his hand down Beetle’s split face. “As much as you hate us all right now, you go out there and show the world that you deserve to be here as much as the rest of them.” He whispered quietly, the colt’s dark ears flitting to focus on the groom in front of him.

             “You’re sound, you’re strong and I know you can do your best. Cooperate. Just until you get out there, then run them down for all you’re worth.” Landon pleaded, knowing his words fell on empty ears. One simply didn’t make a deal with the devil.  Landon sighed, “You’re going to fight us every step of the way, aren’t you?”  The colt snorted, ducking his head and kicking out sharply. Bea inhaled quickly as Beetle’s hind legs connected with the back of the saddling stall with a sickening thud. 

            Screeching, Beetle went in for another round. Hooves connecting with the wall once more, and he reared up, forelegs striking out in front of him as Landon gave him slack.

            “Get him out. NOW.” Muirenn ordered, her voice unwavering as she watched Landon lead the hot colt as quickly as possible from the confined space. 

            Beetle careened out to the side, and into the grassy center of the saddling ring. Ears pinning back as the camera shutters clicked away. Landon circled him, watching the colt’s legs closely, every stride giving a little crow-hop.

            “Bring him back, against the wall. I want his legs checked.” Muirenn stated. “Bea, Henrik, get him on the wall now. Landon, hold his head out of the way.”

            The four of them managed to get the colt pinned against the divider, glad there was no one to their left. The weight on his flanks helped keep the colt still long enough for Muirenn to check for damage.

            “He’s clean.”  Muirenn checked the saddle before gesturing the pair away. “Get him out and circling. Looks like he field his heading out. I want him last to go.”

            Landon nodded, leading Beetle out into the sliver of empty space as Muirenn turned to Henrik.

            “Get him to the outside and hold him. He’s a big horse he can make up the ground if he has to.  I want you both home safe and sound.” She instructed.

            “Yes ma’am, I value my life,” Henrik said with a cheerful smile.

            “Let’s go,” Muirenn said, brushing the jockey’s humor off as she gave him a leg into the saddle. “Best of luck.”

            “Good luck.” Bea echoed as Henrik gathered the reins, glancing down at Landon who nodded.

             Beetle felt like a live wire beneath him, intent on making things as difficult as possible as they skittered after the rest of the field. The colt yanking away from Landon as he lunged into the flowers that lined the dirt path, the woman at the rail pulling her kid away from the colt’s snapping teeth just in time and shooting the trio a look of disgust.

             “Enough.” Henrik snapped, choking up on the reins and holding them so tight Beetle’s neck was almost vertical and the man felt his mount’s back hollow beneath him. Landon kept a death grip on the lead line as they headed onto the track, the poor colt fighting so hard to open his mouth against the noseband.

             Somehow they made it onto Del Mar’s main track, Beetle’s hooves touching the well-groomed dirt and he practically wrenched Landon’s arm from its socket once more. “This is where I leave you…” Landon said with a grimace, unclipping the lead from Beetle’s bridle as Henrik struggled to hold the colt back. 

            “See you on the other side friend. Pray for us.” Henrik said with a smirk, waving off the outrider that tried to aid them and pushing the colt into a brisk trot.

             Beetle paraded himself proudly past the grandstands, stepping high and fighting Henrik’s hold. The jockey sat alert, paying special attention to each step, checking for lameness as they eased into a restricted canter. Beetle moved stiffly but smoothly, for him anyway, caught up in the struggle against Henrik’s hands. The man too afraid to loosen his hold in fear that Beetle would run them through the infield as they maneuvered to the gates at the top of the stretch.

            Giving the colt some leather to work with, Henrik cantered him into the turn, feeling Beetle settle out with work. The pair was dripping with sweat when they finally appeared at the gate, Henrik circling Beetle on the outskirts, though unspoken, the gate attendants understood they’d be the last to go in.

            “Alright boy… keep it together for a few more seconds and I’ll let you go.” Henrik promised. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief as Beetle practically rushed to fill the small stall. Tugging his goggles down, Henrik steadied the colt the best he could, feeling the two-year-old tremble beneath him in anticipation.

            The cage snapped open and Beetle started like someone had tied a rocket to his tail, bolting swiftly from his inside position to the front of the field. Henrik ducked a glance beneath his elbow to make sure it was clear before ranking the colt hard and bumping him across the three lanes to the outside. Blocking out the deafening roar of the crowd as the field swept past the grandstands for the first time.

            Beetle fighting Henrik with each stride as the man let the rest of the field rush past them, tucking Beetle in at the end. 

            “You know the drill bud, keep it together,” Henrik warned, finally giving the colt a centimeter of rein as he settled down just off the trailing horse’s hindquarters as they pushed into the first turn. The chestnut, Mustard Blue was running quite slowly, his usual for the opening quarter, and Henrik steered a bit wide on the turn as they plowed past. With such a come from behind horse in the field, they wouldn’t have the pacing if they went that slow. Henrik would just have to test their chances running from the middle. The last thing he wanted was Beetle cutting off another horse and ripping their throat to shreds.

            Onto the backstretch. Henrik breathed a sigh of relief as he kept the colt contained, Beetle’s sharp blue eye trained on the palomino to their inside. They were almost done. Almost to the wire without a hitch.

            The small field powered towards the final turn and Henrik let the colt open up a notch. “Let’s get ‘em Beets.” He murmured, the colt’s ears flicking back at his words before popping his legs from under him and lengthening his stride to take advantage of the slack.

            “You give him an inch, he’ll go a mile.” Landon had joked when Henrik had first been paired with the colt, and it was time to put his friend’s jokes to the test.

            Keeping something left in the tank, Henrik loosed his charge from the death grip and Beetle surged. Suddenly he paid no attention to the other horses, zeroing in on the open stretch in front of them as the field swept into the turn. Beetle closing wide and fast on the outside.

             As they straightened for home, Henrik gave the colt his head. White legs flashing as they burned rubber towards the wire, Henrik well aware that even though they were bearing down on the finish, the race was far from over.

                                           

Song, DON'T STOP THE DEVIL - DEAD POSEY

Posing is largely inspired by vintage horse racing images, as are most of my entries for the series (provided I finish). I wanted to try something fun and different, incorporating the proportions of older images while adding a modern twist. Hence why Henrik is sitting poorly, and Beetle isn't moving quite as he should. This is reffed from a French racing poster c. 1911 by Léon Gambey.

Overall I am super happy with this, I pushed myself to try something different, and to draw a crowd that wasn't just a bunch of colored dots (RIP mustache man 2k17). Architecture is stupid, and I kinda rather have drawn grandstands (except for that crowd), so it is quite heavily referenced from pictures of Del Mar. 

Anyway, probably some of the best shading I've ever done and as always, Beetle is a pleasure to write. Best of luck to all.

artwork + IHS characters, oTapirus 

refs, i.ebayimg.com/images/g/~fQAAOS…, www.dmtc.com/data/groupsales/v…, mommyprojectsd.com/wp-content/…