Christian and Marton. Moments
Oct. 31st, 2004 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palacechristianChristian walked across the cobbles and hitched a foot up onto the railing. In the ring, Steward, his father’s stallion was just finishing the final circuit of the dressage circle with Marton in the saddle.
Despite being clad only in a casual pair of jodhpurs and a loose white shirt, his father looked every inch the champion he was, as did Steward, without his plaits and polished hooves. Watching them ride slowly back across the ring toward him, Christian wondered why Marton had given up competing.
It had not even occurred to him until now, standing here and seeing the perfect communication between horse and rider, the magnificent picture the two of them made, that the pair no longer participated on the dressage circuit. When had father given it up? And why, for goodness sake, when it was something he so obviously enjoyed, took such pride in?
Lack of time, perhaps? And if so, what a shame. It made him feel more than a little guilty for dragging his feet over work for so long. If his presence in the office now had given Marton this opportunity, maybe, if he’d stopped being stubborn earlier, his father might not have given up one of his favourite hobbies.
“Hey.” Marton swung gracefully from the horse’s back and patted his neck. Steward nudged into his shoulder with his head, mouth dipping down to nuzzle at Marton’s pocket. Laughing, his father pushed the curious horse’s muzzle aside and reached into his pocket, pulling out a sugar cube and feeding it to the clearly delighted Steward.
A stable boy came up and Marton reluctantly handed over the reins, giving Steward one last pat on the hind quarters as he was led away. “What are you doing down here at this time of day?” he asked, swinging up onto the railing and throwing one long leg over the bar to look down at his son.
“I thought I’d take Shannon for a run.” Christian told him, looking around for the animal. “What’s your excuse?” he smiled back. He spotted Shannon lying on the cool stones under the stable arch but she simply thumped her massive tail on the ground twice and then lay back down, ignoring him.
“She’s been out.” Marton explained the animal’s lackadaisical reaction to her master’s arrival. “Came for a run with Steward and I earlier.”
“Ah. That explains the lack of enthusiasm.” Christian turned around and curved his arms around the top rail, tipping his head up to the sun and closing his eyes. “Too hot for her now.” he said. “She’s a high altitude sort of a dog.”
He heard Marton snort and felt the vibration in the wood as he leapt down onto Christian’s side of the fence. “How old is she?”
“Shannon?” He counted in his head, opening his eyes to look at his father. “Three, three and a half. Why?”
Marton shrugged. “Just wondering how long you’ve been getting away with referring to her as dog.” he grinned.
“She is a dog!” Christian protested, a wicked grin curving his lips. “Well, a bit of her is.”
“Which bit?” His father chuckled. “That animal is ninety-nine point nine percent wolf!”
“Shush.” Christian chided. “You’ll get her kicked out of here. Management are a bit funny ‘bout that sort of thing.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” Marton pushed away from the fence rail and strolled over the horse trough next to the arch, stripping off his shirt as he went. Christian followed him and manned the pump while his father splashed cool water over his head and chest. “You never said how you managed to escape in the middle of the working day?”
Marton looked up at him from where he was bent over, leaning on the side of the trough, his face and hair dripping with water. “I’m hiding.” he confessed with a rueful smile. “Playing coward and avoiding the councilors circulating up there like vultures.”
“The heir business.” Christian said.
Marton nodded briefly and turned his face away, splashing water up his arms. “Yes.” his answer was short, inviting no further questions.
Why the fuck are they so bloody gung-ho about this, Christian wondered? Looking at his father right now, tanned skin glowing in the sunshine, muscular and healthy, it was difficult to understand why they were so adamant. He was young and fit and, barring an accident, going to be around for a good long time. It was just foolishness on their parts, and never mind his own desire to be left alone, it was the pressure they were putting on Marton that made him bridle on his father’s behalf. Idiots!
Suppressing a sigh, Christian smiled instead as Marton finished cooling off. His hair was soaked now, curls springing to life across his forehead and Christian pointed them out. “You need a haircut.” he said. “Else no one’s going to take you seriously.”
It was Marton’s favourite excuse for his normally immaculately barbered hair and his father pulled a face to hear it parroted back at him. “Cheeky devil.”
Christian cocked his head to one side. “We can’t have people thinking you’re anything other than a boring old fart, dad. Gods forefend they realize that you’re young!” he teased in a tone filled with mock horror.
Marton pulled a face. “Boring old fart, is it?” Quick as a flash, he’d grabbed the wooden bucket hanging from the pump, dipped it in the trough and accurately tossed the lot at Christian’s unsuspecting head.
“Hey!” Water ran in rivulets down Christian’s face and throat, his shirt and jeans were soaked through, hair hanging limply across his eyes and dripping onto the cobblestones. “No fair!”
Turning his palms into scoops, he splashed Marton with as much water as he could manage at the same time as he scurried around to the other side of the trough.
Marton blew the water off his face noisily and came at him with the refilled bucket. “Right! You’ve had it!” he warned, Shannon barking noisily as she joined in the fun.
Despite being clad only in a casual pair of jodhpurs and a loose white shirt, his father looked every inch the champion he was, as did Steward, without his plaits and polished hooves. Watching them ride slowly back across the ring toward him, Christian wondered why Marton had given up competing.
It had not even occurred to him until now, standing here and seeing the perfect communication between horse and rider, the magnificent picture the two of them made, that the pair no longer participated on the dressage circuit. When had father given it up? And why, for goodness sake, when it was something he so obviously enjoyed, took such pride in?
Lack of time, perhaps? And if so, what a shame. It made him feel more than a little guilty for dragging his feet over work for so long. If his presence in the office now had given Marton this opportunity, maybe, if he’d stopped being stubborn earlier, his father might not have given up one of his favourite hobbies.
“Hey.” Marton swung gracefully from the horse’s back and patted his neck. Steward nudged into his shoulder with his head, mouth dipping down to nuzzle at Marton’s pocket. Laughing, his father pushed the curious horse’s muzzle aside and reached into his pocket, pulling out a sugar cube and feeding it to the clearly delighted Steward.
A stable boy came up and Marton reluctantly handed over the reins, giving Steward one last pat on the hind quarters as he was led away. “What are you doing down here at this time of day?” he asked, swinging up onto the railing and throwing one long leg over the bar to look down at his son.
“I thought I’d take Shannon for a run.” Christian told him, looking around for the animal. “What’s your excuse?” he smiled back. He spotted Shannon lying on the cool stones under the stable arch but she simply thumped her massive tail on the ground twice and then lay back down, ignoring him.
“She’s been out.” Marton explained the animal’s lackadaisical reaction to her master’s arrival. “Came for a run with Steward and I earlier.”
“Ah. That explains the lack of enthusiasm.” Christian turned around and curved his arms around the top rail, tipping his head up to the sun and closing his eyes. “Too hot for her now.” he said. “She’s a high altitude sort of a dog.”
He heard Marton snort and felt the vibration in the wood as he leapt down onto Christian’s side of the fence. “How old is she?”
“Shannon?” He counted in his head, opening his eyes to look at his father. “Three, three and a half. Why?”
Marton shrugged. “Just wondering how long you’ve been getting away with referring to her as dog.” he grinned.
“She is a dog!” Christian protested, a wicked grin curving his lips. “Well, a bit of her is.”
“Which bit?” His father chuckled. “That animal is ninety-nine point nine percent wolf!”
“Shush.” Christian chided. “You’ll get her kicked out of here. Management are a bit funny ‘bout that sort of thing.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” Marton pushed away from the fence rail and strolled over the horse trough next to the arch, stripping off his shirt as he went. Christian followed him and manned the pump while his father splashed cool water over his head and chest. “You never said how you managed to escape in the middle of the working day?”
Marton looked up at him from where he was bent over, leaning on the side of the trough, his face and hair dripping with water. “I’m hiding.” he confessed with a rueful smile. “Playing coward and avoiding the councilors circulating up there like vultures.”
“The heir business.” Christian said.
Marton nodded briefly and turned his face away, splashing water up his arms. “Yes.” his answer was short, inviting no further questions.
Why the fuck are they so bloody gung-ho about this, Christian wondered? Looking at his father right now, tanned skin glowing in the sunshine, muscular and healthy, it was difficult to understand why they were so adamant. He was young and fit and, barring an accident, going to be around for a good long time. It was just foolishness on their parts, and never mind his own desire to be left alone, it was the pressure they were putting on Marton that made him bridle on his father’s behalf. Idiots!
Suppressing a sigh, Christian smiled instead as Marton finished cooling off. His hair was soaked now, curls springing to life across his forehead and Christian pointed them out. “You need a haircut.” he said. “Else no one’s going to take you seriously.”
It was Marton’s favourite excuse for his normally immaculately barbered hair and his father pulled a face to hear it parroted back at him. “Cheeky devil.”
Christian cocked his head to one side. “We can’t have people thinking you’re anything other than a boring old fart, dad. Gods forefend they realize that you’re young!” he teased in a tone filled with mock horror.
Marton pulled a face. “Boring old fart, is it?” Quick as a flash, he’d grabbed the wooden bucket hanging from the pump, dipped it in the trough and accurately tossed the lot at Christian’s unsuspecting head.
“Hey!” Water ran in rivulets down Christian’s face and throat, his shirt and jeans were soaked through, hair hanging limply across his eyes and dripping onto the cobblestones. “No fair!”
Turning his palms into scoops, he splashed Marton with as much water as he could manage at the same time as he scurried around to the other side of the trough.
Marton blew the water off his face noisily and came at him with the refilled bucket. “Right! You’ve had it!” he warned, Shannon barking noisily as she joined in the fun.
