Made my blood thump 7-8-9 - JAGGER&&hart

[Hart Kennedy]

'Cause you crossed my mind, it crossed my mind
I'm a penny in a diamond mine
We could be movers,

The late afternoon Kentucky air smelt of fresh summer and the sound of crickets in the long grasses was a soothing against the crunch of high heeled boots on the gravel. A cooling breeze stirred the grass and the lush foliage on the trees that lined the drive up to the elegantly sixties buildings that made up the equine academy. Hart Kennedy – young, slender, with sharp blue eyes that were prematurely hardened by life – walked up the path at a leisurely manner, smoking a cigarette in a discreetly elegant way that only pretty little girls like her could carry off.

Hart had only been in Kentucky a few weeks, and she hadn’t yet visited the equestrian school. She’d heard a lot about it around the town, and decided it would be worth paying a visit. Although she’d never had a riding lesson in her life and had only ridden a pony once when on holiday in Hawaii many years ago, she adored the animals in the way that only city folk could; it was the kind of wistful, ‘I wish I lived in the middle of nowhere with horses for company instead of yellow taxis and oceans of people’ that a lot of New Yorkers had.

Continuing up the gravel driveway, Hart cast her eyes over the pastures that flanked the pot holed road. Horses grazed the lush green grass with lazy head movements, swishing their tails at flies that landed on their gleaming flanks. Proud chestnuts and dainty flea-bitten greys, elegant mahogany and playful tobainos were dotted around the pastures, their lithe yet powerful builds struck by the late afternoon sunlight and making them shimmer. A small smile curled the corner of Hart’s lips as she pulled thoughtfully on her cigarette.

Walking towards the fence, Hart leaned against it gently and let her eyes slip shut as the sunlight hit her face and warmed her skin pleasantly. The air was clean and the surroundings were almost silent save for the chirping crickets and the sound of horses. Sweeping her hand through her hair, Hart pushed the mass of black out of her face so she could properly watch the horses without it getting in her eyes. A pretty little mare nearby looked up from her grazing and eyed the newcomer curiously, her ears swivelling in different directions. Hart’s smile grew and she dropped the cigarette discreetly on the floor and stamped it out. The mare took a few cautious steps towards Hart, but she suddenly squealed and bolted off in the opposite direction when a car drove by.

The girl didn’t think wearing heels to an equestrian school would be a bad idea, but as soon as she passed through the gates and her heel slipped through a cattle grid, she realised it was one of her worst ideas yet. Grunting in irritation, Hart tried to pull her shoe free of the cattle grid but the heel was completely stuck. Trying again, she heard a sickening snap and moaned in frustration when she saw the heel of her boot fall down through the grid. She’d completely broken her shoe now. Putting her foot down carefully on the other side of the grid, she tried to hop over but in the process got the other heel stuck in the grid.
“Fucking hell...” she hissed, leaning forward and trying to wiggle the heel out of the grid. She slipped and fell onto her knee, but the heel of her boot was still stuck in the grid. This just wouldn’t do. Looking around she tried to spot someone who might help her.
“Hello?! Anyone there?” she called out, starting to feel an ache in her awkwardly positioned legs.

We could be shakers
If we could just shake somin' outta the blue
and get off the ride

[Jagger Arlington]

Jagger was late for work. Or at least he had been twenty minutes ago, and now he was just a no show. After getting this job Jagger had done well to make sure he was at work every day and reasonably on time, however today was just one of those days. Jagger’s life was not one made to run on a schedule and sometimes he needed to shoot up when he didn’t think he would, or just needed to find (or unluckily happen upon) an outlet for the violence that built in him like stores of disease and toxin. Even though he was best friends and practically family with the horse master and was certain Vita wouldn’t be angry with him, that didn’t make Jagger feel any less shitty. Having woken up an hour ago in the back of his truck, Jagger had scrambled to get back to the academy but unfortunately arrived far too late.

The old dinosaur of a chevy came rumbling down the long driveway of the academy guiltily rolling along. It was a truck that looked to be on its last limbs, but even so it looked like it could take a hit and then come back fighting like a lion. It wasn’t intentional that his truck would so accurately describe his personality, but it was just the way things worked. Jagger squinted when he saw a woman knelt down on the cattle grid in the middle of the road. For a moment he thought that maybe he was hallucinating and that what he had taken before he passed out wasn’t exactly heroin, but upon realizing that was a stupid idea Jagger rubbed one decaying hand over his face and pulled his truck over to the side of the road. It wasn’t in him to just drive past someone looking hooked to a cattle grid in the middle of a busy road.

Jagger climbed out of the truck, old checkered vans hitting the pavement with no grace or commotion. There was nothing beautiful or icon about Jagger except for the fact that he could have easily fit into a horror movie with how utterly surreal his build and appearance were. The man simply looked dry and worn out, like a hose had been struck into his body and left only skin and bone behind. If he were a more observant person Jagger would have since learned that approaching someone who was already a bit traumatized due to being stuck in the middle of a road might not be the best idea, but it just didn’t occur to him. Approaching the woman his token lopsided, Halloween pumpkin grin split across his face like a fault line during an earthquake.

“Looks like you got some troubles there.” Jagger said as he approached. Luckily his voice, though rough and with its southern accent, was reassuring that Jagger wasn’t a psychotic serial killing monster, since generally killers weren’t depicted as having such a handsome voice yet ugly body. His tone was just as honest and sincere as his accent, and it did help to lighten Jagger’s otherwise daunting appearance. “Lemme help you,” He said, narrowing his eyes a moment until he realized the issue. Jagger moved over, crouching down next to her. “Hold still a minute.” Jagger requested gently, taking gentle hold of her ankle in one calloused wraith hand, the bottom of her shoe in the other. Being careful not to twist her ankle, Jagger set the woman free with one shift and a gentle push.

However in helping set her loose he also noticed that she had one heel missing. Jagger did well to restrain his laugh, standing up and holding out a hand to her to help her up. “Bad day huh? Careful you don’t step in the holes again. I can give you a ride down to the school if you want. I mean if that’s where you were going.” Jagger was simply just so painfully kind.

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[Hart Kennedy]

Fidgeting in frustration, Hart tried to move her legs so it was at least a little more comfortable should she choose to sit here and wait. She found that, even in a predicament such as this, she was still worried about the state of her clothes. Luckily she was wearing black jeans, so the dirt wouldn’t show. Comfortable in the knowledge that she would still look good whilst sitting with her heel stuck in a cattle grid, she tried again to free her foot. But it was no use – she was sitting in the most awkward of positions and if she tried to move her foot far enough to wiggle the heel out she’d end up injuring her ankle. Huffing angrily to herself, she pushed her hair out of her face again and looked around to see if anyone was coming to help her. No one in sight.

Just as she’d begun contemplating taking her shoes off, a large, battered old pickup truck rattled its way down the track towards her. Needless to say, this panicked her slightly as she was currently sitting stuck in its path and she wasn’t sure the driver had seen her. She looked the other way and hoped they would see her before they ran right over her. The driver probably wouldn’t even feel a bump as they went over her; she was so small and skinny. She’d been looking the other way for longer than it would have taken the truck to reach her, she realised, and turned her head back to look and see if the truck had stopped. It had, of course, and a rather frighteningly skeletal man hopped out of the truck.

He looked like death, if death had a physical embodiment. His eyes and cheeks were sunken in, his hands were dry and flaky and he looked like he’d slept in those same clothes in the back of his truck for the best part of his life. Hart had always thought she was pretty skinny herself, but it was almost actually painful to look at this man. A rather manic, lopsided grin split his face and Hart had an uncomfortable feeling that she was about to be eaten.

As soon as the man opened his mouth, she felt slightly better. His voice – unlike what she had feared – was actually rather pleasant, with a heavy accent and a sincere ring to it. Suddenly he didn’t seem so death-like anymore, as Hart highly doubted death sounded so friendly.
“Yes just a bit,” she snapped tersely, feeling herself blushing. She’d been caught in a totally ridiculous predicament and the man probably thought she was some complete idiot. And to top it all off he was a complete stranger who looked rather unpleasant. Her defences were already going up.
“Thank you,” she muttered quietly as he offered to help, bending down beside her and requesting she kept still. She did, feeling slightly nervous even though she doubted he meant harm. He gently took her ankle in his hands and freed her from the cattle grid.

Her ankle throbbed in relief, and she hesitantly reached out and took his hand which he’d offered to help her up with.
“I was doing well till just then,” she sighed, avoiding eye contact. Hart felt stupid enough already without having to see the amusement written across his face as well.
“Well, I was just going to take a look at the horses,” she explained, “You don’t see them much in New York.” Her New Yorker accent was quite soft, unlike Jagger’s Deep South drawl, so it might have been hard to pick up her place of origin.