toheartache

toheartache:

pull up the truck? the girl certainly did have an accent on her, augustine’s own words lacked one, or was she the one with the accent in the other’s eyes? small girl climbed herself back up into the truck, door shut as she plopped down and turned the key. the thing wasn’t large, the truck that was, but compared to the smaller sports car she had drived into georgia it certainly was a lot to handle. carefully it was pulled up through the gates, stopping when the other motioned for her to do so. the truck was turned off and once again she climbed out.

"I’m not sure… I just got here a few days ago… " thin shoulders gave the other a little shrug. maybe a show? for someone who had been born in that very same small town she sure didn’t know anything about the place, or the people or hell even about how someone worked with a horse. beautiful creatures that they were, their powerful bodies spooked her more then she did them surely.

walking around the truck the back gate was lowered with a rusty sort of sound coming from it’s metal. if she remembered maybe she could ask the girl for some wd40 to try and make that awful noise go away… for now she would just sort of step back. “Where are you form?” well now wasn’t she just feeling oh so chatty today.

With the truck in place, Bridgette began to load the tack into the old truck’s bed, smiling softy at Augustine’s words. She had a wispiness to her voice; to most everything about her. She seemed like the fluff that sprouted at the top of dandelions, wafting into the small town almost as of on happenstance, and just as likely to blow away. “T’eres a festival t’is weeken’… Maybe t’ey ‘ave a boof” she mused, only half-interested anymore. Instead, her interest was piqued by the nervous way the girl wrung her fingers, how her gaze lofted up and to the left when she was unsure of something. It was, in short, endearing. “Ah, yeh caugh’ me.” Bridgette jested lightly. It was a surprise she lasted as long as she did; most people couldn’t even understand her in this town. “I’m from Liverpool… Jus’ sir’ I’ passin’ t’rough, really. ‘Ere fer teh summer.” Hefting the final saddle into place, she brushed her palms off on her jeans before looking over the petite blonde before her properly; she dragged her eyes over her, careful not to let her gaze linger too long. “Wha’ abou’ yeh? Sure don’ seem like yer from aroun’ ‘ere”

toheartache

toheartache:

a month. her mother had the odd idea of actually giving her her father’s first name, trevor, an odd sort of a name for a girl, specially for a girl who never knew hide nor hair of her father. middle name augustine ray and she was just fine with going by that middle name. it seemed to suit better, less name calling didn’t hurt either.

pixie girl was indeed out of place, someone should have told her about all the dirt that seemed to be hanging around everywhere, even in the air. messy strands of hair had been clipped back as best as she could to ease some of the heat, a simple blue tank top with some sort of faded design stenciled across it, matched with white shorts, if one could call them that. at least she tried to dress for the summer sun.

"Augustine, August… Yeah. My uncle, uh…" sort of a trailed off sentence there, eyes settled on the saddle the other was holding. "He sent me for some stuff?" i guess, maybe, why was it that everything out of her mouth seemed so unsure? because the days seemed to blur together and she could barely remember where she was half the time. damn, her internal workings were way off. 

an effortless smile broke across the Scouse girls face. She’s decided that her startled fawn presence was most likely a side effect of complete culture shock; she remembered her own adjustment period. She also decided it was absolutely charming. “Eya, I woz expectin’ yeh.” Tucking one hand into her back pocket, she turned to give the girl a good view of the farm behind her. “If yeh wan’ ta pull up ta th’ tack room, we can load up back t’ere. Some o’ i’s pre’y ‘eavy”. She chanced a look back at the new comer. Everything about the way she presented herself was not prepared for a girl like this. She wore a tattered black t-short, it’s sleeves cut halfway down her sides to allow for the best circulation, and still, it clung to her skin in less-than-attractive pools at the small of her back and across her collarbones. Her jeans were of sturdy build, with heavy wear at her knees and pockets, the cuffs of which were stuffed into heavily scuffed boots beneath later upon later of dirt. Though, the way she was looking about the farm, Brudgette had a suspicion that se wouldn’t be able to differentiate her from any ot the other dirty things about. She led the rickety truck through the gates and to the tack room, throwing the heavy doors open where a nearly stacked pile await thwm on the middle of the room. The two farms sent so much tack back and forth between them that they’d no longer be able to decipher what belonged to whom if they cared to try. This weekend, they were passing off a rather large load, and Bridgette had to doubt whether or not the little ford would be able to manage its way home. It would, as it always did, most likely manage to surprise her. Looking back to the truck’s driver, Bridgette offered another smile. Wha’ d’yeh lo’ need all t’is fer any’ow?”

A Funny Happenstance in a Funny Town

The heat was what got Brodgette. She had been in the small rural town for about four months now, and the place just kept getting warmer and warmer. As she dragged her forearm across her sopping brow, she blew the sticky strings of blonde hair from her eyes for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Her entire body was dappled with sweat, and it made her t-shirt go slick against the slope of her back. It was nearly three in the afternoon, and she had just finished mucking the last stall in the large barn where she worked.


She worked for a warm and welcoming couple who owned a handful of trail horses and took tourists for rides up the mountain their small farm abutted, along with a few goats and a smattering of chickens. The couple were older, and found that upkeep on the farm want as easy as it had been in previous years to maintain the farm. Bridgette ws happy to help. There was something almost therapeutic to the work she did on the farm.

She’s been pleasantly surprised by the ‘Heart of America’. It was like aCambell’s soup advert. She appreciated the simplicity of it all

toheartache

toheartache:

the people in a little town always seemed a little bit more friendly, they smiled and waved and sometimes even really cared about the day one was having… they were the complete opposite of the masses in good old new york city, and she had to tell herself a few times that she wasn’t in new york city anymore.

her aunt and uncle were kind enough to offer her a place to stay, a warm quilted bed to lay her head in at night, the safety of family wrapped tightly around her. the old farmhouse was a thick thing of wood and comfortable memories and she was bound to enjoy her stay there, well.. try to enjoy her stay there that was. 

in exchange for the place to rest, the home cooked meals, their general warmth, augustine had offered to pick up some of the chores around the house, one being driving out to the neighbors farm, which stood like a tall red picture a few miles away, to pick up some saddles and whatever gear the folks had agreed to exchange. rusted red truck pulled up to the side of the barn, small pixie girl hopped out onto the muddy ground. a girl outside of her element, and it showed.

"Um, excuse me?" barely a whisper to float on the breeze.

The familiar puttering of the old truck from the next farm over signaled Beidgette of it’s arrival long before it hobbled down the smoothed dirt drive to thefarm’s front, and she managed to father up a couple of the saddles they were sending back with the little truck that could, but the figure emerged, petite and hesitant, made the scouse pause a bit in her approach. She vaguely remembered Mr. O’Reily mentioning that the neighbors were having their niece make the deliveries that week, but the girl before her was far different than Bridgette had pictured; this girl, who looked as if she’d never been anywhere so quiet before, with ice blonde hair and eyes round as the moon wasn’t the sort of girl you expect to meet in the middle of nowhere. She looked like a startled fawn, and the taller blonde felt the need to approach carefully as to not startle her. Hefting the saddles over the nearest length of fence, she tugged the leather gloves from her hands and tuck them into her back pocket. “Ou.” She called, lifting one hand to guard her eyes from the sun her mind raced as she tried to remember what Duncan had said the girl’s name was. A month. May? June? “August, righ’?” She extended her free hand towards the girl, hoping briefly that she didn’t mind the dirt. “Bridgette.”