Carmilla wondered as the redhead led her into the barn if she would like this one. It lacked everything she had come to hate: small, dark, cramped stalls, a crop-happy jockey, a brutal trainer, and more importantly, her mother. A relaxed sigh slipped from her. There were no horses here she recognized, and as she passed by the stalls, there were none that appeared to recognize her. That was good. She wanted to remain anonymous, where her mother would never find her, despite the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that ensured her that soon or later The Dean would find her again.
She snorted. The Dean had found her once before after she had been sold to the Karnsteins. If she had been able to find Carmilla at a barn nearly an hour away, Carmilla was sure she would be able to find her at a barn almost two hours away.
The sound of the stall door grating on its track snapped Carmilla out of her thoughts. She and the redhead had arrived at an empty stall, clean and filled with fresh saw dust. The dust irritated Carmilla's nose; she snorted again, shaking her head against the smell.
The redhead brought Carmilla around in a small circle and stopped her in front of a full blue water bucket. She unclipped the halter and slid it off Carmilla's head and then, forgetting herself, patted Carmilla on the neck. Carmilla pinned her ears and lunged at the girl, who jumped out of the stall just in time to avoid being bitten. Touch me one more time, ginger! Twice was two times too many. Carmilla scrapped her teeth on the bars of the stall door. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, even her mother, it was people touching her. There was a time when she would let most people touch her, but after Ell, she couldn't take it anymore. There was no one else she wanted putting an unnecessary hand on her.
With fear in her eyes, the redhead tossed Carmilla's halter and lead rope onto the hook beside the stall door and hurried off. Carmilla was alone with her thoughts at last. She had spent almost two hours crammed in a trailer with five other horses. By no means was she a fan of close quarters. She had lost her fondness for tight spaces after her time spent training under Timothy Coffin. Due to her apparent temper, the man had kept her locked in a stall too small for a full-grown horse, but just large enough for a few miniature horses. There had hardly been enough room for her to lie down, which especially frustrated her when she preferred to sprawl out on her side when she slept. It made for a number of sleepless nights, which only fed into her sour temper, bitterness, and anger.
This stall, however, Carmilla found as she turned and looked around her new housing, was large and airy, and had enough room for her to lie down and spread herself out. The saw dust was going to take some getting used to, but that was a minor setback considering she was no longer being kept in a gift box.
Her first instinct was to roll, to rid herself of the itch on her back, but as she sank to her knees and voice across the way stopped her.
"So you're the one who's taken my stall?"
Carmilla stood and turned to face her accuser, a palomino filly standing a hand and two inches taller. This was another filly built for racing. Her form was long and sleek, her mane cut short, and her coat and shiny as Carmilla's.
Carmilla stepped closer to the door of her stall, nearly pressing her nose into the bars. "What do you mean your stall?" she asked pointedly. "I don't see your name on it."
The filly tossed her narrow head, ears pinned. "You evicted me from the stall I have lived in for over a year. You had no right."
An amused snort escaped Carmilla. "That's adorable, sunshine, really, but this stall was empty when I showed up. I've hardly evicted you from anywhere."
But the filly was hardly deterred. "Do you know who I am?"
"Should I?" There was no harm in humoring the pompous filly, Carmilla decided, swiveling her ears forward in false interest.
"Queen Anne's Lace," the filly answered. "I won all seven of my starts, and I'm the favorite to win the Filly Triple Crown in the spring."
Carmilla rolled her eyes. "That's charming, cupcake." She wanted to add that she had won ten of her starts and two legs of the Lower Austria Filly Triple Crown when her former owners had shipped her up north, rather than keep her in Styria and run her in the Styrian Filly Triple Crown. The last thing she wanted was this filly interrogating her about her losses and her dead jockey. "So what do they call you around here, then?"
The filly pinned her ears with a snort. "Betty."
Betty? Carmilla burst out laughing, unable to control herself, thinking back to a conversation she had heard once in her old barn. Of all the things they could have given this filly as a barn name, they had to go and call her Betty?
Betty scraped the floor of her stall, knocking her hoof against the door. "This isn't funny!"
Carmilla stopped laughing, trying to catch her breath. "Of course it's funny," she objected. "They named you after a baking company!"
"Of course they didn't," Betty snorted. "They named me after Bertha Spielsdorf. I'm owned by the Spielsdorf family, you know. They have a handicap race named after them. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
"Oh, yes!" Carmilla said, raising her head. "You mean the race I won last year? Yes, I've heard of it."
At that, Betty threw her head up, surprised. "You must be Carmilla, then," she said, voice sour. "What brings such a high-and-mighty racehorse to a hut like this?" She nodded toward the inner fixings of the barn's structure.
Carmilla turned her head away. "That's my business," she answered. "I'd prefer if you didn't mind it."
Betty snorted, silently agreeing to Carmilla's demand. "They named you after a monster."
Carmilla chuckled. "Better than being named after a baking company."
~O~
For the first day after that, Carmilla was left in her stall to rest and recuperate. She needed the time off the recover after the long ride down to Silas, and although she would have preferred to have been let out into one of the many fields of the farm, Carmilla was content to be in her stall where no one could bother her.
She munched slowly on her lunch hay, feeling no need to shovel the food down her throat when she had all the time in the world to finish it. She paused occasionally to bite away an itch or fly or scratch the side of her face on her leg.
Her lunch was only interrupted when someone leaned on the door of her stall and clicked to her.
Carmilla sighed. These people were quickly proving that they had no sense of the concept of personal space. Whoever was at her stall was another irritating gremlin that was just as ignorant of her personal space as the rest.
The visitor clicked to her again, and when she didn't respond, whistled.
Carmilla flattened her ears. All she asked for was a calm day to be left unbothered. Why was that so much to ask for? But she felt inclined enough to see who it was who had the nerve to bother her, though she made it a point to raise her head after the noises. She didn't need this visitor thinking she was responding.
She assumed it was some random stable hand, one who knew nothing about her, other than she was a new horse, and a pretty little black one at that. But instead, it was the tiny blonde human she had seen the day before in the ring. She raised her ears. Well, this is a surprise. I would have thought she had another horse to take care of somewhere. Lucky me.
The little blonde was still in her helmet, goggles perched on top, and riding clothes. She must have been on another horse before she decided to pay Carmilla a visit. Carmilla caught the scent of track dirt and a strange horse on the girl.
Carmilla stared at the blonde. So you're a jockey? She snorted. The girl was probably going to be her jockey when the time came. Well, I'm your new mount, sweetheart. Just don't think I'll make this easy for you. I know all the tricks of the trade. Some might even say I know too much.
She sighed as the girl continued to stare at her with an amazed—dreamy, even—smile on her face. Is there something I can do for you, cupcake?
When the jockey didn't answer, Carmilla dropped her head down and went back to her hay. If all the girl was going to do was stare, that was fine with her. It was unsettling, but it was better that have to listen to her yak or try to get her attention.
"You know it's not often we have a racing champion here at the barn," the blonde said.
Carmilla rolled her eyes. If the short conversation with the tall redhead was any indication, the jockey could run her mouth for hours on end if no one told her to shut her trap or if she didn't trip over her words. So much for not having to listen to her talk.
"There have been a couple," the jockey went on, "but Danny didn't train any of them. Well, no. She helped train one of them… a little bit. But it was mostly Kirsch who trained them."
Kirsch?
Now that was a name Carmilla was familiar with. She hadn't heard it in quite some time, but she knew it well enough. She raised her head and met the blonde's eyes, ears forward in curiosity.
"You might know him," the blonde said. "He trains your half-brother, Shakespeare."
Will, Carmilla corrected, pinning her ears. The Dean had always favored Will over her, even before she'd lost herself after her jockey's death. His name wasn't one she thought she'd hear any time soon. What's he doing these days?
"He's been running all over Styria," the blonde continued. "I haven't seen any of his races on TV or in person, but I've heard he's won all of them. He's undefeated, just like you were. Well, like you will be. Once Danny's done with you, you'll be right back to your old self. The other horses won't know what hit them!"
Wishful thinking, creampuff, Carmilla sighed. But you don't know how long it will take to fix me. She huffed. Let Willyboy have the glory if it gets my mother off my back. If The Dean was more focused on Will, there was less of a chance she would turn her attention to Carmilla, and Carmilla preferred it that way.
She bent her head down to take another mouthful of hay, but the blonde spoke again.
"My name's Laura, by the way…"
Laura? Carmilla raised her head again, not hearing what else the blonde said. Laura? No, that's too close. She pinned her ears and lunged at Laura with a harsh neigh. Don't come near me! She reared up, flashing her teeth. The blonde staggered back, nearly tripping over herself, and leaned against the stall across from Carmilla's, startling Betty enough that the palomino filly kicked the walls of her stall.
"Danny!"
Carmilla kicked at the door, neighing her protest. Of course it was just her luck that she would get a jockey with a name that reminded her too much of her dead one. She couldn't let herself get too close to this one, not again.
Danny came rushing over, her attention torn between the spooked Betty, nervous Laura, and raging Carmilla. "What happened?"
"I-I don't know," Laura answered breathlessly. "I was just talking to her. I-I told her my name, and she-she came at me…"
The ginger trainer steadied Laura against the wall. "Are you okay? You're not hurt? She didn't bite you?"
"No, no." The little jockey shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Okay. Go to the tack room. She'll calm down faster if she can't see you."
Nodding, Laura stood and shakily made her way to the tack room, far out of Carmilla's line of sight. Now it was just Carmilla and Danny, and Carmilla was in no mood for dealing with Danny right after Laura. She turned circles in her stall, head high, watching as the trainer slowly approached. She pinned her ears and lunged for a second time. Get the hell away from me!
But Danny wasn't deterred. She came slowly, one hand up. "Easy, girl, easy. Ho, Carmilla."
Carmilla huffed, her circling slowed to pacing. The trainer was convincing, but not so much that it calmed Carmilla's nerves. She would be better off when everyone had left her alone. Nothing would have gone wrong if the jockey hadn't taken it upon herself to spill her life's story. She squealed and knocked at the door. You can get away from me now. Take care of Betty Crocker over there. I don't need you.
And then they were at a standstill, horse and trainer staring back at each other, until Betty squealed and kicked the wall of her stall again, spooking the horses around her. Even Carmilla jumped, but it was more in amusement than fear. The palomino mare was so high-strung she didn't know how to handle the situation.
With a satisfied snort, Carmilla dropped her head and seemingly went back to her hay now that Danny was more concerned with the jumpy mare than with Carmilla.
But she couldn't eat another mouthful of hay. Her future jockey's name was Laura, and that was far too close for Carmilla's liking.
~O~
The curly redhead, Perry, who led Carmilla from her stall and the barn the next morning and out onto a farm complex Carmilla found to be larger than expected.
At the center of the farm was a barn complex of ten barns, each one housing horses of varying ages, from mares to stallions, colts, fillies, broodmares, and the like. Around the barns spanned what seemed, and very well may have been, miles of green pastures marked off by white fences. There were smaller pastures fenced off in addition to the massive ones meant for multiple horses, meant for one or two horses. The pasture Carmilla was being led to was one that ran up a gentle slope. It was close to a dirt side road with only a foot of grass in between the fence and the road, too close for comfort in Carmilla's opinion, but she would take it regardless.
She shook her head against the leather halter that rubbed against her face and stood with the gate at her back. The open space in front of her made her nerves tingle. She wanted to run from fence to fence, racing imaginary horses, feel the wind in her mane, but the sickness in her heart held her back. Running made her thoughts circle back to Ell, and when her thoughts circled back to Ell, she lost the will to run. Running was what had gotten Ell killed, and Carmilla could no longer bear to associate herself with what reminded her of Ell.
So with a heavy sigh, Carmilla tossed up her head and trotted up the fence line toward the far long side of the pasture. She stopped at the corner and looked over the fence at the massive pasture in front of her. It was empty as far as she could see and smell. She turned back toward the small expanse of field behind her and found the two redheads and the tiny blonde watching her from the gate. Perry turned to the other two and said something Carmilla couldn't hear, even with her ears shoved forward. She pinned them and snorted angrily, scraping the ground with one hoof.
There were two things in life Carmilla Karnstein disliked more than her bloodline: Being touched, and not knowing what people were saying about her.
She turned and scraped her teeth on the fence. Taking out her anger on an inanimate object was better and easier than going all the way down the hill to take her anger out on the three girls and having to interact with them.
Then she caught Laura's voice on the wind: "I…think she knows we're talking about her."
Carmilla pounded her hoof into the ground once and tossed her head up, snorting. You really think, cupcake? She scraped her teeth along the fence again. Now it was just irritating. She fought the urge to smash the fence to pieces. Doing so would only mean having those wretched little urchins put their hands all over her. Not today.
"Well, let's leave her alone, then," Danny suggested, her voice clear on the wind but still far. "Give her some time to herself." She patted Laura on the shoulder and turned the blonde away. Perry followed closely. None of them spared a glance back at her.
Shaking her too long forelock out of her face, Carmilla dropped her head and sniffed the grass. Her stomach balked at the scent, and she picked her head up, unwilling to give herself colic.
She walked along the fence line, occasionally scraping her teeth against the pristine wood, tearing off the paint and leaving deep gouges in the board. That was what they got for leaving her unsupervised.
Carmilla shook her head, pulling away from the fence and turning to walk back to her original corner. She knew she was bitter. She knew she was angry. She knew she was sour. She recognized all the things wrong with her, but didn't know how to fix it. Everywhere she went she looked for a fight, an outlet for her pent-up rage. She wanted to draw blood over Ell's death; it didn't matter who it came from as long it came. She wanted to feel the real, physical pain of a well-fought fight. She wanted to know she was still alive, that she could still feel. The sting of the crop meant nothing, it was a thorn in her side that she found was easy to ignore; it did nothing to remind her that she wasn't over yet.
She shook her head again. To think that the Karnsteins worried enough about her to have her shipped out. Part of her almost wished they would have euthanized her months ago, put her out of her misery to let her join Ell. She couldn't see a future for herself in racing, not when little brother Will was dominating the track in her absence. Mother always did like him better.
The Dean insisted that Carmilla was her diamond, her glittering filly, but Carmilla knew better. Will never knew their mother's anger, not like Carmilla had, if the lack of tiny gray scars under his fur were any indication. Carmilla's were hardly noticeable against her black coat unless one looked closely, and even then the general consensus was that she'd gotten them during a race, when another horse came to close to her. No one knew of her relationship with The Dean, whom Carmilla knew sported some scars of her own, from races, turn out, and Carmilla's teeth.
Carmilla's former owners had liked to think she was a perfect combination of The Dean and Count Vlad, but Carmilla knew she took more after her dam than she did her sire, appearances aside. She had her mother's temper, although hers had worsened over the course of eight months; and she knew she had her mother's fiery competitiveness that urged her to keep any other competitors from getting ahead of her. It was what had gotten her to the winner's circle time and time again until her eleventh race. Everything had fallen apart, then, but that was a blame she was willing to rest on her mother's shoulders. She didn't need her mother to remind her what she was born to do. She had everyone else around her doing that enough.
When the fence line came formed a corner, Carmilla stopped and turned to look down across the barn complex. There seemed to be more activity on this barn than she was used to, or perhaps she was just noticing it for the first time, now that she wasn't shut up in a dark stall and run from dawn until dusk. It was a rather nice change of pace, she mused, being able to watch the usual activity from a distance rather than being a part of it. It was just a shame it wouldn't stay like that forever.
Some of the horses that passed looked up at Carmilla with interest, wondering who this new filly was who graced the barn with her presence. She doubted any of them knew her; she had never raced any of the horses she watched, as they were all too young to run with her, but they seemed to sense that something of a racing legend was staring back at them, though Carmilla could hardly consider herself as such. She had only done what she was trained to do, however much she used to enjoy it.
With a slow huff, Carmilla lowered herself to the ground and rolled, the first chance she had gotten to do so since her arrival. Betty insisted on keeping her engaged in pointless conversation each time she had tried to roll, as though the palomino didn't want Carmilla disturbing the turf of her old stall.
Carmilla made sure to take her time rolling, knowing it might be a while before she got the chance again, to rid herself of an irritating itch on her back. When it was gone, she stood and shook the dirt from her coat, then settled down in the same patch of grass for a well-deserved nap. If there was one thing other than her temper and her races that Carmilla was famous for, it was her ability to sleep lying down for hours on end. It was the only way she could get a decent sleep without voices constantly ringing in her ears.
She took a breath and blew out a raspy stretch of air, catching a glimpse of the redheaded trainer leading a bay horse from the barn. She smirked and wriggled in the grass to get herself as comfortable as possible. Wake me up when it's dinner time, cupcake.
A/N: For those of you wondering, the "baking company" Carmilla teases Betty about is Betty Crocker. ;) No disrespect to Betty Crocker, of course! (Great brownies, by the way)
EDIT: This is a rewrite of this chapter. I've gone through and edited the first two, and I am currently working on the third one now that Carmilla Season 2 is officially here! I can't give you an exact date to expect the next chapter, maybe within the next week or so, I'll see what happens.
