2025-01-17 - A Walk Along the Trail

It's late afternoon and it's cool and clear, a little warmer than it has been the past couple of days, but still not warm by any stretch. With the lull in park activity, many of the areas that had been crowded over the holidays are now a lot more quiet and still, like the riding loop that follows along the shore of the island before curving inland and coming back around.

Michael is on-duty which means that he's in uniform and clearly identifiable as security as he takes a leisurely walk along the trails on Cornbread, the pale Tennessee Walker gelding. It's a sedate ride, mostly just checking the trails, and checking up on any guests who might be lost or in distress. Not that it's that easy to get lost. The trails are very clearly marked.

Charging up and down the lists in the Arena really isn't enough for the dark majesty that is Rhysand, and so Drea finds herself out on the trails with some frequency. Thankfully, she has left armor and weapons behind, no doubt for the comfort of the guests (and the fact that the costumers get upset when they leave the River Village), and is enjoying the day in black riding breeches, her Renaissance riding boots, and a decidedly un-Renn-worthy Kansas State Jayhawks hoodie. Her hair is gathered up in a low pony-tail, but for all that she seems ready and willing to ride, she sits atop Rhysand's archaic, wing-backed saddle at a split in the trail, apparently arguing with her mount.

"Yes, I know that you like the Queen's Gambit, but we'll be done with that path in ten minutes, and you're supposed to be getting at least another half hour of exercise."

The black grade-horse stallion looks back at her and tosses his head, and she holds up one finger to him, "No... I did not say you were getting fat. I'm saying that you eat well and you've got to burn it off so you can still look like the Lord of Night for all the people watching, yes, and for all the mares too."

Yup, she's arguing with her horse.

Michael has seen the Arena jousts and fights a number of times. And he's well familiar with many of the horses on the island. And it is probably not the first time that he's seen someone holding an argument with an animal of some kind. Hell, sometimes one of his roommates is in animal shape. So there's just the slightest bit of an amused smile as he grows nearer to the pair.

"Everything alright, ma'am?" he asks in a way that very much indicates that he's joking. He knows she's perfectly fine.

Cornbread just wanders along calmly with that four-beat pacing of his gaited walk. He slows when Michael starts talking to Drea as though just sort of instinctively knowing that when his rider starts chatting, they're probably going to stop, at least for a moment or two.

Drea and Rhysand both look over, and while Rhysand eyes Cornbread and then flicks his tail and looks away, Drea smothers a laugh and then starts in wide-eyed, "Yes, Officer. I'd like to report a crime: an equine being an utterly lazy blockhead." Another flick of Rhysand's tail, this one which might as well be a roll of his eyes.

Twisting in her saddle to face Michael more readily, she rests an elbow on one of the low wings at the back of her medieval saddle, "Now, there is one difficulty with an arrest. Technically, said lazy, equine blockhead is foreign nobility, the High Lord of the Night Court." She pauses, "But that's not a problem, is it? There's no extradition, and you have broad authorities in Spellbound Park territory, right?"

"Ah, a pretty common crime in these parts, actually," Michael says with a laugh as he and Cornbread come to a stop at a comfortable distance for conversation without having to crane around. He gives Rhysand a careful study as though assessing whether the laziness or the blockheadedness could be gauged by sight alone. "Oh, is he then?" Michael laughs at the announcement that the horse is not only foreign nobility but a High Lord at that.

"Oh, I suppose there's nothing illegal in being a High Lord. We have enough nobility in this park it's difficult not to trip over them all." As for extradition. "Oh, we won't deport him, no. It takes some serious crimes to actually get cast off the island. Now if he gets drunk and disorderly, we may need to talk about temporary incarceration."

Rhysand tosses his head, and Drea smooths down his mane, patting his neck with an affectionate gesture completely at odds with her threats of arrest, but it's Michael's mention of drunk and disorderly that draws a bright, clear laugh from the rider. "Oh no. I'm way more likely to be that, but I promise that I can make it home without breaking anything or anyone." She pauses a moment, and then admits, "Besides those two times, but those heels were really cheap, and the guy was an ass."

She curls her fingers through Rhysand's mane again, combing the wavy tousle between her fingers, "I bet your friend isn't nearly as much trouble as mine though. He has the look of an intelligent, calm, well-behaved boy." That draws another toss of Rhysand's head and a snort from the horse.

Michael seems to consider this and finally gives an approving nod of his head. "Sounds fine by me. Don't fall off a ferry." That's his only warning in regard to her own drunk and disorderly conduct. The horse gets a pass, since apparently he's the sober one of the pair.

Cornbread seems entirely unconcerned. He grazes a little bit on some shoots of gras that manage to survive in the winter months, though not for long. He occasionally flicks his ears. He's listening. But he is one very unbothered horse. But then, he's trained to be that way. "He has his moments," Michael laughs. "But mostly he's just content to be showered with attention and affection and take long wandering walks around the park making sure everything is in order."

Drea nods her acceptance of the rule, "I haven't yet. I mean, there was that one time that I came close, but..." her smile flashes bright, "I'm sure you're not interested in hearing about that at all. I'll stick to your rule, officer." There's laughter behind the words, and a sense that she probably means to live within it, whether or not she actually will.

There's a moment's pause as Drea looks down at Rhysand following the description of Cornbread, and then she adds, "See? That could be you." Another pause as Rhysand tosses his head again and snorts in what certainly sounds like derision, "Right. Sorry." Looking back to Michael, she shrugs broadly, "That's not really His Dark Majesty's way. He likes running really fast and helping me knock people off their horses. I'm pretty sure he'd like to fight himself if we let him." She narrows her pale eyes down at the stallion, "Which we don't."

"No, now I want to know the story," Michael chuckles. "And that was more a warning than a rule. The water's kind of cold." He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Also, not my jurisdiction. I am strictly a land-based patrol. Even if this guy would happily go running through the water if I let him." He gives Cornbread a couple of pats. He probably does let him.

"Oh, Cornbread likes to run. But we keep his speed and agility a closely guarded secret. Lulls folk into a false sense of security. Surely that sweet boy would never chase anyone down," Michael chuckles as he gives Cornbread another pet. He sure doesn't look like he's going to take off to the races anytime soon, but he also probably would not be a patrol horse if he didn't have a little speed in him somewhere.

"Just like you never know how fast a cop car can go unless you've seen it," Drea rationalizes. "Gotta keep it in low gear until you really need the speed so that it's a surprise." Rhysand dances a little under Drea's seat, and she reaches down to pat his neck, "I see how it is, now that I'm talking to the nice security officer, you want to get back to your walk. Hooligan."

Looking back over to Michael, she smiles broadly, "I may not give the whole story, even if it's not your jurisdiction, because I'm sure that you do know the people whose jurisdiction it is, but let's just say that the case in point involved an unclear number of Three Wise Men," shots of Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and Jose Cuervo, "and a dare about who could balance on the top railing of a ferry the longest." She laughs a little ruefully, "In sober hindsight, we should have stuck to betting who could get to the top of the flagpole first."

Michael chuckles as Rhysand gets a little impatient now that he's not the one deciding when they should stop and when they should go. "Don't let me keep you from your walk," he says. "I'm just doing the loop, making sure there's no one out here that needs some help."

He does, however, hold up a hand and nods his head, "Fair enough," when she refuses to give the entire story. There's enough, however, to draw a laugh from him. "I don't know.. I think I'd rather fall in the water than down the flag pole," he considers. "One's just wet."

Drea gives Rhysand's side a little pressure with her knee, and the stallion turns away from the shorter Queen's Gambit trail and toward the longer trail with a snort of breath and then a whicker, perhaps suggesting aggrieved approval and then an admission that he didn't really want the shorter walk after all. "Don't let me keep you from your patrol either." Especially since they're going generally the same way, at least for a while.

"And I might agree with you -- splash and swim being better than scream and bounce -- but like you said, it's cold in that water, and, well, I regenerate." She wrinkles her nose in amusement, and then shakes her head, brushing a wayward lock of hair back behind her ear, "So a sprained wrist is a pain in the butt, but not the end of the world. I've never tried to see how it does with drowning, and I never want to."

"I was headed this way anyway," Michael says, nodding toward the longer trail. "So if you don't mind the company, we'll walk along with you for a bit." The radio at his side seems quiet save for the occasional squawk and chatter back and forth, but nothing that sounds urgent or requiring his immediate attention.

"Scream and bounce," Michael reiterates with a wince. That option definitely doesn't appeal to him. Though the mention of regeneration does get a nod. "Still, I imagine even regenerating doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt to be broken at first, even if it isn't for long." He then adds, "I don't have anything like that. Though I can put some protection on myself to avoid getting hurt in the first place, to some degree."

"Expected you might," Drea offers with a crooked smile, "And I don't mind at all." She lifts up her brows and offers, "It wouldn't be a long scream, if that makes it any better. They're pretty short flagpoles." It probably doesn't make it any better, and by her tone, she knows that. "And it hurts like the blazes every time. Even the regeneration hurts, although not as bad as it does to get hurt." She nods slowly at the mention of avoiding getting hurt, "Yeah. I've got scales that help with that. And I can understand a little bit about what His Darkness wants and feels too. I like the regeneration and the armor, but that might be my favorite bit of magic." She brushes her hand along Rhysand's neck with that. "How about you?"

"Well, that's a relief," Michael says of the scream not being a long one. No, it doesn't make it any better, but he chuckles just a little, because it might not be better but it is a little funny. When she mentions her ability to understand what Rhysand wants and feels, he gives a nod and says, "I got that impression." Not that he doesn't know a lot of people who talk to their horses. He talks to Cornbread all the time and there's no such connection between them.

"I can protect things, create a bit of a magical barrier around a place to keep things out or in. It works a little like a shield around people sometimes, too." He then looks out along the trail as they begin to wander down it, beginning to scan for people just in case anyone's in trouble or needs help as they talk. "And I can go to a place and get a sense for what's happened there in the past. Visions, glimpses. Depends on how strong the impression and if I'm looking at the right time. Pretty well suited to helping with investigations."

Drea rides with a casual ease and grace, which isn't particularly difficult with the stallion at a walk. "Now you never know, I might just be the sort to talk to my horse." She pauses a beat, and then admits, "But usually it doesn't seem like it's a two-way conversation. At least not among the gainfully employed." She listens to the description of his own abilities, and while the first one draws her brows up, the second widens her eyes as well.

"Wow. Um... I can think of some ways that would be really cool, and also some ways that would totally suck. It sounds real useful for investigations, like you said, but also if you're in a place where bad things have happened..." she shivers, shaking her head, "No thank you. Plus all the places people have made out or gotten it on -- I don't want to see most people doing that, thanks."

Michael shrugs and says, "I'm the sort to talk to my horse, but he doesn't really reply in a way that I can understand, so I just trust that he'll let me know in whatever way he can if he disagrees with me." He chuckles just a little bit. Cornbread does not give off the air of a particularly disagreeable horse. He just walks along the well-known path, perfectly capable of navigating it himself without the presence of his rider at all if he wanted to.

"It doesn't happen automatically or anything," Michael assures Drea. "I have to really be trying to do it. So if I'm about to look, I'm prepared for whatever I might see. Aside from the first time it happened, I've had to really focus." He then admits, "I was a cop for a while. Seeing bad things kind of came with the territory." It's not something that he talks about a lot, but it sort of explains why he's at least a little prepared for seeing some of what he sees. "Fortunately, this place doesn't seem to really have a history of real bad things happening. Kind of why I like it here." Though he does laugh at the idea of seeing people making out. "I guess that's fair. I suppose I've been lucky that I haven't tuned in to any of that yet. Though I suppose it's bound to happen. I'd be much more likely to see that sort of thing here, I think, than anything truly tragic."

"That's good -- that there hasn't been much worse than upset stomachs here or the bumps and bruises and breaks that we get." Drea gestures to herself, clearing one of those who gets bumps and bruises and breaks. "I figured most of the security team'd be ex-cops. Seems like they've got a lot of choice for who they hire, actually. I mean, you know that the guy who played Commander Dumas and Stregnalthalon is working here?" She narrows her eyes for a moment, "Or I don't know, do you like that geeky sort of stuff? Galactic Journeys and Trials of Garrick?"

Shaking off that question, her smile goes bright and wide, "Well, I'd stay away from anyone's room then. With your magic, I mean. And, you know, the dressing rooms down in the tunnels."

Michael nods as they ride along and says, "Lots of former cops, former military, and various other security fields. And then some surprises that don't quite to seem to fit into any of those categories. It's an interesting team. They've all been good to work with so far. Some are a little.. intense.. but that comes with the territory, too." His smile skews a little wry.

There's a faintly blank look when she mentions Commander Dumas and Stregnalthalon. "I'm guessing.. actor?" he asks. He may just not be familiar with either of those shows. "Doesn't surprise me, though. It's quite the eclectic collection of individuals who have found their way here. Keeps it interesting."

As for avoiding people's rooms and dressing rooms he shakes his head, "My lady, I will have you know that I have more discretion than to go peering about in people's private business." He then says, "Unless there's a crime involved. But generally speaking, no, I'm really not interested in anybody's rooms or dressing rooms."

"A little intense? Let me tell you about the Arena staff some time," there's laughter in Drea's voice, as if she knows that she would probably be high up on that list according to others working there. "And yeah, I'm pretty sure like English Shakespearean-trained. Real good at what he does. Nice hair too." The response to her suggestion to stay away from more private spaces causes her to hold her hands up at her sides in surrender, "I'm sure you wouldn't. Because I'm also pretty sure anyone who would... they'd already be spending most of their time with a shrink."

Shaking the idea off with a laugh, she glances over to the mounted security officer again, "I promise this isn't me hitting on you, but you look familiar. You have family at the Park?"

Michael laughs and says, "That wouldn't surprise me, either." Those thundering around on horses with lances and beating each other up on the field being intense individuals? Not at all. He nods a little as Neville is described as a real Shakespearian actor, seeming impressed. "Guess this place just has that kind of appeal to all kinds. That's cool, though. There are so many really talented people scattered about the place."

One brow rises just a little bit in amusement, wondering perhaps what's coming after that preamble. But then he laughs and says, "Yeah. I've got two sisters who work at the park -- Farah and Astrid. They both work over on Starlight. Farah works at the petting zoo and Astrid gives presentations on the various wildlife."

Drea nods, "Yeah, there are a bunch of real good actors all over the place. And then there are the lance-jockeys who wish they could get picked to play The Black Knight so they wouldn't have lines." It's her, she's talking about herself. Very clearly. But she brightens up as Michael mentions the sisters, "Right! I think I ran into Farah around the stables once. Or maybe Astrid." She shakes her head a little ruefully, "There are so many people working here, I totally can't keep all the names straight."

With a blink, she adds, "I'm Drea, by the way. And this beauty," she pats the stallion's neck, "Is Rhysand. And you're Cornbread," she nods to the other horse, "even if I don't know your rider's name yet."

"Farah's the dark haired one, Astrid's the blonde," Michael offers, if that helps to differentiate them. But he nods in agreement and says, "It's like a whole city here, to be honest. I've been here for a little over a year now and I'm still running into so many people that I've never met or who are new coming in." Then he adds, "Michael. Nice to meet you, Drea, and His Dark Lordship." That, to the horse. Cornbread just flicks his ears when he hears his name and gives a little shake of his head. "I would probably be one of the ones who would prefer not to have any lines," he admits.

Rhysand gives a toss of his mane like he's accepting his due, but certainly that's just because he heard one of his many nicknames (and his name), not because he's accepting the title. Certainly.

Drea pats his neck again, nodding at the description, "Right. And yeah, it definitely is. Nice to meet you, Officer Michael." The admission is met with a slow nod of fervent agreement, "Lines are bad enough, I have to remember those, but when something goes off-script and we have to improvise?" She shudders dramatically, "Ugh. It always feels like everyone else has the perfect line and I'm there just struggling for something that makes sense at all. And then I get to hit them, and that makes me feel better -- even if we're not really hitting each other, except with the lances."

"I'm better at improvising when it comes to action. Put me in a situation where I have to make a quick decision in order to do something, great. Put me in a situation where I have to come up with something witty to say and I'm afraid I am woefully underprepared. But at least you do get to hit them to make up for it!" Michael laughs as his radio makes another squawking noise and there's more chatter over it. He pauses and turns it up for a moment, lifting it to answer back and then listens for a moment before he sets it back down.

"Looks like I'm going to have to pick up the pace here and head back," he says apologetically. "But it was good to meet you and if you're out riding this way from time to time I'm sure I'll run into you again, either around the Village or out here."

Drea gestures over to Michael in clear agreement on action being easier than wit, "I know, right?" She quiets down when the call comes in, looking aside to make it clear that she isn't trying to listen in -- even if she maybe is listening in a little. When Michael comes back to the conversation, she looks back over to him, then nods, "Pleasure. I'm out here often, letting His Dark Highness stretch his legs, but if you ever want to test those quick decision-making skills, let me know. We've got a sword-group out in the River Village. Totally safe-ish."