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Preacher had slammed her way through making her bed this morning. She had slammed her breakfast tray with a vehemence rivaled by none. She had slammed doors, kicked plants, stomped her way through P.T., through class, through the entire day. It was one of those kind of days and Preacher had nothing to blame except her own traitorous mind. Her dreams had been full of... .she didn't want to think about it. An angry flush darkened her cheeks. It wasn't enough that she to deal with it during her waking hours, but to dream of it, of... And to top it off, she had been assigned barn duty today, which was always less than pleasant. Preacher was in a horrible mood.

So, when she finally reached the barn door, she slammed it open. Stalking inside, she headed straight for one stall in particular. If she was stuck mucking out stalls, she'd do it quick. And if some foul horse trampled her, well, at least she would no longer be in a bad mood. The thought caused a dark chuckle to rise in her throat. Feeling her mood lift ever so slightly, she rolled her shoulders and peered over into Trotto's stall. For some reason, she had become fond of him, or rather, more fond of Trotto than the other horses. "Oi, ya stupid horse witchur damnfool face, time for mucking! No oats for ya un- ....Who're you?" Her voice went from violently boisterous to vaguely confused. Inside the stall, a girl with pale pink hair shivered. She was pretty, a classical kind of pretty that men wanted to paint. Preacher suddenly felt a little small, a little dirty. "Y-you're not a horse," she said ingeniously.

At the girl's soft words, Preacher almost face-palmed. Had she really asked if this pale-eyed pretty woman was a horse? She peered closely up at Harper, noticing the slight tremble and teary eyes. A sudden feeling of comradeship rushed through her. Sometimes she was still worried a large horse would drag her off and she would have no way to control it. But although Preacher still hated horses, she had gotten used to them (it helped that the barn had sturdy doors), especially the exceptionally stupid Trotto. He was slow and somehow oddly gentle, but he still had big, ugly teeth. As though hearing her thoughts, the horse tossed his pale mane and whinnied loudly. It sounded so petulant that she almost snorted.

"I know it's hard, but ya mostly don't have ta be 'fraid of horses. They ain't smart n' only bite ugly guys." Preacher grinned lopsidedly, jerking her head towards Trotto. "'Specially that one. He's dumber than a whole box o' rocks. I'm Preacher, by tha way. C'mon, gimme a hand. You ever worked with horses afore?" Harper was probably the best distraction the world could've thought of. Her foul mood was put on hold; she had a soft spot for nice girls, a strange sort of protective feeling. Nothing maternal, just that innocence was cute. Plus, Harper's eyes reminded her of Dollface's when they had first met. Feeling a bit lighter, she wandered over and grabbed a harness.

"Ya gotta harness 'em first, then tie 'em up a ways away from tha muckin'. If I distract him with a carrot or summat d'you wanna try loopin' this round his ugly head?"

Harper's smile was beatific and, as far as Preacher could tell, genuine. The pink-haired trainee was a soothing presence in the barn, pale and pretty and sweet. "Hah, me either! I'mma fully prepared ta fall right on my arse when we start class on these beasts. I ain't lookin' forward ta it." Preacher held out the harness, watching the girl curiously. If she hadn't been so nice right off the bat, it would be easy to hate Harper, just because of jealousy. Preacher had never had a particularly jealous nature, but then again, she'd always been too focused on fighting and living day-to-day to care if someone were prettier than her. Popping her left shoulder, she grabbed a carrot.

"Um," she said, thinking for a moment. "Tha days kinda blur together after a bit, ya ken? Mebbe a coupla months? I forget to count tha days n' all that kinda stuff." Preacher shrugged sheepishly and jogged back to Trotto's stall. "We get tha newbies every so often. Ain't nothin' wrong with being new; I wouldn't be worried. I think there was some dude with purple hair who jus' came in too. Y'all could make a set." She chuckled and pulled open the door. Trotto bared his big, yellow teeth at Preacher and shuffled further into his stall. She rolled her eyes.

Placing one hand on her hip, she stared at the dumb horse. She didn't hate horses, but she certainly did not like them. "Alright, time ta get crackin'. You try n' harness tha dumb b*****d. Oh, and Harper," she said conversationally. "Did anyone ever tell ya that ya got intimidatin' good looks? Anyone sass ya, you kin jus' stare 'em down n' blush all pretty-like." Well, Preacher though to herself, I'm certainly a right chatterbox today. She chuckled and moved closer to Trotto.

Preacher chuckled when Harper flushed hotly, her cheeks pinker than her hair. Something about Harper was very much like an ingenue, and she set people oddly at ease. It was clear the girl was more than a little bashful: odd considering her appearance. Suddenly, she wondered what kind of upbringing the girl had, what people had formed her into this kind of person who barely met people's eyes. And, although Harper was taller than Preacher by a good few inches, she felt as though the delicate girl would always be the type to be protected, not to protect others. Preacher shrugged and decided she might be reading too much into it.

"Ah. Ya did a good job, Harper. Trotto damn near bit me tha first time I tried ta loop 'im without a nosebag ta cover those ol' monstrous teeth. But he's right stupid, n' now he's leadable, ye ken?" Holding onto the stall with one hand, Preacher grabbed the lead from Trotto's harness. No matter how many times she did this, Preacher knew she would never get over her lingering fear that a large horse would bolt and drag her along all willy-nilly. Her fingers tightened along the wooden boards and she turned her head back to look at Harper.

"No s**t?" A note of surprise colored her voice. Her life before enlisting had been full of listening as men called out ribald comments on women's appearance and Tinker had told her to be sure and flatter every woman she encountered. Flattery relaxes people, he said, flattery makes some an easy mark. Preacher doubted she'd break that habit of casual flirting, but her observation of Harper's loveliness was genuine. "You shoulda learn. Use yer looks as a weapon. I heard it kin work real well." Preacher grinned again, but then Trotto shifted, trying to pull away from the wall. Slowly, she led him out and tied him to the front of another stall. "Go n' vist wit Neighbelline, ya great brute."

Grabbing a couple shovels, she headed back into the stall. "I dun think I'mma ever gonna get used ta horses. To be honest, the damn things are too damn big for my peace o' mind. Here." Preacher passed one shovel to Harper. They had to get this done before the bells rang for dinner.

Preacher shot a quick glance at the girl, but it didn't seem as though Harper were mocking her accent or anything. It fact it seemed as though she didn't have a mean bone in her body. How odd. Preacher shrugged; she liked Harper well enough and she was a hard worker. Preacher shoveled as well, shocked at how quickly this went with two people working in tandem. Soon they would need the fresh hay stacked outside the stall.

Harper's words surprised Preacher and she stopped shoveling, suddenly unable to keep from laughing. "Me? Use my looks? Oh ahahaha. What looks?" For nearly a minute, she could barely breathe from laughing. Preacher Maria was scarred, damaged goods and she knew it. The suggestion that she have good looks was overwhelmingly silly. Now, Axel was stupid and wanted her body, but that was because he thought a slum brat might be an easy target. She looked up at Harper, mouth stretched into a grin.

"I ain't had a man either, ain't no thing. But you..." She circled Harper slowly, looking at her from all sides. Suddenly, her finger stabbed out. "Now, you, ya got a creamy complexion n' rosy cheeks n' high breasts and a slkim body. Mhmm. Prime material. Ya just gotta learn ta work it. Ya finds ways to move that eventually, they do anythin' for ya. Could be powerful." Preacher ducked out briefly to grab armfuls of fresh hay to scatter in the back of Trotto's stall. coming back in, she shooed Harper to the side and dumped it, spreading it more evenly with one foot.

Preacher snorted at the other girl. It was becoming more and more clear that she had led a sheltered life. It wasn't a bad thing, really. She would bet actual bits that the pink-haired innocent would get along swimmingly with Alec. They could go off and do.... whatever things innocent kids did. Blush a lot or something. Twitter over butts. She shrugged.

As Harper brought another load in, she smiled at the girl. "Alright, thisa one's done. Let's get tha damn horse back in." Preacher's shorter legs moved quickly. Trotto was nosing with Neighbelline quietly. It was kind of cute. "Break it up, lovebrids! Imma in dorm Lusche. Lusche for ladies, I guess. Ain't but one guy. You?" Preacher carefully, carefully, untied Trotto. His big teeth snapped at her when he was pulled away from the mare, but he went.

"Ya say ya ain't ever had a lover, but i betcha got ya eye on one!" Preacher grinned teasingly at Harper. She liked to fluster the girl already.

Seeing that Harper had her stable well in hand - it looked that she'd chosen Velvetm, a docile, old mare, Preacher moved into the next stall which held Fuque. Fuque was a noisy, disagreeable beast and she always had to tie a feedbag round his head before the stallion would do anything. She pitied the trainee that rode him in practice. Her head did pop up over the stall as Harper talked.

"Ah!" she said, pointing one finger at Harper. "I knew ya liked someone! Ya tried ta catch his eye yet? No? Jus g'on n' show a bit o' bosom or pout or blush real pretty n' ya kin get him right good. Dudes are suckas for that kinda stuff, Harper. Ya got it, ya gotta flaunt it." Now, the majority of Preacher's advice came from what she had seen of whores catching clients from the streets. But, she supposed it was still valid advice.

Vigrorously, she bent back to mucking out the stall, arm muscles bunching. She finished in record time and leaned against the door. "So.. what's his name, Harper~" she signsonged.