“No. You are too good to fall from one, and far too kind to have this done to you by one of my horses,” Igor shrugged, a confidence in his voice he trusted to few. After all, even when he didn’t have to, Valentin still made sure Irina had water, wasn’t hurt and felt comfortable in her place. That kind of attention, of dedication, didn’t come naturally. Igor had seen enough of the other jockeys to know that much. “My bet is… you either die on top of one, or from grief for being torn from them. But as I said, you are good, and I don’t say that to just anyone, so it’s probably the first option, really,” Igor smiled, eyes fixed on the jockey as his hands went into his pockets. He wasn’t one to say that often, but then again, Valentin wasn’t a talent you could find at any corner either. Nor was his proactive approach something to ignore. For, in the end, it seemed Igor wasn’t the only one to be put on his place by the newcomer.
“Did you have that checked out?” was all Igor asked, walking towards the frenchman with a hand stretched out as if to touch the bruise, though stopping before reaching him. It didn’t seem serious, to be honest. But it wasn’t like Igor understood much beyond horses and their afflictions. “If you keep this up, your bones will be first on her list, she won’t have time to get to mine,” he laughed, the movement leaving him the feeling that, tomorrow, his own torso wouldn’t be much different from Valentin’s, after all. “Sometimes I babysit for my housemate as well. I like his kid and it’s a good excuse, since I don’t really know my way around people. Most of the times I don’t know what to say, and frankly, apart from asking me about horses, people don’t know how to deal with me either,” a fact that, to Igor, had already become slightly amusing. Something about him made others socially uncomfortable, and though he was aware of how it could bother some, for him, it was mostly fun to watch. People were weird. It wasn’t just how he saw the world. “It sounds fun, and you do look like someone who knows his way around these sort of things… I’m in. Just let me know when you feel like it.”
“unless some other jockey gives me a shove during a race.” he laughed, as though it was a joke and not the reality of their trade. he trusted igor’s horses innately; they were animals who understood trust as the trainer had taught it to them. “i hope so. those sound like noble send offs.” far nobler than a boy like him should be entitled to. he peered down at the bruise. it did look a great deal angrier than it had this morning, and had been giving him grief in the saddle all day, but he’d had worse in his time working with unruly, unpredictable horses who did not know yet that he was one to be trusted. “no, not yet. didn’t think it was worth it but i suppose i probably should.” the last thing he needed was an infection or anything that might put him out of commission racing for a while. “i’ll see if it gets worse over the weekend. if it does, i’ll have to see a medic.” self preservation had never been at the top of his priorities, and he was certainly not letting it get in the way of his plans to hit the town this evening. val chuckled at igor’s joke. “anything for you, kaminsky.”
“people have been missing out. though you are very good at talking about horses, you have far more to offer when so many words can be coaxed out of you.” a grin of victory spread across val’s features at igor’s agreement and he let out a boyish whoop of victory that irina was so used to that she barely flinched despite the volume. “we’re going to have so much fun. you’re gonna have to fend girls off with a stick where i’m taking you.” with a face like that, and his calm, kind demeanor, val was sure the people of this fine city were toast.
