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There were many things that Hot Pants did not enjoy about this race. The sweltering heat in the day, but the terrible cold in the night; the sweat that covered her body which was awfully hard to get rid of thanks to the lack of showers out here; and, of course, her partner, Diego Brando. He was a rather godless boy, with a foul mouth and an even fouler mind. She wished she didn't have to be his partner out of everyone, but he was willing to help her and she was willing to help him, so it was a necessary evil, unfortunately for her. She would often catch him quite literally eating rocks, as if they didn't have actual food to share between them, which was quite unsettling to her. But alas, she couldn't complain too much. It wasn't that he was a bad partner, it was just that he was a bit... distasteful as a person, one could say. Hot Pants just put it down to the fact that he was British, that would explain it all. Still, she could put her trust in him and he could put his trust in her- that was how this partnership worked- or at least, they could until the end of this race.
Although, come night time, when the sun was way past bring set and the horses were tied up so they wouldn't wander off, things changed. It wasn't just a sharing of trust during the night: it was companionship. With saddles for pillows and no more than a thin blanket each, Hot Pants and Diego Brando would lay down about two metres away from each other, underneath the stars, and for the short while that neither of them could sleep, they would talk. They'd talk about their homes and past, they'd talk about the race, what they wanted to do when they finished, but more importantly, they listened to each other. Hot Pants had never felt as though she had been listened to so closely in her whole life. On the off chance that she would turn over in her makeshift 'bed', she would be met with the brightest blue eyes ever seen before, and they would always be so focused and intent on her and her alone. It was strange. It was as if his world was revolving around her. But it wasn't, she rationalised. He just had nothing else to focus on until one of them fell asleep (it was usually her). But still, the dedication that was shown in those eyes never failed to just make her pause for a moment, wondering what he was thinking behind them.
It was a stupid thing to think about.
It was another of those nights. Hot Pants had just finished setting up their campfire, and out of the corner of her eye, she could catch a glimpse of Diego Brando slipping a treat to each of their horses, mumbling about something. He was strange, really, he liked horses so deeply that it didn't really make sense. These interactions made her wonder if he was in this race so that he could be around so many different horses. She would've believed that too, if it weren't for the way he acted when actually trying to race. But alas, Diego somehow had a special gift to busy himself for quite a while when he was in the proximity of horses, which gave Hot Pants the time to sort out her own makeshift bed (and steal the better spot around the campfire) and serve herself a meal as that strange boy ran his hands over the horses and lifted each of their feet to dig out any stones with his fingers. He really did like horses, didn't he? It was almost childish, in a way, how all the time he was thinking of horses whenever he got the chance to. He became quieter when he was with horses, no longer being that loud, obnoxious 'prick' (Hot Pants had definitely picked up that word from him) who enjoyed making everyone's lives hell, but suddenly seeming to be much more similar to a young child with their pony, full of soft words and gentle touches. Diego was calm in these times.
It was actually kind of scary to see him so... normal.
But all good things must come to an end, and they did when Diego dropped to the floor a couple of metres away from Hot Pants. He rummaged around for something in his saddlebag, only stopping his search when his hand emerged with some kind of a pastry? It looked like a pastry, but not one that Hot Pants had ever seen before. Perhaps it was one of those weird British foods that Deigo talked about so frequently. "What is that?" she asked, voicing her confusion.
The blond boy stopped himself from taking a bite out of the strange little pastry, turning his head towards Hot Pants slowly. "It's a sausage roll," he answered bluntly, as if the answer should be obvious. "Get them everywhere in Britain but they don't really exist in America," he explained, finally giving into his hunger and taking a bite out of the thing. He chewed with vigour, as if it were one of the best meals in the world. "I managed to sneak a couple over the ocean though, and thank God I did, it's the only nice food I've had since I got here." He shook his head, swallowing his mouthful. Of course he'd talk with his mouth full- that boy had no manners. He looked at Hot Pants, and then back to the sausage roll. "Want some?" he asked, holding the food out towards her.
That was the first time he's ever shown actual kindness that wouldn't benefit him in any way to her. She wasn't sure if it was because he had spent time with the horses or if it was because this was a British good that Hot Pants had clearly never heard of before or if it was because this sausage roll was actually just that good that everyone needed to try it, but it was certainly strange to see Diego be so normal. Hot Pants leaned over to take a gentle hold of the strange piece of food, noting how Diego's hands didn't seem to protest at her taking away his food- even if his eyes betrayed his hands. She inspected it closely with a skeptical look. It was strange. But it certainly looked like a sausage rolled up in pastry- perhaps that's why it got it's name. She took a bite, only a small one, chewing tentatively. It wasn't too bad. It was fairly decent, actually. She nodded, handing the little thing back to Diego. "It's good," she complimented.
Diego hummed, nodding his head as he took another bite. "If we make it out of here alive, I'll have to take you to a bakery in Britain. They're way better when they're fresh," he insisted.
Hot Pants would've been reluctant to disagree, considering it kind of sounded like it would be a date if it were anyone other than Diego Brando. But alas, it was Diego Brando, so it absolutely was not a date. He just wanted a fresh sausage roll, he even said it himself. Well, he didn't but it was most definitely implied, Hot Pants rationalised. "Alright," she agreed. "I'll take you up on your offer. As soon as we finish this race, you take me to England and we get sausage rolls," she insisted.
For the first time ever, Hot Pants caught the way the blond boy's lips curled ever so slight in some kind of smile. She never thought she'd see such a self-centred bastard smile like a normal person. "I'll take you to the best one then," he agreed, continuing his quest of devouring the little pastry. "And then we have a good scran," he added.
Hot Pants wouldn't mind a 'good scran'.