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Oboro was laughing as he skittered away from the buckskin Cayuse that had just thrown him to the ground. The reward for taming the bastard was up to one thousand dollars now, but it seemed more and more like nobody would ever claim that money with each passing attempt.
Leaping over the fencing, Oboro scrambled back to his spot in the crowd next to Shouta and Nemuri. Other members of the crowd hooted their condolences, Oboro just laughed lightheartedly and waved as if he hadn’t just blown his chance for that great sum of money. Shouta envied the way the other man could laugh these things off, not letting his failures define him.
“Hey, you’ll get ‘em next time,” Nemuri teased, swatting at Oboro’s dust covered vest. “Hey Shouta, why don’t you give it a try next,” she smiled, turning to him and jabbing her finger into his shoulder. He just batted her hand away.
“I’d just end up embarrassing myself, there’s no use. The thing can’t be tamed, ‘specially not by the likes of me.”
“Oh don’t be so full of hope now!” She teased, Oboro following up with his own similar teasing remarks.
Shouta just hummed in response to their babbling and focused his eyes on the arena. It was easy enough to tune them out as he watched the horse, who had been wrangled back into its chute- number eight- awaiting another fool to try their hand at taming him.
There was quite the gathering of cowboys all around. They were smoking and drinking, laughing loudly and betting between themselves which man would be able to tame the horse. The people here would help tame The Brute, who could then be sold off for profit, and the cowboys could have fun and show off. Both parties win.
After a moment or so of cowardice- or perhaps wisdom- from the crowd of cowboys gathered around, none willing to step up, a man started pushing through the crowd.
The man wasn’t even a cowboy, it seemed. He was dressed in a suit, one that looked far too expensive to be worn anywhere other than a ballroom. His blond hair was long, sleek, well mannered. It was in a nice bun, settled low on the base of his skull. He even had a nice pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, which would surely be broken if he really did try to ride The Brute.
Oboro turned to Shouta and snickered, pointing a finger toward the man, “This guy? Seriously? Who does he think he is?!” Oboro nearly shouted. He was joking, but Shouta still shushed him.
“Would you please quiet down? Learn some manners, ass.” He grumbled at the still giggling cowboy. Not that the well mannered prince was likely do anything about the teasing. Then again, he is pretty brave for matching himself up with The Brute, Shouta thought.
Nemuri shoved him from behind, “Oh don’t pretend to be a saint now, Shouta! I saw that smirk on your face when fancypants started strutting his stuff!”
He hadn’t noticed himself smirking, but she was probably right. Likely when he was thinking about how Oboro wouldn’t lose a fight to the guy. He’d been told he had an issue controlling his expressions on numerous occasions, usually whenever he’d accidentally upset someone with an unintentional (yet well deserved) glare. Shouta just hummed, not dignifying her with a response.
“Let’s see what you got!” Oboro called out to the man, his teasing smile audible in his voice. The “cowboy” payed him no mind, he payed none of the hooting crowd any mind, instead just leaning onto the fencing and jumping over.
He slowly approached the chute that held his foe, and pulled out a sack of Duke’s tobacco from his pocket. The guy rolled himself a cigarette, lighting it and watching the smoke coil through the air.
“Hey, maybe fancypants has more to him that meets the eye, eh?” Nemuri said, intrigued. She was always easily intrigued, though. In Shouta’s opinion, it didn’t matter at all if the guy could roll cigs. Who couldn’t these days? The real question was whether or not he could ride the damn horse. He was just stalling.
Oboro had seemingly picked up on the same idea as Nemuri, though. He watched the guy intently, probably wondering how much better he’d do than Oboro had. It was annoying. Chalking him up to someone with real potential just because of his, likely misplaced, confidence. The Brute was the meanest horse Shouta had ever seen. No way in hell, he thought, can that guy tame The Brute.
The blond stared down the horse with a grin on his face. He turned his head up, blowing a large smoke ring into the air before dropping the cigarette and snuffing it out in the dust, kicking it out of the ring. Fifteen hundred pounds of hate stared him down from inside that chute. Oboro was jittering with excitement, Nemuri too.
Let’s see what you’ve got, cowboy.
The blond opened up the gate that held back all that hate, and The Brute quickly took hold of the situation, charging forward with all his might. The Cayuse nearly flattened the well dressed cowboy, but the guy sidestepped right before being run down, flinging his arms around the beast’s neck and hoisting himself onto its back.
Shouta heard Nemuri clicking her tongue behind him. Now she was practically purring with interest. Perhaps he does deserve that interest, Shouta found himself thinking as he watched the man. He was sat there on The Brute as if he had been born there. Born right there in his clean continental suit, outmaneuvering the meanest of horses. Only after that train of thought did Shouta allow a hum of interest to leave him, too.
The Brute was bucking hard, his back end raised high as it could go and his front end firm on the ground. He kicked and whinnied desperately, trying to get the weight off his back. Shouta noticed that the man hadn’t even lost his glasses. What the hell. Even with all this movement, the stranger hadn’t budged an inch. As if his bottom was glued to the horse’s back.
Shouta turned to Oboro at his side, who was hooting and hollering and yeehaw-ing with the Americans. He turned to Nemuri behind him, and she met his gaze. “I don’t believe this shit! This is insane!”
Oboro heard her speak and added his praises too, “Woo-wee! Maybe I need some glasses myself, but I think I see that outlaw horse being ridden by a guy in a suit! Dangit I’ve been bested by this guy. This sucks.” He muttered the last bit, and it was nearly inaudible with all the shouting from the people around them. All had similar notions to The Brute’s failure to get the stranger off him. Not one soul could believe the crazy things they were seeing.
Sure enough, after a few, short, moments The Brute stopped in his tracks. He’d been broken. Oboro erupted next to Shouta, turning to Nemuri and shaking her eagerly, making his disbelief known to the entire world. The Brute neighed and poked at the ground with his front hoof, seemingly ashamed that he’d been broken by some city cowboy in a nice ass suit. The guy rode, really rode, the horse back into its chute and dismounted by climbing onto the metal bar to his left.
He hit the dirt and was approached by The Brute’s original captor, who presented the man with one thousand dollars. His cash prize. His well deserved cash prize.
Shouta turned to The Brute, who sat subdued in his chute. In little time he’d likely be sold off to another cowboy in need of a horse or to one of the indigenous folks, who frequently owned the Cayuse breed. Hopefully a worthy rider, whoever it’ll be.
Perhaps judgement of clothing choice is an overrated way of judging a persons skills. Shouta wondered, truly marveled at this. City cowboy. He really did it. Now, his fancy clothes were just a tad bit dirtier than they had been when he’d arrived. The blond, well dressed, glasses wearing cowboy walked away, and everyone was left in awe. He’d never even spoken a word. Never said where he’d go, nor where he’d come from.
One thing was for sure, though. Nobody that had been there that day would ever forget the performance given by that cowboy in his continental suit.