Knock 'Em Dead... Ish - WON

Edit: Ermahgerd we got Grand Champion! I am absolutely delighted!

Wooo! I managed to get this finished. Indoor arenas and me do not get along on your average daily basis yet I'm pretty happy with how it went! And so much hair! 8D My laptop was starting to dislike this piece by the time it was done, the save time was significant. BUT HERE WE ARE 8D 

-Show: Dressage at Devon 2017 Class List
-Horse name and reference: WRR Intoxicated, On the Floor
-Handler: Tristan Ennerstone
-Number: #153 (It was on there, but it got covered up by forelock xD)
-Class: CDI*** Grand Prix Special
-Stable: Western RidgeRunner
-Extra image: Jog: When it's just too warm... Extra: Tristan did NOT say...
-Placing: 1st & Grand Champion Dressage at Devon 2017 - RESULTS
-Extra Details: N/A

Story

Early mornings, such things were forever the bane of Tristan Ennerstone. That was something that he was absolutely certain of. Particularly when over the past few days it had been too fucking warm. Sure, today, it was 24 degrees celsius, but for a native of the Outer Hebrides, off the coast of Scotland. Well, you may as well put him in an oven and just go ahead and leave him there. Cook him like a delicious turkey. Still, he had a show today. The Grand Prix of Dressage at Devon. For him, the jog the other day had gone well, Angus had got to get a good look at the showground and the people, and so Tristan hoped he would be vastly less spooky than he had been on the first day of arrival. 
The same could not have been said for his student. Jarin. Who had single-handedly in the space of a few moments, shot down Tristan’s reputation, and so, he was now left to attempt to pick up the pieces. Gross.
Still, at least his class yesterday had gone well for the most part, and now it was Tristan’s turn to attempt to do the same, or better. He could only hope.
And so, thanks to the morning start, he found himself (rather grouchily) heading down to Angus’ stall at the Devon grounds to get him going for the morning. The show had insisted on braided mane, much to his chagrin, vastly preferring to leave them loose (if anything, it was a time saver in the long run, and he felt it looked better on his horses), but, none the less, he would braid the stallion’s mane. No use being disqualified over simple looks, leave that to the ring.
He was not, however, just going to do him up in simple button braids. Tristan had every intention of leaving Angus’ tail free, no use faffing with it. But his mane? Well, Tristan had ideas. And so, he’d cross-tied Angus, and set about braiding, overlapping separated pieces of hair over one another easily, sorting his hair into an orderly fashion until it streamed down his side elegantly in a double waterfall braid. If he had to braid it, then he’d make it look nice. Unlike his student, however, he tended to try and keep to a close schedule at shows. Thus far, he was right on track.
Jarin bounced up after exploring the grounds some more. His classes were already over with so he had nothing to do but look at the stalls and stall of gorgeous horses! He saw Tristan was finally getting ready for his class, “Hey, Tristan! You want me to braid his tail for you?”
“No, not today. He’s about ready to go, short of tack. I’m going to leave his tail free.” He explained calmly. He’d been putting off getting changed into show gear til the last moment. “You can go get my number, for his bridle, however. We’re 153. Just state that you’re getting the number on behalf of Tristan Ennerstone, and take this.” He passed Jarin his driving license, as a form of ID.
Jarin hopped, skipped, and bounced away to go get the number for Tristan, grateful to have a purpose for him! Tristan would be riding soon! And to Jarin, that meant the greatest performance was about to arrive!
Tristan honestly couldn’t understand Jarin’s enthusiasm, but he left him to it, hoping that he would actually go and get the correct number and keep everything on track. He could at least hope. In the meantime, he headed off to go and get Angus’ grooming kit and tack. Returning to his stall, he set about brushing the horse’s coat down firmly and quickly, getting him all ready and shining, before he started putting the rather expensive, fitted tack onto his back, still hanging on for Jarin to return.
Jarin skipped back down the aisle, “I got it! 135!” Jarin offered up the number to Tristan.
“No. Go take it back. 1. 5. 3. Jarin.” Tristan turned to glare at him. Goddamn incompetence.
Jarin stared blankly at Tristan, “...why do you need three numbers? Thought you only needed one...I only got one…”
“Jarin. You’re being an idiot. Just go state my name at the table, they’ll give you the correct fucking number. Now go!” Stress levels were rising.
Jarin scampered off with his tail between his legs. He very humbly returned with 153 and offered it as a token of peace.
“Alright, attach it to his bridle in the same place that I did at the jog. I’m going to go and get changed.” Tristan waved away the number, heading off to his truck to go and get a change of clothes, and hoping to God that Jarin would be able to do at least something correctly today.
Jarin plopped the number in the bridle no problem and stepped back to examine Angus...he was such a nice horse. Jarin sure wished he could have kept him. But as always, Tristan was right, he was too much horse for him at his current experience level. Maybe one day he’d be able to ride him (competently, as Tristan would put it,) but for now, he had one expensive bill to repay.
It wasn’t too long before Tristan returned, now kitted out in full dressage gear, including the top hat, which he passed to Jarin for the time-being. He glanced at the number briefly just to check that it was in fact alright. Good. “Alright, meet me down at the warm-up arena. With the hat, I’ll take it from you before I go into the ring, it’s too warm to wear it right now.” He stated, taking Angus’ reins and leading him out of the stall, he mounted up once they were outside and trotted easily in the direction of the warm-up arena, Angus swinging his legs out smoothly.
Jarin nodded, understanding his directions and followed right along, watching Tristan’s warm-up. But he was mainly interested in watching him perform! Tristan’s real talents came out when he was competing. And it was Jarin’s favorite thing to watch (so long as he wasn’t competing against Tristan...that was horrifying).  
Of course, Tristan had no interest in going all out in the warm-up arena. There was simply nothing to be gained by it. But Angus was moving smoothly, and he was starting to feel the competitive tension in the air. He was ready to go! His horse could feel it too, sweeping out further, collecting higher, even in the warm-up ring.
And then his name was called.
"Intoxicated, On the Floor, Seven Year Old Beaurever Stallion, ridden, trained and owned by Mr. Tristan Ennerstone."
Jarin couldn’t help but cheer, “Tristan! It’s your turn! Knock ‘em dead! The...people..not the horse...I mean...not like really dead. Just sort of knocked out. Like knocked out of the competition. Not like disqualified or anything just-”
Tristan half wanted to go and crawl in a corner, and the other half wanted to stuff Jarin in a corner. He trotted over swiftly. “Jarin. Shut up and give me my hat” he sighed clearly, reaching down for it, he took it straight from Jarin’s hands, placing onto his own head before he picked up both sets of reins, sitting deep, he made for the arena.

Time to go.

(1229 words)

Tristan/Angus - Saoradh 
Jarin - Drasayer