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homestuck - horsemaster!karkat ramble & ficlet
Medieval AU where Karkat is the Arab horsemaster who came along with the war steeds just gifted to Queen Roxy because it just so happens he’s the one training them and they’re his babies and let me tell you, you do not improvise training war horses and he will especially supervise what kind of mares the stallions are put to why are Generic Europeans so huge it’s ruining the speed and lightness advantage for srs i’ll have to revise my techniques from the ground up. Why’d his people have to make a treaty with horse ignoramuses for srs.
Lord Dirk at least loves horses as much as he does and they can have enlightening talks about horsemanship and lines of descent for DAYS, but Lady Rose is, while a perfectly adequate rider, creepy as fuck, and Lord Dave is a fucking asshole who does not appreciate the beauty of a perfectly bred Arabian or the honor made to him AAAA GO BACK TO RIDING IN DONKEY CARTS YOU SON OF A MULE.
I mean, he doesn’t fall off his horses much or anything, but his siblings are all definitely better at riding than he is. Even the Queen, and she’s not allowed to even go hunting anymore, never mind charging onto battlefields. (mind, that doesn’t stop her much.)
(Rose is mostly seen riding delicate lady’s horses and following the hunt lazily, and you’d put her with the “serviceable skills, but not very interested” category, until she has some piece of intel to deliver and then ZOOOM she is a speed demon. What do you mean my horse can’t jump this it’s as high as she is at the whiters see she totally can.)
Karkat has his own horse, he’s a dapple gray gelding called Carcinus and he’s secretly crabdad in disguise. Cranky asshole horse, but he would kick and stomp the shit out of any enemy of his master. Or thief. man, do not try to thieve or otherwise borrow Karkat’s horse, you will be paste. This horse drinks human blood.
Also Eridan and Kanaya are the official diplomats in Karkat’s party (Eridan thinks he’s an awesome rider, but really it’s his horse that’s awesomely trained; Kanaya manages decently well and also does archery from horseback), and Jade and John are guests of the court from India.
i wanted to write more but it petered out, so only one ficlet for this 'verse.
--
Tegmine is his favorite mare. Inquisitive and gentle, smart as a whip -- it took her a day to figure out how to open her stall, in this place, and Karkat a week to figure out how to keep her from it.
The colt that dances beside her on shaky legs is a mousy dun that Karkat knows will darken into black; his sire's color, nothing like the fiery coat of his dam. There's something in the shape of his forehead that has Karkat tssking between his teeth.
"What else can I expect from a mongrel like you, huh," he says softly as he waits, a hand extended, for the foal to dare venture around his mother's hindquarters to smell him. In truth the foal is cute, but then again they all are, this young.
A silk-soft muzzle comes and brushes against his bare fingers before hurriedly drawing back, and he smiles. Tegmine noses at Karkat's hair, his shoulder, starts lipping at his clothes.
"No, those apples are not for you," Karkat lies, voice soft and pleased. "You are behaving in a way unworthy of your ancestors. Your father would be shocked and kick me in the hip for spoiling you so -- hello, child."
Because as he spoke he was feeding her the apple slice after all, and now the foal is attempting to nurse from the sugary-sweetness on his fingers, ears canted at an unconvinced angle.
"[You spoil them rotten,]" someone drawls in the already flat, ugly local tongue, and Karkat's eyes narrow as the foal spooks.
"[Do not tell me how to raise your horse,]" he warns, "[or I will teach him to kick first thing.]"
The prince chuckles. He's holding an apple, too, a full one, waving it to tempt Tegmine closer.
"[What are you doing, fool!? Cut it in half, take the core out, or do you want to choke her to death, grow trees in her belly?]"
The mare is aproaching already, too friendly by half, but the prince takes the apple back and cuts it with his belt knife -- rolling his eyes all the while, humoring him as if Karkat doesn't know a thing about his trade.
"[Hey, make the foal come out,]" the man complains mildly, as the foal hides behind his mother, behind Karkat's back. (Ahh, he is trusted already. That's very nice.) "[How am I meant to name him if I don't even know what he looks like?]"
Because of course the foal is to be Prince David's, sired by his favorite stallion to ally Raven's strength and mass to Tegmine's grace and precision.
"[You saw him after birth,]" Karkat grumps, but signals Tegmine to sidestep, which she does instantly, without thought; the foal is visible for a second before he jumps to the side on foal-bouncy stilt legs. Foolish little thing.
"[He'll be black like Raven, then?]"
"[Not as black,]" Karkat says, "[dark but not black.]"
"[Shame he isn't orange, I could have called him Phoenix.]"
Karkat snorts. Such a grand name for such an awkward little horse. Maybe by the third generation he will have something harmonious enough to deserve a mythical name.
Well, he'll still be good enough for barbarians, Karkat supposes. "[Call him Eagle. I will teach him to plunge and bite like one.] And then Allah willing he will never bite you, no matter how much you deserve it just by breathing."
The prince stares back at him, impenetrable, and then he goes, "[Meh, I'll call him Falcon, he'll only be big enough for an eagle from your point of view.]"
Karkat will deny having ever taught any of his horses to snort wet and gross all over someone's clothes on command to his death bed. That said, it's incredibly convenient that Tegmine would choose exactly this moment to sneeze.
Lord Dirk at least loves horses as much as he does and they can have enlightening talks about horsemanship and lines of descent for DAYS, but Lady Rose is, while a perfectly adequate rider, creepy as fuck, and Lord Dave is a fucking asshole who does not appreciate the beauty of a perfectly bred Arabian or the honor made to him AAAA GO BACK TO RIDING IN DONKEY CARTS YOU SON OF A MULE.
I mean, he doesn’t fall off his horses much or anything, but his siblings are all definitely better at riding than he is. Even the Queen, and she’s not allowed to even go hunting anymore, never mind charging onto battlefields. (mind, that doesn’t stop her much.)
(Rose is mostly seen riding delicate lady’s horses and following the hunt lazily, and you’d put her with the “serviceable skills, but not very interested” category, until she has some piece of intel to deliver and then ZOOOM she is a speed demon. What do you mean my horse can’t jump this it’s as high as she is at the whiters see she totally can.)
Karkat has his own horse, he’s a dapple gray gelding called Carcinus and he’s secretly crabdad in disguise. Cranky asshole horse, but he would kick and stomp the shit out of any enemy of his master. Or thief. man, do not try to thieve or otherwise borrow Karkat’s horse, you will be paste. This horse drinks human blood.
Also Eridan and Kanaya are the official diplomats in Karkat’s party (Eridan thinks he’s an awesome rider, but really it’s his horse that’s awesomely trained; Kanaya manages decently well and also does archery from horseback), and Jade and John are guests of the court from India.
i wanted to write more but it petered out, so only one ficlet for this 'verse.
--
Tegmine is his favorite mare. Inquisitive and gentle, smart as a whip -- it took her a day to figure out how to open her stall, in this place, and Karkat a week to figure out how to keep her from it.
The colt that dances beside her on shaky legs is a mousy dun that Karkat knows will darken into black; his sire's color, nothing like the fiery coat of his dam. There's something in the shape of his forehead that has Karkat tssking between his teeth.
"What else can I expect from a mongrel like you, huh," he says softly as he waits, a hand extended, for the foal to dare venture around his mother's hindquarters to smell him. In truth the foal is cute, but then again they all are, this young.
A silk-soft muzzle comes and brushes against his bare fingers before hurriedly drawing back, and he smiles. Tegmine noses at Karkat's hair, his shoulder, starts lipping at his clothes.
"No, those apples are not for you," Karkat lies, voice soft and pleased. "You are behaving in a way unworthy of your ancestors. Your father would be shocked and kick me in the hip for spoiling you so -- hello, child."
Because as he spoke he was feeding her the apple slice after all, and now the foal is attempting to nurse from the sugary-sweetness on his fingers, ears canted at an unconvinced angle.
"[You spoil them rotten,]" someone drawls in the already flat, ugly local tongue, and Karkat's eyes narrow as the foal spooks.
"[Do not tell me how to raise your horse,]" he warns, "[or I will teach him to kick first thing.]"
The prince chuckles. He's holding an apple, too, a full one, waving it to tempt Tegmine closer.
"[What are you doing, fool!? Cut it in half, take the core out, or do you want to choke her to death, grow trees in her belly?]"
The mare is aproaching already, too friendly by half, but the prince takes the apple back and cuts it with his belt knife -- rolling his eyes all the while, humoring him as if Karkat doesn't know a thing about his trade.
"[Hey, make the foal come out,]" the man complains mildly, as the foal hides behind his mother, behind Karkat's back. (Ahh, he is trusted already. That's very nice.) "[How am I meant to name him if I don't even know what he looks like?]"
Because of course the foal is to be Prince David's, sired by his favorite stallion to ally Raven's strength and mass to Tegmine's grace and precision.
"[You saw him after birth,]" Karkat grumps, but signals Tegmine to sidestep, which she does instantly, without thought; the foal is visible for a second before he jumps to the side on foal-bouncy stilt legs. Foolish little thing.
"[He'll be black like Raven, then?]"
"[Not as black,]" Karkat says, "[dark but not black.]"
"[Shame he isn't orange, I could have called him Phoenix.]"
Karkat snorts. Such a grand name for such an awkward little horse. Maybe by the third generation he will have something harmonious enough to deserve a mythical name.
Well, he'll still be good enough for barbarians, Karkat supposes. "[Call him Eagle. I will teach him to plunge and bite like one.] And then Allah willing he will never bite you, no matter how much you deserve it just by breathing."
The prince stares back at him, impenetrable, and then he goes, "[Meh, I'll call him Falcon, he'll only be big enough for an eagle from your point of view.]"
Karkat will deny having ever taught any of his horses to snort wet and gross all over someone's clothes on command to his death bed. That said, it's incredibly convenient that Tegmine would choose exactly this moment to sneeze.