swordfight enjoyer

Jean-Luc Picard and his little outfits.

And obviously the horse is a beast on the ice, even more so under Tortorella’s rigorous coaching. I mean, can you imagine this thing on a breakaway?? Except he’s not the hard-hitting, physical brute that everyone in the league assumes he is. He’s sensitive. He’s patient. He’s got high hockey IQ and beautiful edge work. But the refs only see his size and his (ahem) pedigree, and the horse just keeps racking up the penalty minutes. Teams are starting to get worried he’s a liability, and Tortorella’s ever growing presence as the horse’s coach/agent/father is NOT helping.

In a pivotal game against their divisional rival, the horse gets a five minute major for boarding, and Torts is on the ice before he even registers his body moving, screaming at the refs that “it was clean hit! It’s not his fault he’s 17 hands high!!” But then he feels something on his waist. A hoof, somehow fitted with a hockey skate blade, pulls him back into the penalty box, and the horse whinnies softly until Torts stops his tirade and sits down, pacified. The entire arena looks on, dead silent, as Torts starts reflexively smoothing his fingers through the horse’s beautiful mane, the way he used to every night when the horse was still too young and afraid to leave his side.