#makeupmonsters

(a little context, in case anyone besides you or i read this, zarin & mirax (ocs) are a couple of cowfolk on a working cattle ranch owned by hux’s dad. hux is a champion eventer but his dad sent him to “recuperate” on the ranch after an injury.)

--

“What in the world are you staring at?” Zarin flops down next to Mirax on the bench swing and passes him a cup of coffee. She holds her own cup close to herself to stave off the morning chill.

Mirax hums softly. “Nothin’.”

“Uh-huh. I know that look.” She follows his gaze to the barn. Their vantage point provides a direct line of sight down the breezeway, where the boss’s son is currently tacking up his oversized showpony. The rising sun lights up his hair as he works, and she grudgingly admits to herself it’s a little pretty, in a purely aesthetic sort of way.

Mirax hums again in a way that might be considered thoughtful, if she believed he had the capacity for such a thing.

The boss’s son — she can’t remember his ridiculous first name, and she’d die before calling him something like “Mister Hux” — bends over to put the mare’s boots on her legs. And that’s another ridiculous thing: In Zarin’s opinion, if a horse’s legs can’t handle the strain of riding on their own then they shouldn’t be ridden at all. All this primping and preening and—

Her train of thought is interrupted by Mirax suddenly choking to death beside her.

“All good?” She looks at him sidelong.

Mirax nods and wipes at his face with his neckerchief, still clearing his throat.

“Why are you sittin’ here ogling the boss’s son?”

He sputters, turning on her. A few drops of coffee spill over the rim of his mug. “I’m doin’ no such thing.”

“Dunno what you see in him.” She takes a sip of her own coffee. Black. “He ain’t got no ass.”

“Excuse you?” Lord, he looks almost angry now.

The man in question leads his mare over to a fence so he can climb aboard. She scoffs. Can’t even mount a horse from the ground. Pathetic.

“Look at that.” She gestures with her mug as he swings his leg over the saddle, giving them an unfortunately clear view of his backside. “He’s wearing breeches and he’s still flat as a board. It’s actually kinda impressive.”

“He’s got—” Mirax struggles. “He’s got somethin’ there. I don’t—”

“Oh, god, don’t say you like his personality.”

“No— I mean, yeah. Yes. And, he’s, uh.” He scratches his chin with his thumb. “He’s real good with the horses.”

“Christ, Mirax. You’re in deep, huh?”

Mirax finishes the rest of his coffee, then sits silently for a long while, and then shrugs slightly.

Hux — yeah, she should probably think of him by at least one of his names, because it turns out her best friend is probably gonna marry the guy and then he’ll practically be her brother-in-law — rides by them on his way out to do whatever it is he does and he waves at the both of them, but mostly at Mirax. She can tell.

Mirax waves back and Zarin jostles his arm with her shoulder after Hux is out of earshot and says, “He’s super into you, y’know.”

“What?” Mirax stares at her, stricken. “How can you tell? I mean— Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” She polishes off her coffee, letting him stew for a second. “Didn’t you see the look on his face? Bet he was wishin’ it was you he was ridin’, instead of that under-grown giraffe he calls a horse.”