The Recently Stabilized Stablehand

Franklin watched Lyra stomp down the stairs, or as close to stomping as she could in the fancy dress and heels she wore. Even during the galas the museum held, Lyra would usually opt for a pantsuit. A nice blouse and skirt at most. Franklin had to admit that the assistant curator looked great in the emerald gown, the color matching perfectly with her olive skin and red hair.

Terra didn’t have to poke or prod to get the drama started this time. Lyra reached the pair and rounded on Franklin with an accusing glare.

“Porter! What is this? How did I get here, and why am I dressed like this? What even is this place?!” Lyra’s questions came without pause, leaving no time for any response.

Franklin raised his hands like an outlaw surrendering to the sheriff. “Well, we’ve been kidnapped, Lyra.” He saw the incredulous look on Lyra’s face and added, “I didn’t do it.”

“Welcome to Harem Hotel, Miss Katsaros!” Terra said, drawing the redhead’s attention. “The only game show where you can win the right to be a Queen.”

Lyra balked at the absurd declaration, turning her attention to the be-hatted blonde. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, take a look around,” Terra suggested, sweeping her arm out to display the lobby, its polished columns, decadent furniture, and the large desk that dominated the far side. “This is obviously a hotel, and like the lovely Dara over there, you have been selected to compete for the affections of the esteemed Master Porter.”

Lyra didn’t bother to hide her disdain. “That’s patently ridiculous. Why would I want to compete for him?”

“Oh come now, dear,” Terra pushed back, “Tall, dark, and handsome? Debonair and happy to celebrate his lovers' successes? Isn’t that a great opportunity to fall desperately and magically in love?”

Lyra’s face blanched, “You… shut up!”

Terra raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “The audience was interested in your look, Miss Katsaros, and even more charmed by your backstory. I know you’ll come to enjoy the opportunities that our show can provide, in time. Now, why don’t you start by giving us an official introduction? Your name, age, occupation, how you know our dear Master, and the last sexual act you participated in.”

Glaring, Lyra spat out, “I’m not going to tell you that! Are you crazy?!”

“Perhaps. I did agree to conduct this parade of prudish denial and ultimately underwhelming escapades, but nonetheless, the audience will have what it wants,” Terra responded. Then she took her pen and drew a small speech bubble next to Lyra’s name.

Franklin watched as Lyra fumed, then saw her trying to get her mouth shut, a task that seemed to be increasingly difficult based on the strained look on the fiery woman’s face.

Finally, with a pop of breath, Lyra launched into a compelled and rushed speech. “My name is Lyra Katsaros, I’m a 29-year-old woman from Detroit, Michigan. I work as an Assiss… as a Curator’s Assistant at the Minnesota Museum of Art. I met Franklin at a new employee orientation two years ago, but he’s only a coworker. I had a long session with my vibrator last Saturday.” She felt her cheeks heat up at that last admission, before screwing her face into a neutral expression, and adding, “If you must know, perverts.”

“Oh, they must,” Terra spoke, casually smudging the speech bubble she drew. “I think you’ll find that volunteering the truth is always better than forcing it to be extracted. You’re lucky I didn’t add some personal commentary like some Hosts would.”

Lyra stared at the blonde, confused, but the experience of being **** to give out such personal information had done its job, at least for now.

Franklin turned his attention to the stewing redhead. “I’m really sorry, Lyra, that you got roped into this. I got grabbed just like you. Whoever the viewers of this… show are, they’re making the decisions on who gets brought here. I didn’t expect to see you, that’s for sure.”

Terra smiled, “I don’t know, Master Porter. After that stunt you pulled with the flyer, you can’t say you aren’t at least a little interested in Miss Katsaros.”

Lyra and Franklin both looked at the Host, obviously confused. Franklin asked, “The community dig flyer? That was just something the museum was pushing. Community engagement is a part of my job.”

“Right, right, the part you just so happened to do when you knew Lyra here was in the breakroom? That you knew would catch her eye? And then pretending like the fact that she had studied archeology was new information that you were excited to learn, that was all just for work?” Terra teased the Master, and Lyra took on a look of surprise.

“You knew that?” Lyra questioned.

Franklin put a hand to the back of his head, blushing slightly. “Uh… yeah. You mention it whenever we have to do fun facts at meetings and stuff. I didn’t want to call you out about it, and it seemed like a good way to keep the conversation from getting awkward.”

Terra faked a swoon, “How thoughtful, paying attention and trying to push someone into doing something they enjoy.”

“It really wasn’t all that,” Franklin reaffirmed, downplaying the encounter.

Terra pressed, “I’m sure it wasn’t, just like I’m sure that when Lyra actually did volunteer at that dig, she didn’t have a wonderful time and went home on cloud nine.”

It was Lyra’s turn to differ, “That’s an exaggeration. I went because my friend was going to be there and I didn’t have anything else going on.”

Terra laughed before moving things along. “Of course, of course. You two will be so fun, but right now we have other contestants to meet." She turned to Lyra. "If you’ll please take a seat over here with the lovely Dara, you can get to know each other while Franklin and I continue welcoming our guests.”

Lyra turned to see the bespectacled doctor for the first time, then walked over and took a seat on the loveseat, closest to the corner of the couch Dara had claimed. She leaned over to whisper to the woman in the black dress, who had been watching the proceedings with her undivided attention.

Terra turned Franklin’s attention back to the staircase. “Now, I know you expressed some surprise at the relatively light connection you share with Miss Katsaros, but I can assure you that our next contestant is someone you know very well.”

Franklin looked worried at the statement, wondering what Terra could have up her sleeve.

“From teasing you mercilessly to relying on your kindness. You were really a knight in shining armor for your dear old friend. Although she’s much more likely to come with the noble steed, especially given where she’s currently working. Let’s take a look!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Haverbrook Ranch, 3 days ago

Trudy's breath frosted as she made her way across the field towards the Haverbrook's indoor training facility. She had just wrapped up checking on the ranch's supplies and ensuring the water pipes were still flowing clean and clear. Winter on the ranch wasn't quite as lively as the summer, but there were still horses to take care of, and luckily, the Haverbrooks were wealthy enough to keep everyone warm enough.

The indoor arena was a monument to excess, a cathedral of polished wood and gleaming brass. The sand was deep and perfectly raked, the walls lined with gleaming tack and ribbons from a dozen competitions.

Genevieve was already there, perched atop a magnificent black gelding named Domino. Evie, as she insisted on being called, was a vision in a custom-fitted beige riding coat, her blonde hair woven into an impeccable braid that cascaded down her back. Her makeup, a masterclass in contouring and highlight, remained flawless despite the slight sheen of perspiration on her brow. Trudy didn't think they were expecting cameras during their lesson and wondered why the girl bothered.

"So sorry I'm late," Trudy said, her voice flat. She wasn't sorry. She'd been working.

Genevieve waved a dismissive, gloved hand. "No matter. Domino and I were just warming up." She guided the horse into a collected trot, its movements fluid and powerful. The horse was a marvel, a living sculpture of muscle and grace, but Trudy's eyes went straight to the saddle, and she jogged over to check the socialite's work.

Trudy ran a flat palm along the horse's belly, checking the space. "You've got the straps a little too tight again, Evie. Two fingers' width. You can't cinch him up like a corset."

Genevieve pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a way that was probably devastating to the boys at her country club. "But it makes him look so trim."

"It also makes him cranky," Trudy countered, loosening the girth. "And a cranky horse is a dangerous horse. We don't want dangerous horses, do we?"

"I suppose not," Genevieve sighed, the picture of weary resignation.

Trudy stepped back, her arms crossed over her chest. "Alright, then. Let's see that leg yield. Remember, you're asking, not telling. Imagine you're guiding, not shoving."

As Genevieve put Domino through his paces, Trudy found her mind drifting, as it often did, to the life she might have lived. The one she'd planned. Four years of undergrad, acing her classes, dreams of veterinary school swirling in her head like the snowflakes being blown about outside. She could almost smell the antiseptic sting of a clinic, feel the weight of a stethoscope around her neck. Then trouble at home, her father's factory job evaporating. Then the scholarship was gone, a casualty of a night she barely remembered, a cascade of poor decisions that had left her adrift. The memory was a sharp, metallic taste in her mouth. Cheap whiskey, a boy with a snake tattoo, and a police report she couldn't bear to look at.

"Trudy? Earth to Trudy?"

Genevieve's voice, laced with impatience, yanked her back to the present. Domino was standing still, his head turned to look at the gate, and the heiress was staring at her, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched.

"Sorry," Trudy mumbled, shaking her head. "Lost in thought. Your diagonal was good, but your hands are still too busy. You're holding the reins like you're strangling a chicken. Relax your elbows. Let the motion flow through your arms to your hands."

Genevieve adjusted her posture, a flicker of genuine concentration on her face. For a moment, Trudy saw not a spoiled socialite, but a young woman trying to master something difficult, if in her own way. But the moment passed, and she was back to being Evie, the girl who'd never known real hunger or the gnawing shame of failure.

"Can we jump today?" Genevieve asked, her voice bright with anticipation. "Papa had the new course delivered from Germany. The oxers are divine."

Trudy glanced at the pristine, untouched jumps stacked against the far wall. Intricately carved panels bearing the image of rearing horses with striped black and gold poles to set between them. Each one probably cost more than the beat-up pickup truck Trudy drove. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We haven't even perfected your two-point position at the canter yet."

"Oh, but it's so boring," Genevieve whined, pouting again. "Domino knows the course. He's a genius."

"Domino is a well-trained animal," Trudy corrected, a familiar weariness settling into her bones. "And your job is to be a worthy partner for him. That requires precision. Discipline. Things that don't feel as glamorous as clearing a five-foot oxer, I get it. But without them, you're just a passenger."

The lesson went on, a cycle of Trudy's quiet commands and Genevieve's distracted execution. Each correction was a reminder of the vast, uncrossable chasm between their lives. For Genevieve, this was a hobby, an expensive pastime to fill the idle hours between parties and shopping trips. For Trudy, it was her livelihood, the single, solid thread she was clinging to after years of coming undone. The feel of the horse, the scent of hay and leather, the clean, honest labor, they were the anchor that had finally held her in place.

Her mind drifted back to the night Flo had found her. Not rock bottom, but the ****, scrabbling climb up from it. She'd been living in a roach-infested apartment above a laundromat, working as a bartender at a dive where the regulars smelled of stale beer and regret. The call had come at three in the morning. Flo, with her mohawk and her no-nonsense attitude, had driven four hours through a sleet storm to get her.

"Jesus, Tru," Flo had said, looking around the squalid room. Her black leather jacket creaked as she moved. "This is not you."

Trudy had just shrugged, the motion sending a wave of nausea through her. "Maybe it is now."

"No," Flo had said, her voice firm. "It's not. You're coming home with me. And you're going to get clean. And you're going to stop this shit."

That had been four years ago. A lifetime. A year on Flo's couch, a year of group meetings and awkward therapy sessions, and then Frankie had called. He'd met Margaret Haverbrook at some stuffy museum gala, charming her with stories of local art and community projects. When she'd mentioned needing someone reliable at the ranch, someone who wasn't just looking for a summer job, Frankie had thought of Trudy.

"She's got a way with animals," he'd told Margaret over the phone, with Trudy listening anxiously on the other end. "And she's tough. Reliable."

Margaret had been skeptical. Trudy's resume was a patchwork of short-term jobs and an unexplained two-year gap after she'd dropped out of college. But Frankie had persisted. He'd always been a smooth talker, even when he was a scrawny kid trailing behind them. He'd somehow convinced the formidable Margaret Haverbrook to give her a trial. That trial had ended six months ago, with a key to the employee cottage and a steady paycheck.

"Trudy! Gods, lady, are you even in there?"

Genevieve's exasperated sigh cut through her thoughts. She had stopped Domino in the center of the arena and was looking at her, hands on her hips. "I said, shall we be done for the day? I have a fitting in town at three."

Trudy blinked, the frosty memory of her old life fading, replaced by the warm, fragrant reality of the present. "Yeah. Yeah, we're done. Good work today, Evie. Your posting was much steadier."

Genevieve beamed, the praise clearly more effective than any criticism. "Thank you! Hopefully that means we can move on next time." She turned to leave, but looked back over her shoulder, "Are you sure you're good? It's not like you to be so distracted. If you need anything, just let me know." There was a flicker of genuine concern in her expression. Trudy almost told her.

"Nah, I'm good, Evie. Just got a lot on my mind. I'll take Domino back to the stable if you want to go get ready for your trip."

Genevieve shrugged. "If you insist. See you tomorrow, Trudy!"

Trudy led the gelding back to the barn, her boots crunching in the frozen paddock. She unsaddled him and gave him a quick rubdown, the familiar ritual of her work a comforting weight. The smell of horse and hay and leather filled her senses, the one thing that had never failed to ground her.

Margaret Haverbrook was there, leaning against a stall door, a mug of coffee in her hand. She was a handsome woman, with sharp features and an even sharper mind. Trudy had seen her in riding clothes and evening gowns, but even in a simple barn coat and jeans, she carried herself with an undeniable authority.

"Trudy," she said, her voice calm and measured. "How's she doing?"

"Getting better," Trudy said, her voice a little tight. She still wasn't entirely comfortable around her boss. "Her hands are still a bit heavy, but she's starting to understand the importance of a light touch."

Margaret took a sip of her coffee. "She's a good girl, but she's never had to work for anything in her life. This is good for her. Teaches her discipline."

"I think so," Trudy agreed, her eyes fixed on a loose nail on the stall door. "She's got a natural seat, at least. And Domino adores her."

"They're a good match," Margaret said. "He's as spoiled as she is."

Trudy couldn't argue with that. She finished grooming Domino, her movements efficient and practiced. The gelding nudged her with his head, a silent request for more attention. Trudy smiled, a genuine, unforced smile, and scratched him behind the ears.

"Listen, Trudy," Margaret said, her tone shifting, becoming more businesslike. "I'll be in the city for a few days. A charity auction for the museum. Franklin Porter will be there. He's quite the rising star, you know."

Trudy's heart did a little skip. Frankie. She hadn't seen him in months, not since he'd come to the ranch with Margaret for a tour. He'd looked so different, so polished, in a tailored suit, his hair neatly styled. He'd always been a scrawny kid, all elbows and knees, trailing after them. Now, he was a man, with a career and a life that was a million miles away from the one she'd been living when she'd last seen him.

"I know," Trudy said, her voice barely a whisper.

Margaret raised her eyebrow, "You've known him for a long time, I was told? What's your opinion, Genevieve always seems to have her eye on him when he's around. Would he make a good match?" The question hung in the air, a test of sorts. Trudy wasn't sure what the right answer was.

Frankie? With a girl like Evie?

"He's a good man," Trudy said, her throat suddenly dry. "He's smart. He works hard."

"He's also very handsome," Margaret added, a wry smile playing on her lips. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

Trudy didn't answer. She couldn't. The memory of Frankie's face, his blue eyes, the way he'd looked at her when he'd brought her to the ranch, it was all too much. He'd been a friend, a confidant, one of only two people who'd never judged her for her mistakes. And now, he was Genevieve Haverbrook's potential suitor. The thought was a punch to the gut, a reminder of the life she could have had, the life she'd thrown away.

"He's a friend," Trudy finally managed, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

Margaret's smile widened. "Of course he is. A good judge of character, too. I've seen the way she looks at him. And I've seen the way he looks at her. It's a good match. A very good match."

Trudy felt a cold dread creep over her. She wanted to tell Margaret that she was wrong, that Frankie wasn't like that, that he would never fall for someone like Genevieve.

Margaret took another sip of her coffee. "While I'm gone, I need you to keep an eye on things. Genevieve has a tendency to get... creative... when I'm not around."

Trudy nodded, "Of course, Mrs. Haverbrook. You can count on me."

"I know I can," Margaret said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've been a godsend, Trudy. This place... it runs better with you here."

Trudy felt a warmth spread through her chest, a rare and unfamiliar feeling of being seen, of being valued. It was a stark contrast to the gnawing insecurity that had been her constant companion for so long. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion she couldn't quite name. "I appreciate you saying that."

Margaret gave her a final, reassuring smile, and then she was gone, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor of the barn. Trudy was left alone with the horses, their soft nickering and the rustle of hay the only sounds in the vast, quiet space. She finished her chores, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. The praise from Margaret, the mention of Frankie, the lingering image of Genevieve's perfect, uncomplicated life. It was all a little too much.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Coming out of the latest vision, Franklin looked down, a bit of red tinging his cheeks. Not even bothering to address Terra, he looked up at the top of the stairway, expecting to see the woman who had glued his shoes to the floor, helped his sister sneak backstage at a Lady Gaga concert when they were 14, and let him use her car to learn how to drive stick after he scuffed the paint on his father’s truck.

Not to be ignored, Terra drew out the summoning. “Flustered, Master? Over someone you’ve known so long? My my…” she teased.

Before Franklin could respond, the host turned to the camera and announced, “Let’s give a big round of applause for the lovely lady our audience chose as our third contestant, Trudy Webber!”

The short-haired woman appeared at the top of the stairwell and looked down at the dress she had been given for the introductions. She sneered at the corseted yellow gown and reached for the laces, becoming a bit annoyed when she couldn’t seem to grip them.

“Uh… Frankie? What the fuck?”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” Vee yelled as he released multiple party poppers, filling the office with the smell of ozone.

Dee picked a piece of confetti out of his hair with an annoyed look. “Damn, was starting to think I could get the sweep. I blame the Umamusume fans.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of a good animal girl tease,” Vee boasted, puffing up his chest. “I feel a streak coming on, what are we looking for next?”

Dee smiled cruelly, “Well, that would be the Master’s rivals, of course.”

Vee’s confident look faltered, “Really? Isn’t Lyra enough?”

“She’s more of a coworker with a one-sided annoyance factor. We’re talking girls who have fought with, hurt, or otherwise found themselves on opposite sides of a conflict with the Master,” Dee explained.

“Ugh. What is this, Payback Edition?” complained the Red Imp.

Dee pulled out a familiar sheet and shoved it in his brother’s face. “More voters said Rivals than any other category. You aren’t going to argue with 83% of the audience, are you?”

Sighing, Vee agreed, “No, of course not. Enemies-to-lovers is popular for a reason. I’ll just have to provide extra incentive for the next contestant to see the Master in a new light.

Dee nodded dismissively. “Of course, I’m sure that’s what the audience wants to see and not a rude contestant coming to slavishly fawn over someone they would have spit on before.” He summoned two blue folders with a snap of his fingers and opened the first.

The image that coalesced was of an angry-looking girl with hair dyed lime green, short on top but with a long, thin braid reaching down all the way to her toned backside. She was wearing a tank top and cargo pants and holding a protest sign.

“Clover Bellecourt. 20 years old. She’s a college student in environmental studies and an aspiring eco-warrior. She spends her free time protesting, enjoying the spectacle as much as the message, I’d suspect. The first time she met Franklin was when she sprayed green paint in his face after he successfully clocked on to her intention to do the same to a painting at the museum.”

Vee looked confused, “Why would she try defacing a painting to protest the environment?

“She saw it online. It was all the rage in 2023. Though her target wasn’t exactly the Mona Lisa. She got off with just community service since it was a first-time offense, and the judge definitely had a sense of humor, because she was required to fill some of those hours volunteering at the museum. She and Franklin had the opportunity to exchange barbs on a few more occasions.”

Vee looked unconvinced, “At least she’s passionate.” Then he opened his only folder for this round of selections, displaying a smartly dressed young woman sitting at a desk in what appeared to be a classroom. Her curly dark hair framed a face that currently looked annoyed.

“Jordyn Washington, 23 years old, and a first-year MBA student in the same program as our Master. Hard-working and with no time for nonsense, she sees the Master as a bit of a himbo. After a tense first impression where Franklin put his foot in his mouth a bit, things have only gotten more awkward between the two. There’s definitely a bit of confirmation bias going on Jordyn’s side, and it doesn’t help that their professor is a bit of an old-school operator who sees competition in the classroom as a good arena for growth. She comes from a big family, just like Franklin, craves recognition, and is even interested in non-profit management. It shouldn’t take a magic dating show for these two to see the things they have in common buried beneath the differences, and they could really take on the world if they ever figured out a way to work together. Luckily, we have a magic dating show, yay shortcuts!”

Dee leaned heavily on one elbow while he listened to his brother’s spiel. “Or they could make her a sexy secretary, those are always fun.”

Vee sighed, “If they have no imagination, sure. Why waste the opportunity for some intellectual rivalry, conflicting philosophies that slowly turn into respect for your opponent’s talents, and then a desire to possess them for your own?”

“Well, if the audience wants someone who can outsmart the Master, have I got the contestant for them!” Dee declared while opening the final folder on the desk. The woman who appeared beside Clover and Jordyn wore an elegant dress and a coy smile, even as she used a stethoscope to listen to the door of a vault as she turned the dials.

“Claudia Mancini, although when Franklin met her, she was going by Tiffany Torrence. Just one of many aliases for this 25-year-old provocateur. She was in and out of Franklin’s life over a period of a couple weeks, but she definitely left an impression. She also left with an impressionist painting, stealing a work by Renoir right out of the museum’s restoration room safe. Claudia here is an international art thief, driven by the lust for adventure and the thrill of the hunt. She scouted her mark well, zeroing in on Franklin as an easy way in. A chance meeting at a club, a little flirting over text, and voila, date number 3 was to a fancy event at the museum. A lifted keycard and a driver waiting on the outside, and Claudia had herself a very lucrative gala. A day later, she was gone, ahead of the investigation. She left Franklin a nice dear John letter that clued him in on a few things, but he never had the balls to report it. I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to catch up.”

Vee stared, “He didn’t even get to know the real Claudia, just the mask. How is that going to make for a real connection?”

Dee smiled, “Precisely. Why not repay the woman who blindsided you by turning her into your personal purloiner? Stealing the heart of the one who played with yours?”

Vee turned to the cameras, a little worried that his winning streak might not survive past one match. “Vote at the link below for who you think should be our fourth contestant and let us know what other areas you’d mine for contestants in the comments!”

Vote Here for Contestant #4: The Rival

Voting is now closed.