Dylan
Dylan shrugged. "I dunno. I can talk to horses, yes, but whether they'll listen and help us clean up their poop is a whole 'nother matter." He leaned against the stable door, peering in at a seemingly normal bay horse. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of horse manure-- it hasn't been cleaned in almost a week. Dylan clicked his tongue, trying to copy what he saw the horse riders do on TV. No luck. The horse went on eating its hay, flicking its ear in Dylan's direction indifferently. Dylan finally, cleared his throat and spoke up, feeling a little stupid. "Hey, uh, Horsey."
The horse's ears pinned back now, its tail swishing, annoyed. Yeah. I'm listening.
Of course. I get the rude one, Dylan thought miserably. "I'm going to clean your box. So could you make this easy on me, and stand to the less.. uh, poop-infested side? I clean your doo-doo up," he paused, snatching a pitchfork next to a bucket and brush to the right of the stablebox. "With this thing, and you're going to be a nice, happy horse that won't have to step it its own crap ever again."
The horse crained its neck, facing Dylan now. It extended its neck, raising its head high with prejudice, acting like it was superior over Dylan. Why should I? It snorted, shaking its head back and forth, trying to get rid of a fly buzzing around its head.
Dylan clenched his teeth, wanting to stab the stupid horse with the pitchfork. "Because I am a son of Poseidon, and you're going to do what I tell you to do." Dylan exclaimed with narrowed eyes.
The horse's eyes flickered with doubt and nerves. Its head drooped, all signs of arrogance gone. Oh. Ah, sorry, Boss. Please, I would be honored to let you clean my stable. Name's Sherlock, by the way, he added, almost friendly.
Dylan unhooked the lock on the door and stepped inside, avoiding horse droppings as he did. He almost gagged from the smell, but he refrained from doing so. "Nice to meet you Sherlock." He managed to hook a bunch of poo onto the pitchfork and carry it out to a wheelbarrow, in which he dumped it. The other satyrs and wood nymphs managing the stables were doing the same thing, so he figured he should do the same. He paused, smiling at Rose. "That's Sherlock. He would be delighted if we cleaned his horse crap. You in?" He asked jokingly, holding out another pitchfork for Rose.