Striding out from behind the large Timpani steps the Snare Drum- a silvery mare with rather loud fleabitten spots! XD
Sorry percussionists, couldn't resist throwing in a volume-related joke as a woodwind player!
Sorry percussionists, couldn't resist throwing in a volume-related joke as a woodwind player!
Arrows wrote:
Username: Arrows
Show Name: Little Drummer Girl
Barn Name: March
Age: Four
Gender: Mare
Breed: Swiss Warmblood
Height: 16hh
Colour: Fleabitten Grey (Bay base coat)
Markings: Star, snip and two coronets.
Genetics: E/e, A/A and Gr/Gr.
Personality: March is a loud and outspoken mare with a carefree spirit. She lives in the moment. She is certainly unafraid to stick up for herself. March is very tomboy, even though she doesn't look it, and is much like "one of the boys". The mare loves to win, and is very competitive. Occasionally, she can be a hot head, and rarely even a sore loser. March will always take one for the team and has a natural born confidence.
History: (March's POV)
I was not born in the lovely comfort of a quiet, soft, high-quality place - no ma'am. You couldn't tell from the life I live now and how I look, but I was born and grew up roughing it. My life, for most of my first year, was turmoil.
My first home was a high-end english barn. Spiffy saddles, snotty horses, pampered ponies, privileged owners. I could not have hated that place more. While english was in my blood, so was western. These people wanted me to become a paegent-queen dressage champion. I rebelled from early age, and quickly infuriated my owners after they introduced me to the very basics of the discipline. They ranted to the man who ran my barn, spitting that they payed good money for a champion dressage filly. Turns out, he owned the high-end broodmare, my mother, who they paid to breed their stud to. The man quickly became frustrated with my owners, and told them that he cannot guarentee a horse's interests. And that was how my owners came to not want me, as they were stuck-up english folk. Arrangements to sell me for big bucks at an auction were made.
I developed a hate towards my owners. I thought of them as selfish, ungrateful, and stuck-up. That turned into my view of all English riders and owners. I began biting and kicking at the ranch hands, my owners, some other owners at the barn, and the barn owner. My own insecurities fueled it all. As soon I was placed in the hot pen at the auction, my owners left me and screamed at someone to just send them the check. They left with a squeal of tires. I snorted my disapproval and gladness to get rid of them.
(Please understand I am not making fun of or hating on English riders - I myself ride Hunt Seat occasionally, even though I am dominantly a barrel racer. I would not do that. This is just how March feels, seeing some things that went on with English discipline people, and not too many good things about some of the more down-to-earth riders. Understand that! I love English riders! :3)
The auction started quickly. I hardly knew it was my turn until I felt the stage underneath my feet and saw all the buyers inspecting me. I did not like all the eyes at the time. I paced and stomped, acting out. I spotted Western buyers and English buyers. As the bidding began, I could only hope a Western buyer would prevail. It really wasn't hard to pick out which was which. Almost all the Western people wore something plaid and some blue jeans. The English people wore more chaps and showshirts. Bidding skyrocketed, and soon it was a battle between a plaid and a showshirt. With a competitive smirk, the Western woman placed a confident bid, and the English man fell quiet. One, two, three, and a hammer slapped against wood. Was I sold?
The woman strutted up on stage, shook hands with the auctioneer, handed over the money, and snatched my lead rope. She smiled at me and whispered, "I sure am glad that stubborn man fell away, because that was all the money I had after I bought that mare in the first division. I couldn't spend too much for ya. I got too many horses at home to feed." When we reached a trailer with a big ol' truck, the lady help my rope and eyed me from afar. "You sure are a beaut with some lovely lineage. Why would those English folk be selling a filly like you?" She shrugged and then eyed my halter. "Mmm...let's get that thing off of you. You need a nice, classic, brown leather, beat-up one - not such a fancy black n' shiny one like that. If you're gonna be a Western queen now, you need to look it." She snatched up a simplistic leather halter and slipped it on. It was a little big, but I liked it. The lady removed my done-up mane and tail. "You don't need that look for a simple little day like this." She dusted off her hands and then led me to the trailer opening. "Lulu is already in there. I don't care what other people say, fillies need a mother figure for a while - not just after they lose milk. They gotta learn wrong from right. So here's Lulu." The lady placed me beside a gentle bay mare. She smiled. "Make friends you too. Oh, and by the way - I'm Mary." Then Mary closed the door and left me with Lulu.
I loved Mary's accent. It was thickly laced with country. In my first days, I also loved Mary's style. Every day she wore simple blue jeans, a t-shirt or plaid, and a pony tail. She wasn't all dressy. She let me have my hair down from those tight little balls. I could romp around with Lulu like a foal for the longest time. It was perfect. I loved this life.
After my first month, slowly Lulu was removed from my pasture and in came new yearlings. I was sad to lose Lulu with me, but she stayed in the pasture beside mine. I met a sweet little filly named Bella Lee, or Bell, as many called her. We loved to race together. Bella was set on being a reining horse. I didn't know what I was gonna do, but as I turned a year old, Mary told me.
Mary introduced me to the gymkhana world. After I had seen her watching me in the pasture, she finally announced what I would do. As a yearling, there wasn't much she could do with me, but she did lead me in simple patterns. It was good fun. So that was my first year. I went from Dressage paegent filly to Western queen. I liked who I was now.
- - -
My second and third years were a blur. Bell and I grew fast, and a couple yearlings went to different pastures, but Mary let us stay together. My training began more intensive, and I had a saddle and bridle put on me for the first time. At first, I rebelled against the weight and pressure, but did get used to it under Mary's gentle and methodic training.
- - -
In my third year it all changed. I can't say if for better or worse.
Mary got sick. She caught the disease in time to kill it off and become healthy, but it cost lots of money. Bills piled up, and Mary had to sell the animals she loved - her horses. At first, she only sold a few, thinking she'd be alright, as she was returning to work now. It just wasn't enough. A few more horses later, and Mary was left with seven horses. With an empty barn, Mary began allowing horses to be boarded. It more than helped. But there will still daunting bills, and Mary had to pay them off, with little time to let the boarding become a booming business.
It was a quiet day when I knew my time had come. Mary came in, somber, unlike her typical bubliness. As always, she stopped beside my stall, but this time, she leaned against the door heavily. "I'm so sorry, my March-y Girl. I love you. But I can't do this. These bills are going to kill me if I don't do something about it. And I feel so terrible, doing this to you. But with your lineage and all, I can pay off everything. I promise, I'll sell you to someone reliable. I'll do background checks and all." Mary stroked my face through the bars.
This really isn't a sob story. I have had a lovely life, truly, even when I hated being an English horse. I was always well-cared for and healthy. And I understood that Mary had to do this. If I would do it for anyone, I would do it for her.
On the day of my selling, I strutted out there with confidence. Mary half-smiled, giving me gentle hugs periodically. "This is it, my baby girl! Shine, little star!" I was pulled into a small ring, where scattered buyers watched me. I was not afraid. I turned as I was handed off to a ranch hand, and watched Mary give a gentle wave. I strutted around the ring, and after my show, I was put in a general stall.
My owner came with a sheepish smile. "You're a beaut. You are certainly worth every penny. I own you now, March." He came up and placed a flashy halter upon me - I didn't like flashy, but the man seemed nice enough. Definitely Western. I didn't see Mary again, but went with the man and hoped she got more than enough to pay all the remaining bills. The man loaded me into to the trailer and off I went.
- - -
As far as I've gotten into my fourth year, it's been good. I led a comfortable and healthy life. I was trained not only my gymkhana stuff, but also learned to be accustomed to all sorts of noises, and marching in time. As much as I have missed my dear Mary, this man, Andy, has treated me well. He is a typical modern cowboy, with a light accent, country slang, and nice boots and plaid. He loves to whistle and sing. I love it when he plays music or sings or whistles a tune when working with me. I usually like the drum beat, picking it out in the background of the song. It helps me concentrate. A steady drum beat - that's my life right now. Every now and then, there's an "eighth note" or "sixteenth note" in my life, or even a "flam", but it is mostly good.
Andy let's his daughter ride me a lot. She is great - stubborn, fiery, and fierce. I love her agressive style of riding. We have been winning some recent competitions.
I can only hope my future holds the life I have now.
(Everything leading up to pre-Cottonwood)
~~*~~
Since the snare drum is quite popular in the military, give me a link to a military piece OR a piece played by a military band which uses a snare drum: Snare Drum Scores - "The Barren Rocks Of Aden" <- It's a PDF - will that be okay?
~~*~~
Extras (optional):
Short Story: (March's POV) (Since her history is a story on its own, this will be a shorter script)
How did I get here? I am soaked to the bone, dripping cold raindrops, covered in mud, hungry, and standing on the side of a small road in the middle of the night. Hope fills me when headlights light up the darkness. I've made a terrible mistake, but I know I can make it home.
- - -
It started on a bright day. It was the beginning of my fourth year, and I was unsure about my new owner. He hadn't let me out to pasture yet, and I was itching to run. I paced in my stall. And then I got my opening, and stupidly, took it. You see, typically, when cleaning stalls, Andy would leave the stall doors open as he went up and down the rows of stalls, as most all of the horses were out in the pasture at the time. On this day, after he cleaned my stall, maneuvering around me, he accidentally left me door wide open. By the time he came running back in a panic, I was disappearing out the barn door. In the cool air, I turned myself towards the inviting woodland, and ran. Andy yelled my name, and although I felt a tad guilty, I kept going. His voice faded against the wind and I fled into the trees.
I didn't stop until a while later, when I reached a small clearing surrounded by trees. I stop and graze, then roll in the cool dirt and plants. I have not yet noticed the daunting clouds on the move, hanging over my head. It is midday when the first rain drop plops onto my face.
- - -
I shiver under the inadequate cover of the trees. The rain pours down, drenching me and everything else. Thunder booms, and I don't mind it until a sizzling bolt of lightning flashes before my eyes. In a panic, I turn on a dime and flee. I weave through the trees, running from something that isn't really chasing me. I slip in a huge mud pile, despite trying to slow down, and I am covered in mud. Luckily, I get off with a small cut, and scramble to my feet. I run again when thunder jumps again.
I scold myself for my stupidity when I eventually stop beneath an oak tree. I shake in my place, frightened and freezing. What a mess. What is going to happen to me? Worry festers inside me, eating at me. Suddenly, bright lights briefly flash through the woods, and I am curious. That didn't look like lightning. A vehicle? I race towards where the light came from. I skid to a halt when I come to the side of a road.
- - -
So now here I am. To my luck, the bright lights slide to a stop. And to my ultimate joy, Andy sits in the driver's seat. A smirk is on his face, but I also see the creases of profound worry. "Someone's been a naughty girl." He says. Andy gets out from the truck and brings my halter. I do not run, no, I gratefully slip my face through the halter. Andy gently touches my side, and immediately clicks his tongue in disapproval and purses his lips in worry. "You're freezing, March. Dear God, what have you been up to?" From there, he rushes me into the trailer and speeds home best he can. He unloads me and crossties me, then places some space heaters around me. He dries me off, and I can tell he is so tired. I feel bad, giving him a scare like that.
When I am finally dry, but still shivering, Andy swings a heavy blanket upon my back. Once I am all done up and snuggly, he comes to my face and looks me in the eye. "I know you're gettin' to know me and I'ma getting to know you, but I don't appreciate that runaway horse thing. You coulda gotten hurt. March-y girl, I don't want you gettin' hurt, okay? You are my horse, and you're like a child to me. All my horses are. And I gotta protect and care for my children, right? Got it? Okay. Good night." He places me in my stall, removes the space heaters, and turns off the lights.
Maybe I'll be okay.
Best Friend: Bo
Friends: Stain, Trophy, Valor
Rival: Raleigh
Crush/Mate: Desolation
Future Breedings: Desolation, Mud, Trumpet, Lionheart
Future Plans: Tack, breedings, and stories + art, quite basically!
Likes: Loud noises, steady beats, drums
Dislikes: Frilliness, too much quiet, properness
Fears: Lightning, waterfalls, holes
Advantages: Marching, cross-country, gymkhana
Disadvantages: Jumping, dressage
Theme Song: The Walker
Born: March 5, 2010
Birthplace: Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Her "Color": Green
Discipline: There isn't really a name for March's "discipline" - I mean, I suppose you could call it a form of trail riding. But, March is an active participant in reenactments. Each day, she is brought out to wear certain tack for a historic depiction. She resides in the small stable beside a museum, with multiple other horses she reenacts with. It's a pretty good life she has.
On the side, however, March is a rising star in the barrel racing world. She has the speed, agility, and looks for it. She has won multiple prizes and cash in competitions, and may end up converting fully to gymkhana after a couple years of reenactments.
Bloodlines: Dam: March To The Drum
Sire: Play Your Drum Boy
Granddam: March To Freedom
Grandsire: Where's The Snare
Granddam: Play The Music
Grandsire: Drummer Boy's Beat
Why Do I Want Her?: For me, my reasons are a tad more personal than "OMG she pretty!" Which, she is, but I would like her because Snare Drum is truly my instrument, my partial passion. I have loved it for the longest time. The loud, resounding sound it makes. The vibrations when you hit it. And when you feel so awesome when you make the perfect sound, and hit all the right beats, and do everything right, and end out the song with a big beat. It's amazing. When you march in time with the song. Or when you roll on it, so fast even you yourself can't keep up with it. Amazing feelings. I want this mare partly as a way to represent my love for Snare Drum.I walk to the sound of my own beat.
! may take longer now 
)
), NEEDLES!( She is a pain for vets), rocks and stinging nettle 
