Chapter 3, part 2: In Which Our Hero Traumatizes His Behind

(Z: Continued from part 1, broken for length.)

And then, just before sunset, after Altin had found himself on the ground yet again, a strange thing happened.

Spot took pity on him.

"This is another trap, right? You're just trying to give me an even number of missing fingers."

"This is going to end up with me in pain, I just know it."

And then Spot shut him up. He winced as he felt her muzzle brush against his ear -- his precious, hopefully-still-intact ear -- and then...she didn't bite him. In fact...she didn't seem to be trying to hurt him at all. It was almost like she was trying to be affectionate...

Confused, but not wanting to miss the opportunity, Altin slipped the bridle over her head, but waited expectantly for her to shake it off of herself again. And waited. 

Spot shifted her weight a bit, as if she were considering it, but left it in place. 

Altin made his attempt...

And nearly fell back off from surprise. Spot waited uncharacteristically patiently for Altin to settle himself.

"Ah...go?"

And they set off.

Altin hadn't had the energy or free time to really explore Appaloosa Plains before now, and he found himself surprised by how much beauty the little country town had to offer. And how much wealth. Between the two, if he ever managed to work his way back up into theft, he could be very happy here for a very long time.

He let Spot meander her own way into town, too concerned with staying in the saddle to mind.

Once they reached the city center, she picked up speed, thundering past City Hall and Appaloosa's few office buildings. Altin was...less than thrilled.

And then he saw where she was headed. Appaloosa was cowboy land, so he knew they were fond of their horses, but he hadn't realized they were fond enough to have a formal training center set up. Spot must have found it when they first arrived in town, during one of her disappearing acts. She made a beeline straight for the dirt racetrack, and Altin let her have her fun as he got more comfortable in the saddle.

Or tried to. After several laps he was reminded of how inexperienced he was at riding by the pain in his thighs and the rubbery feeling in his knees. He tried to dismount and they buckled under him. Looks like he'd be taking a taxi home. Besides, it was almost daybreak and tomorrow he had to "go to work," as the law-abiding citizens say.

Spot nuzzled him again, and pressed her head into his chest for a moment, then nickered and ran off. But that was okay. Altin was surprised to realize he wasn't worried. Somehow he knew that after today she'd come home when she was ready.

Chapter 3, part 1: In Which Our Hero Traumatizes His Kidneys

(Z: I challenge you to claim with a straight face that this building doesn't make you kind of maybe like rabbitholes at least a little bit.)

It wasn't long before Altin got the call from Oxendine. She always did manage to get the job done like that. Oxy didn't bring the greatest news, though. "Look, you're in, but like I said, it's real low-level stuff. They'll let you try your hand at being the decoy on a couple of their smaller jobs, that's all. And they only agreed to that because there isn't much of a chance for you to blow it, so count yourself lucky and keep your head down."

At least it was paying, that was the important thing. Without any work for so long, Altin had become an accidental vegetarian, surviving off his little garden while--

That was it! This was where he drew the line! Spot would not turn Bolt into another demon beast in horse form that would follow him around every time he stepped foot outside, waiting to strike. He was going to march over to that zebra right now and remind her which of them was the horse and which was the sim! In fact, by the end of the day, she was going to let him ride her, and this time it wouldn't wind up with him getting thrown to the ground in some distant town!

Altin could bribe her with carrots, right? Horses love carrots!

It was at that point that Altin discovered that while horses might love carrots, zebras preferred the taste of human flesh. If he was going to have to work this hard to get a bridle on Spot every time he wanted to ride her, he'd be in trouble. He only had so many fingers, after all.

(Z: Also, I've learned that caught-in-a-net thought bubble is EA's way of telling Altin "It's a trap!")

Tacking up completed, with more than its fair share of blood, sweat, and tears (mostly blood), now came the easy part. Altin just had to jump up onto her back like he did at the zoo, and everything would work out fine. 

He was beginning to expect that Spot only liked having him around when she needed zoo fences cut.

But Altin was determined, and he was fed up, and he was lucky, so he was pretty sure she wouldn't succeed at outright killing him. Minor limb damage, maybe, but the Grim Reaper could content himself with miscellaneous stray dogs today. He hoped.

Oh, that's not a good thought bubble...

...ouch.

Well, that was undignified. 

Altin pulled himself to his feet and brushed off the giant dirt-colored hoofprint on his shirt -- although the considerably more bruise-colored one underneath his shirt would be sticking around for a while -- and reassessed the situation. Maybe if he...

Oh, come on.

...no, that wouldn't work either.

They continued in this vein through most of the afternoon, with Altin spending more of the day laying on the ground than standing on it, and Spot showing him the handy trick she learned of twisting herself out of the tack and making Altin start all over again. He didn't dare take the chance to break for dinner (although Spot did), because he was afraid he wouldn't have the willpower to go back to getting kicked in the gut on a full stomach.

She was pretty keen on recycling.

(Z: Continued.)