A hurriedly scribbled address was scrawled on the back of Oliver's hand. Having only recently arrived to the community, he caught sight of a 'help wanted' ad tacked to the cork board at the local post office. Catching it on his way out after establishing his new P.O. box, Oliver quickly took the opportunity for employment and made his next stop the Coldspring facility. As the humble diesel rolled to a stop, Oliver killed the engine and stepped out. An incredibly lengthy stride ate the ground as he approached the main barn. He scanned the area quickly, hoping to spot the woman in charge who was apparently in charge of hiring. He had a lengthy background in the three-day field and was hoping the barn was looking for someone of his expertise. Time would tell, and for now he eagerly awaited the chance to initiate a conversation with the appropriate person.

While he was waiting, Oliver had posted himself against the doorway of the barn. A power struggle was ensuing towards the rear of the open yard and he watched on with a quiet interest. Despite the thrashing the stud was giving his rider, she seemed to be handling it quite well. It seemed the leggy red boy came around and within a few minutes, Oliver had been spotted and she was making her way over to him. He shoved off the wooden trim and slid his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker bearing his name and the logo of his previous barn. Closing the distance between them now, Oliver smiled upon the Thoroughbred, though kept a respectful distance. "I'm looking for Casey, maybe you can point me in the right direction?" He tilted his head in questioning fashion, hoping he might make some headway today and that she was available to receive him. With his luck, though, she'd be off-site and he'd have to call again. Hey, whatever it takes; Oliver could be very persistent.

A warm chuckle slipped past his lips as Oliver watched the impatient stud make his thoughts known. Something he could appreciate was a horse with character, of which this one seemed to have plenty of. His attention was quickly diverted back to his rider when he was made aware that the person he sought was right before him. He clammed a moment, then smiled apologetically as he shook his head in response. "Mrs. Jacobs, I apologize. No, you weren't expecting me; I have a bad habit of arriving unannounced. I saw your flier at the post office. I thought I might come by and see if we could talk." As the sun began to beat without mercy against his jacket-clad shoulders, he slowly began to peel it off his arms, carefully and meticulously folding it in anal retentive fashion and tucking it under one arm. Realizing he'd left her hanging, he laughed nervously and looked to her once again. "It seems I picked a bad day for a good first impression, my name is Oliver Yarborough, and it's a pleasure to meet you." The subtle British lilt twisted his pronunciation with a soft inflection. Perhaps a native moved elsewhere, as it was nearly inaudible, but there nonetheless.

Oliver stepped back as he watched the young woman dismount, appreciating the eye-to-eye discussion she was now giving him. Respect, she gave it. Another thing he greatly appreciated. He nodded as she expressed herself, almost apologizing for assuming her marital status. He kept it to himself and erred on the side of silence, for he was a silent man. Meticulous, calculating, very Type A. He followed along behind them quietly, watching as the stud tracked his own steps. Lost in thought for a moment, mostly about how to best approach this impromptu interview, his thoughts segwayed to the the rear left foot of the statuesque equine. "Excuse me, Ms. Jacobs, it seems your boy has a loose shoe." It had shed a nail or two and was askew only slightly, but off-center to its proper place. A farrier on the side, Oliver made it a point to keep his mounts' feet in check. No hoof, no horse, right?

"Well, you're in luck, Ms Jacobs. Today, the farrier came to you. And I happen to have my tools in my truck. I can replace that shoe in a jiffy." This man lived for his work, and had a habit in extending simple services free of charge. Whether it was a loose shoe, a lost nail, or what have you, he didn't see the point in charging for a ten minute fix. Besides, he liked the concept of 'pay it forward.' He was a huge believer in karma. He left the offer open just in case the owner had her own personal farrier she preferred to use. He certainly didn't want to assume she'd prefer his services over someone she was already established with. He'd made that mistake when he was younger and new to the ways of business. Sometimes most clients had loyalty to their farrier, vet, trainer, etc. and it was never anything personal - just a comfort level already laid out.

Oliver understood all too well having standards not quite met and how nauseatingly frustrating it could be. Especially when those unachieved standards revolved around your business. It was about as pleasant to be around as angry cats climbing on chalk boards. Looking around, he surveyed the damage and nodded appreciatively. Yep, there was still work to be done, but he also noted all the new boards, new siding, and other improvements that had already been made. Clearly, they were working on fixing things, and that was what mattered. "Yes, I heard about the whollop you took. It hit about a week before I arrived, if I heard correctly. It seems you're on track with getting things back in shape, though." A feeble attempt at encouragement. He wasn't one for being a kiss-ass.

Word of mouth had reached his ears on how the Coldspring owner wasn't very sociable. 'Hermit' and 'cold-hearted cow' had even been referenced to her, though Oliver paid no mind to gossip. People could be cruel, and the Telephone game had a tendency to be extremely inacurate. Besides, he'd worked with some of the most hardened, unfriendly types to wield a bastard file so he wasn't at all concerned about a stiff-necked employer. If anything, he could appreciate a no-nonsense woman, having spent far too much time around the exact opposite types. Seeing as how he had parked near the barn, as soon as she accepted the offer he gave her an acknowledged nod and jogged hurriedly to his truck. File, hammer, and hoof stand under arm, he jogged back in time to hear her state how much her brother had contributed to rebuilding the damaged facility. He laughed at her latter comment and just as he was about to respond, heard the male voice from above. Ah, the brother was present. "I have a little sister back in the Kingdom." He left it there, seeming to imply he understood the relationship siblings held. It was both a thing of beauty, and a pain in the ass. Trudging around to the side of the stud, he paused mid-stride before approaching the sorrel and looked back to Casey. "What's this kid's name?" Taking the fact she had accepted his offer, he assumed he was free to touch the horse now. A gentle yet firmly placed hand ran over the stud's back as he made his location known to the fractious Thoroughbred; no good would come in surprising him while Oliver was stationed at the business end. He didn't bother asking about whether the stud was good having his feet handled, he'd find out soon enough.

Cautiously aware of the stud's temperament, Oliver remained half-cocked in the event he needed to spring back and out of striking range. Setting the stand down a foot in front of Bomb's hoof, he dropped his tools next to it and stooped to acquire the leg in question. He braced a hand against the sorrel's hip for insurance as the other slid down the sleek cannon. Should Bomb decide to hold true to his name, he could push off against his hip and have a step ahead at escaping the danger. Using the same hand to push the weight off the leg, his other cupped the bulb of the fetlock and pulled up and forward once the window of opportunity surfaced. "Bomb, foot." A firm yet benign command was given at the same moment he lifted the leg. With light hands now, he positioned the foot onto the stand and picked up his clincher. The tool went to each nail, loosening the remaining clinches before dropping the clincher and picking up his file. With a few heaves, the shoe came fully loose while he used the end of the file for leverage, lodged between the iron and the hoof itself. A hand-tug pulled the shoe free and he dropped it next to his boot. Nippers out, he chipped away at the extra toe, swapped nippers for the file, and rounded out the edges nicely. Foot now trimmed, he let Bomb have his leg back as he stooped and picked up the shoe.

Using the file to knock out the nails, Oliver cast a glance back to Casey. Now was as good a time as ever to talk shop, for that was why he had come to her establishment. "If I'm not mistaken, your ad stated you were filling all positions. I don't suppose that means you're looking for a trainer, too eh?" Six nails were lodged against the magnet within his work chaps that he had quickly strapped on while at his truck. Picking up Bomb's foot again, keen to hold tight for any balking on the stud's part for Oliver was well versed in the ways of farrier refusal, he went to work once he was allowed to do so. Sole up, Bomb's foot was locked between Oliver's thighs as he centered the shoe. A few taps of the hammer for each nail locked the shoe in place and then with a quick transition, Oliver placed the foot back on the stand a final time. Nippers removed the excess of the nails protruding from the hoof wall and the clincher was used last to crimp the ends into the hoof so as not to cut the stud should he knock himself. "All done, lad."

Oliver took the opportunity to stow his tools away in the truck as Casey led Bomb away to be untacked. Unbuckling his work chinks, he tossed them in the passenger side of the vehicle and sighed heavily. He didn't fit the bill for either of the openings there, his focus was more on the three-day competition with an emphasis on cross country. The closest thing he was familiar with in regards to racing was the ever-suicidal sport of steeplechase, his forte and all-time favorite way to ride. Break neck speed throwing you and a half ton animal over the most obscenely frightening hurdles known to the equine industry; Oliver was an adrenaline junky of epic proportions. Also bearing a streak of metrosexuality, he checked his hair in the vanity mirror before flipping up the visor and shutting the truck door.

Long strides carried his narrow frame across the drive and back to the barn just as Casey emerged once again. He smiled warmly and shook his head as he responded. "No need to apologize, I've dealt with far worse." The Brit had been pounded on and thrown into walls and panels more time than he cared to count. Broken bones, shattered fingers, squashed toes, bruises galore - Ollie had seen them all and then some. Shoving his fists into his jeans pockets, he cocked his weight back on one heel as he cleared his throat once again. "Well unfortunately, my area of expertise is not in either of those disciplines. Now, if you were looking for an Olympic qualifying Stadium Jumper or a 4-time circuit champion at the Virginia Gold Cup steeplechase meets, then I'm your man." In truth, he had other talents as well, from breeding director to facilities director, but his passion lied in training. If it came down to it, he'd take on a managerial non-riding post at any place that would hire him. But for now, he was holding out for something more hands-on.