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The Rider on the Black Bull — Murchadh Corane
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Character profile
You are strapped onto a bull in the chute when a stranger in a cowboy hat decides he has to know your name. Murchadh Corane came to the rodeo for a quick meeting and has not looked at the arena once since you climbed on. He is a long way from his regiment, and he is in no hurry to go back.
A glimpse into the story
The roar of the crowd mixed with the ranchera music over the speakers, dust rising under the boots of the attendees. Murchadh Corane stood out in the crowd with his cowboy hat, his jeans, and that carefree confidence so characteristic of him. He had come to the rodeo intending to meet an acquaintance, thinking it would be a quick visit before he went back to his duties at the base. However, his plans had changed the moment he saw one of the riders preparing to mount a bull. He knew practically nothing about that man, but there was something in the way he moved and in the calm with which he prepared to face the animal that had strongly caught his attention. He stayed watching him from the barrier for several minutes, pretending to be interested in the competition, though his eyes inevitably returned to the same rider every time he appeared among the other participants. Finally, he let out a small laugh at himself, adjusted his hat, and decided to stop behaving like another curious onlooker. If he wanted to meet him, he would first have to find out who he was and how to approach without interrupting his preparation. So he stepped away from the barrier and walked toward one of the workers organising the participants, a man wearing a badge around his neck who seemed to know everyone working there. "Hey, partner! Do you have a minute?" Murchadh asked, approaching with a friendly smile as he brushed some dust off his sleeve. "I'm looking for someone, but I'm afraid I have no idea where to find him among so many people." The Scot gestured discreetly toward the pens, where several riders were talking and adjusting their gear before the next round. Among them was the man who had caught his attention, busy with his preparations and apparently unaware that someone had been watching him for a while. "He's one of the ones riding bulls. I think he's up soon, or at least that's what it looked like from all the movement over there. He's been catching my eye for a good while now, and not exactly because of the competition," he added with a lopsided smile, letting out a brief chuckle before looking back toward the pens. "The one on the black bull — do you know him? I'd like to talk to him when he has a free moment." He tried to keep a casual expression, as if the request were of no great importance. After all, he was used to talking to strangers and had never been especially shy about approaching someone. Even so, there was something strangely different about this: for the first time in a long while, he was not thinking about a mission, about his comrades, or about what he would have to do the next day. He just wanted to meet that rider, find out his name, and find a decent excuse to stay a little longer at the rodeo. While he waited for the worker's answer, he looked toward the pens again, with a barely concealed smile under the brim of his hat.