3+[/html]
Her hug was returned with an embrace of his own, and she relaxed for the first time in a long time. It was surreal, being back with the Russo. Days, weeks, months, years? She'd forgotten how long it'd been since her pink eyes had settled on his steely blue pair. Comfortable, she brought the cup to her mouth and took a sip of the tea that he'd made for her. The setting was so nice, picturesque like in the fairy tales she'd read in her youth. Bartholomew asked about her tussle with the snowstorm, and she gave a gentle shrug. "Me and Senorita made it through, ch'know?" She'd weathered it out in a cave, letting the horse go her own way until it passed.
She was stupid to ask if he'd found himself a woman. Though he gave her a subtle compliment, stating that the ladies of Cercatori d'Arte weren't nearly as beautiful as the Californian, he destroyed the good feelings with his next words. Mars had found someone. Orin Takekuro, a woman he had left his other pack for. A dark cloud descended on her pink gaze, hand trembling ever so slightly as it held on to the cup she'd been drinking from. She knew better than to feel jealous; Mars had never been as close to her as Bartholomew, but it still stung to know that one half of the male didn't feel much in regards to the doggish woman.
The expression faded as quickly as it had come, but the shakes continued. She tried to finish her tea, spilling the warm liquid down the front of her chest in the unsuccessful attempt. A string of Spanish curses emanated from her maw as she stripped away the leather jacket to dry her fur. As she swept the tea away with her hand, she listened to Bartholomew continue his speech. He seemed to believe Mars liked this 'Orin' because of a similarity in the Latin mutt. She doubted that, but didn't voice the opinion. Instead, she remained silent until he inquired about her own exploits with the other gender.
Not wanting to seem lax in her attentions, she gave a nod. "A few." It was a blatant lie. She hadn't interacted with another man since the disappearance of the Russo, but she couldn't bring herself to seem so foolishly lovesick. One of her white-tipped hands brushed blonde bangs out of her eyes, gaze moving everywhere except for on Bartholomew himself. Her mind was locked away with thoughts of the blue-eyed male and some unknown female.
| Messages In This Thread |