And still he defended her. Behind the undesired tears, the hybrid woman seethed more. All he did was defend her; he didn't try to console his friend, but was more concerned that Orin's name not be tarnished by some derogatory term. White fingers rubbed at her eyes vigorously, unwilling to let him see her distress. It wasn't until the familiar twang of Bartholomew's accent reached her ears that she looked back to the male she lived with. He'd moved closer, to her side, as if Bartholomew was eager to comfort the woman. Strange as it was to witness both halves of the one body interact, she could only stare in curiosity.
Mars' apology turned the curiosity back into rage.
One seemingly dainty hand rose and, with force enough to bruise bare flesh, came into contact with the black half of Mars' face. It stung her palm, but she brushed it off. He deserved it, the bastard. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no. I can' do this no more, Mars, I really can'. 'm gettin' too old to deal with all this immature bullshit. Y'know, chicas my age, they got families by now! And what'm'ai left with? You, and your stupid, annoying indecisive BULLSHIT!" Fueled by rage, her voice lost the American edge to it, instead twisting into improper grammar and heavy Spanish coating. Each word was spat out, as if meant to cut the man. Most of it meant little; she knew having a family was not in her future, but it was just another reason to be angry.
Again she turned away, ready to storm off into the darkness. Talking was not on the agenda. The man would have to force her to stay if he really wanted to interact; it wouldn't be too difficult, of course, as he was larger and quite possibly stronger. She simply wanted to get away. From him, from the pack. From everything.
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