Want to be God, the Devil, like me?
He didn't fail to notice that the woman had no argument back to the sharing and the touching of personal possession. He was glad that she didn't retaliate, because then he would probably get angry and it would all be just a big mess of events after that point. She went on to speak about how his father had pronounced the word the same way he did. It was bad when everyone else knew your father, and you barely had a clue what he looked like. I told you that you should have let me go up there and knock on that door since you didn't have the balls enough to do it, Mars. Shut up Bart, nobody asked you anything. the male talked to himself, clearly having a conversation between a male called Bart, and himself. The woman was probably confused. Mars looked from the right (his head had turned to Bart's direction to get a visual of the other male) back to the woman. The woman babbled on about how she would never drink again, and then she denied what she said, not once, but twice. What is my father like? Is he a good person? the male asked out of curiosity, both of his audits pulled towards the woman and his head cocked to the right.
She had seemed surprised that she had missed the whole question about her name. Her dramatic motion of her hand covering her mouth and her mouth letting out the excited "oh!" had caused Mars to flinch back slightly. She introduced herself as "Orin Takekuro" and she had gone on to speak to him about how she did like music, and that she never had the opportunity to be around an instrument. His own, the white fender had been restored and painted by himself back in LA (where they had tons and tons of music stores) and he had been around music ever since. The male watched the woman, almost sympathetic that she had never heard the beautiful chords of a guitar, or violin, or perhaps a piano. She explained that she knew of what he talked about, but the only instrument that she had been around in real life would be a drum. Mars wasn't a drummer. Not at all. He could do everything else, and even imagine the beat of a drum in the background to his own guitar and whatnot, but he never found himself able to play one. Bartholomew never thought to play a drum. The simple idea of it all though had been interesting to Bartholomew, which happened to be a reason why he had still been around, watching the two communicate and even butting in every now and then.
As she had tapped on the ground, Mars had rocked lightly back and forth before he let his fingers dance over the guitar strings, adding a melody to the woman's simple beat. I'm not so much a drummer. Strings have always been my interest. I was never taught how to play a drum. Mother was against loud noises that drums make.. the male spoke, thinking back to when he really first got into music, when he was under the care of his mother and that pack that be failed to remember the name of because of his lack of wanting to go back. The bards of the pack used to play music for them, but once the drummer of the band got too close to their den and mother freaked out on the drummer, but let the rest of the band continue to play. Mars would watch them everyday, and everyday, the drummer would have to stop playing because of the higher ranked Lyndi Cubbins. The dumb whore. Orin, do you know of any old music stores that might be in the area? I need some new strings for my violin. the male asked the woman, wondering if she knew the area that well or not.
Mars talks Bartholomew talks