This Is the land of Confusion!
After a hard morning of Bartholomew taking over the body and actually getting his house to look at least somewhat hospitable, he had finally gotten to sit down, and enjoy himself as himself, Mars. Bartholomew had taken a seat back, and let Mars express his emotions in the form of strums of the white fender guitar he had in his hands. He slowly strummed the chords, ivory fingers of his right hand easily moving over the chords as he slowly sped up and changed the beat to something that was conflicting to the first part of the slow beginning. He wasn't expecting for his counterpart, Bartholomew to walk up to the playing Mars and take him by the shoulder. No, that's not right. Start over from that slow part, and then add another slow part. You had no build-up. the male spoke to the other. Mars glared at the other. Bartholomew was no musician. It was only Mars that knew anything about the work of art that was music composition. Just like Mars wasn't able to draw and paint, and Bartholomew was able to. Don't do that, Bartholomew. I don't tell you how to draw, now do I? the twin spoke to Bartholomew in retaliation. Mars had, however, run his fingers over the guitar again and he started off at the beginning with the slow sunrise that was his music playing. Yuh, but the thing about it is that I don't suck at drawing. Bartholomew argued. Mars ignored him and pushed him away mentally.
Bartholomew was going to say something but the smell of cigarette smoke filled Mars and his own lungs. Someone was close. Bartholomew tilted an ear back while Mars had ignored it for now and continued to play. His fingers sped up into another riff of quick, contradicting chords that made the first calmness of the song turn into a storm of one. Steel eyes were on the white guitar as he hummed along lightly, his ivory and chocolate feet tapping on the wooden deck of his worn down house that still looked like it was going to cave in. He was only two people, he couldn't possibly do all the work by himself in only a few days. It'd probably take him weeks to completely finish fixing up the house. He ignored the scent of the cigarette still, and even closed his mismatched eyelids to concentrate more on his music. It wouldn't be until Vox had whinnied that Mars would finally look up and over to the stallion first and then the man who had been smoking, and closing in on Mars. Steel eyes met icy ones. Bartholomew too looked at the male whom had come on the property. Who was this man? He smelt of the ocean and of the pack. Mars' hands had stopped playing abruptly. Mars took a quick breath in, his shoulders rising lightly as he had taken the breath and once exhales, his shoulders went back to their relaxed position. He swallowed the extra saliva that would collect in his mouth before he pulled an unsure ear back and he finally opened his mouth to speak to the man. Hello, sir?
Mars Speaks Bartholomew Speaks
.