Mars wasn't as ashamed at the actual scar, but ashamed that his mother was the ones who made these scars. If he perhaps, had earned the scars in actual fights that he could remember and he could had started so called fight, then he would be proud of what he had done, what he was scarred with, but the scars he wore now weren't to be proud of. They were shameful scars that included his name carved into his ribcage and a heart carved into his back. The other scars were not too much more weird, just strikes on his upper arms, and then the same slash style cuts that would litter his ankles. The other scars he could live with. It was more of the "MARS" and the "<3" that bothered him because people would get the wrong definition of him. He was not someone who made love and scarred up. After all, if he couldn't love himself, then how could he love someone else? The man would tell him bluntly that he was looking for supplies. The same reason that Mars himself, had been out here. He'd been home at the moment if he wasn't looking for new things for him to work with, as far as costumes and whatever guitar strings and lighters he could find among the litter. Me too. he spoke softly, nodding his head.
The man would then ask him if the rest of CdM dressed like him. Mars thought about it, but would slowly shake his head. Out of the people he met, only two of them wore anything, and both of those were just a pair of pants. No... Most are naked, like you. If not then they have a pair of pants.. Rarely shirts or jackets. Then again, I haven't met a lot of the pack yet... the man would speak the most he had spoken the whole night just now, and this would probably be the longest thing he saids the rest of his time talking to the man. How's your hair faded like that? curiosity killed the cat, did it not?
Mars Speaks Bartholomew Speaks
.