Under Pressure

Mars Bartholomew Russo · 10-21-2010, 02:33 AM

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OOC: pixie please. +5

Mars had been simply riding around, mounted on his steed, leather jacket hugging his meekly furred self, the man still not having a full coat because of him keeping it short since he lived south in California for the good amount of time he did. His fur had still been used to that weather as well, so he was cold 50% of the time around here, which made him sit inside of his leather coat and pants all the more. Mars also had his black scarf wrapped loosely around his neck as he rode his mustang through the open fields to the south of CdM packlands. He didn't really know why he had been heading south, maybe just to keep his mind off of things, such as the fact that his father had abandoned him for a second time in his life. Mars was beginning to think that the Russo man did not want anything to do with Mars, and that was the reason he left, because Mars had been too clingy, too willing to call the man "father". It was all Mars' fault, even though the letter he had been given had explained that Mars was welcome to follow along to Russia, there was two problems with this. One: Mars was scared of water, and would never get in a boat willingly, and two: Mars did not speak a lick of Russian, and more than likely would know nothing about what to say or do when he got to Russia. He'd be as uneducated as a wolf who never heard of humans. This would make him feel more like an outcast, and horrible about himself. Plus, daddy wouldn't want to waste his time with teaching Mars to speak Russian. The man's quickness to get up and leave was proof of this. Least, in Mars' tainted view of himself, this was what that was all about.

Mars tried not to be down about his dad leaving him to fend for himself in the land of the Canadians, and within the hands of his sibling, Anatoliy. If Mars had to guess, he would also deny that this man liked him as well, because nobody liked Mars apparently. Not even Mars liked Mars. Bartholomew probably hated Mars too. It was just a big block of hate that he would place on his own shoulders to see how long he could go under pressure before the pressure was just too much for him to handle any more. When this happened, he would fall down, break, and maybe, just maybe he would finally just let himself vegetate instead of getting back up again and again. In his mind, he doubted that he would let himself completely fall apart, there was always a part of him that would finally tell him "Mars, it's time to wake up." and like a puppy listening to it's master, he'd pick himself up, and then fall back down again, but then get right back up. It was a never ending cycle with him and even though he was the cause of all of this, he wished that he wasn't. He wished that he was normal, like everyone else. Apparently, he wasn't even allowed to have this normalcy in his life. Just like how he wasn't allowed to have a father because he was too ugly, and too small, and too American.

Mars ended up slinging his ivory painted guitar from over his shoulders to in front of him, where his ivory hand picked the strings, while the ebon and chocolate fingers pressed down on the guitar to make the sounds become different with every stroke of the strings. He put together a small melody as he rode his horse through Shiloh Hills, not concerned whatsoever with where he was heading. It's not like he was needed in CdM anyways, I mean he was the lowest ranked adult at the moment, and if some other wolf wanted to come and pick on him, it wasn't like he'd be able to do anything about it, he'd been used to being picked on because he was lowest rank anyways. Sometimes he even wondered if he was suitable for a higher rank.. He probably wasn't ever supposed to be anything special. What if god didn't want him to be something special?

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