romeo, save me

Krystalle Horzana · 03-12-2011, 10:53 PM

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Backdated to 11Mar2011.
WC→504

She heaved a sigh. Sitting at the makeshift table, charcoal pencil in hand, the Latin mutt had spent hours writing the final chapter of her latest masterpiece, known in her mother's home of San Solace as Blanca Nieve. The seven jackal Luperci had found the beautiful Blanca Nieve in a state of unconscious within their small home, and knew immediately that it had been the wicked hag of a Queen who had killed the woman. Krystalle loved the story when she found it amongst the Mexican library, still intact, and now she was able to share it with her new family. Someone had to appreciate the written word in the same way she did, after all.

Writing had become her escape from the world, living in the small home with the strange Russo she'd met within the boundaries of California. She needed the escape. Their life had become complex, more so than she had wanted to admit at first. Bartholomew had always made it his mission to be around when Krystalle was present, and she knew Mars couldn't stand it. In the morning, waking up from whatever night she'd spent with the more amiable personality, the dominant mind of the tri-colored male always seemed in a poor mood. It was clear to the Shepherd-mix that she was unwanted by the one who really mattered.

So she found herself at the table more frequently, creating prolix works on scrap papers, avoiding the Russo as much as possible. She didn't want to aggravate the situation, dreading the day she would wake up to find him gone again. No goodbye, no message of where he'd be. He'd left her before in such a state, and that'd prompted her to trek across two countries in search of the unique man known as Mars. There was no doubt in her mind that he would leave her again, especially if his one tie (this Orin woman) somehow became a non-issue. She was the third wheel in his life, a strange creature left in his unwelcoming world.

A sniff broke the silence around her, a few tears falling on the pages of the book. She tried not to be emotional, but Mars was so important to her world that she couldn't hold the stinging tears back. She had gone all that way for a male who didn't really care for her. Bartholomew did. Bartholomew might as well have been a figment of her imagination. Mars was apathetic.

She rose from her chair and wiped her face, bustling about to make some of the tea she found so comforting. Without purpose, she made two cups, staring at the second while it steeped and wondering what to do with herself. Another sigh escaped her, white-tipped fingers grasping both cups as she went to find what hole the Russo had pushed himself into. "Mars, mi querido? Are you busy?" In truth, she didn't care what he was doing; she wanted to talk, and try to understand the thoughts that passed through his split mind.

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