3+ Lots of explaining. Sorry 'bout that.
As she expected, Shawchert asked about Bartholomew, and Krystalle's mind started to whirl with her knowledge of the curious mental anomaly that the man suffered from. She turned her eyes back to the larger male, watching as he found a nearby rock to rest on. How would she start? Tapping her fingers against her thigh, she shifted. "It's a bit of a long explanation," she started, voice serious and lacking any Spanish additives that would be commonly found in more cheerful speech. The topic wasn't difficult, per say, but she knew Mars was sensitive to the fact.
The woman cleared her throat. "I met Bartholomew Cubbins years ago, back home. At first, he was just Bartholomew. Charming, flirtatious, handsome. Pretty typical stuff, y'know?" She paused to take a breath, eyes darting to the sky and to the distant trees as she tried to gather her thoughts. "He's different. You and I, we're always the same. We have different moods and stuff, but you're always Shawchert and I'm always Krystalle. Assumably, at least. The difference with Mars Russo is that he isn't always Mars Russo." As the words slipped through her maw, she realized she sounded insane. How could someone not be the same person? But she knew she was right. With a grunt, she realized she hadn't brought her book, or she would have been more prepared. She'd have to wing the explanation.
"This book I have calls it 'dissociative identity disorder'. It's when thoughts and memories kinda split into two different, like, people. So sometimes Mars is Mars. Most of the time, Mars is Mars. He knows he's Mars, he's quiet and he's asocial, he calls himself Mars." She gave a nod to reassure herself that she was right before clearing her throat again. "Other times, though, he's not Mars. His brain changes, kinda, and he starts to act like loud, vivacious Bartholomew. Mars doesn't like to talk about Barty, but Barty knows Mars is there. It's kinda like two Luperci in one body. Mars doesn't really remember what Bartholomew remembers, and Bartholomew doesn't really remember what Mars remembers."
Her arms went around her knees, drawing them up toward her chest so she could rock back comfortably, her face taking on a blank expression of thought. Pink eyes turned back toward the sky. "I love Bartholomew and Mars, but I don't think they really care much. Mars left me behind without sayin' goodbye, and Bartholomew didn't bother to come back for me either." Her statement was soft, and more a reflection on her train of thought than the mind of the Russo. She could remember missing them, right up until her first steps into the man's home within Thornbury.
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