Poor Mars.
WC→00
He seemed confused as she mentioned Bartholomew's loose sexual habits, but she didn't offer clarification. The Russo was an adult, male, and she would have been concerned if he hadn't felt even a minimal urge for physical satisfaction. Years of study into the minds of humans before them had lead her to assume similarities that were quite possibly not there; it kept her mind occupied, which gave relief to the female as she went through her days. It wasn't hard to apply what she learned to Mars, or to herself. In fact, her most prized possession had pages upon pages about the particular psychological defect her tri-colored wolfdog suffered from.
Disclosing her anxiety only created more discomfort in the area. Krystalle was not the type to gush about how she felt; she couldn't even sympathize with those who did, and it left her world ruled by something other than her heart, logic perhaps. As she sat before the Russo, she wondered why she felt it necessary to explain. Why had she desired to tell him what exactly was happening in her mind? 'Because he deserves to know?' The small conscience in the back of her skull piped up to offer words of wisdom. She wasn't sure that was it.
She was a good friend, but that was all she was; in the end, she wasn't entirely sure she was a friend either, but more an unnecessary stroke on a painting hung in his life. As she contemplated that, he asked a question. For a moment, it went unanswered. Did she want to tell him the truth? Of course, she did, but she knew it would be more uncomfortable than it was at that moment. "Yes, Mars. We fool around." Her shoulders shrugged up against her neck, pink eyes studying his face. "I don't know who else there is. Maybe no one here, maybe no one anywhere. It don't really matter, does it? It's not you, it's him. You like...some other chica." Bartholomew had told her about Orin, who Krystalle knew to live next door if nothing else.
She was the odd-one-out. She shouldn't have followed, but she did. "This was a bad idea." It wasn't an observation, but a fact, stated as the tan-and-cream female stood from her seat.
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