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"You couldn't make yourself presentable?"
Tristan looked down at his outfit. Black jeans, white silk shirt, knee-high black boots expertly polished. He wasn't even wearing the makeup he usually sported. His dyed black hair was demurely tied back into a tail, with an elastic band, not the satin ribbon he favoured. He thought he looked quite romantic and dashing, missing only a rapier at his hip.
"What's wrong with what I am wearing?" Tristan frowned, feelings just a little hurt.
Martin sighed. "You look like a Nancy." He put his hand out. His brother did not take it. "Still afraid to be touched, little brother? What do you think will happen?"
"I don't need to explain myself to you." Tristan glowered at Martin. "You wouldn't understand it, at any rate."
Martin smirked. "You are a disturbed boy, brother. It will be your downfall." He took a step forward, threatening to lay hands on him. Tristan dodged away, smoothly, used to the mocking by now. His brother dropped his hand and laughed. "Mentalist."
Tristan sighed. "Where's Da?"
"In the parlour with Cynthia. Where else?" Martin said. "You may go and see him. Tell him that you have arrived."
Nodding briskly, Tristan went into the parlour.
Cynthia, his stepmother (who was, incidentally, a mere three years older than Tristan) rose to greet him. "Nicholas, sweet... hello."
Tristan cringed, inwardly, at the sound of his real name. But, as he always did, he forced a smile. "Hullo, Mum, Da."
His father rose, wearily. "You are late, Nicholas, as usual. I shall fetch the car." Without another word, he left the room.
Cynthia smiled, apologetically. "You look well, Nicky." Then she shook her head. "Oh, I am so stupid. You prefer Tristan, don't you?"
He smiled at her gratefully. "Yes, Mum," he said, quietly.
She brushed a lock of his black hair from his eyes, careful not to touch his skin with her fingers. "Don't let them get you down. You're all right, Tristan. You know that, don't you?"
"Tell that to them," Tristan muttered. He took a step back, feeling ashamed of his weakness but unable to help himself. She was the only one he allowed so near, but still he was uncomfortable.
Cynthia looked at him, as if for one moment she knew something that he did not. "You will be all right, love, once you know who you truly are."
"What?" he frowned.
"Come on. We are keeping the others waiting." Cynthia smiled.
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