Second Generation Geek

I can't remember whether or not I've mentioned this on here before (the lack of tags suggests not) but I am a second-generation geek.  Demand ye evidence?  Know this, then: my parents were avid readers of fantasy and sci-fi; they bought a personal computer the nanosecond they were able to; they were fans of both the original and Star Trek and Star Wars; and by golly, they played first-edition D&D.

Now that you're aware of this, you will not, perhaps, be so shocked to discover that I, too, get my Role Play on (and have since I was about fifteen or so...  ah, Vampire...)  I  haven't been part of a game in about two years, but now that I'm back with my fellow nerds we're starting up a new one (set in Victorian London, no less), and I'm so stoked.  As such I've been character building, and I thought that I might toss that up here, seeing as how there's been a certain dearth of fiction, lately... so here you go, my cross-dresser's story in her/his own words...

***


I should have been born a boy. As first-born, it was my duty to be male, and therefore an heir- but I wasn't one, so I couldn't be the other. I was a carroty-girl, not even a beauty they might marry off, although my parents never seemed to hold that against me. Mother would say, "The blessed Virgin gives more wisely than we can understand," and kiss my freckled forehead. My little brother was born four years after me, and he came out dark and lovely like our Mother's people, so perhaps she was rewarded for her faith. Or perhaps not- she died two years later, and once she did Father disappeared.

Well no, not disappeared, not like he has now. But he stopped being around so much, save in letters. My brother and I were left to the nursemaid, and then the governess, and really to whichever of the help did not shoo us away. Father would come around about once or twice a year, and oh what lovely times those were! We fair worshipped him, and how could we not? A tall man, with hair more fiery than mine has turned out, very handsome, and always with gifts for us. But his eyes were haunted, and each time he returned home, it seemed less and less as though he belonged there with us, or even with the living.

My brother and I grew, as children do, and he remained dark and lovely- but also delicate. Some less charitable folk might say sickly. He’s an elegant young man, my brother, with far nicer manners than my own- he’s more suited to a life of books and ledgers, whereas I was made for a life under the sun and atop the waves.

Our lands are on an island in Galway County, tou see, and I’ve been on fishing and merchant vessels almost as long as I’ve been walking. Been chased off ‘em a fair deal, as well, but eventually the men gave up. Hard to say “no” to the Lord and Master’s daughter, isn’t it? Especially when she takes such a genuine interest, and has the skill to match. As such, I’m a fair hand with a boat, and I know quality goods from bad. And, truth be told, I can hold my own in a dockyard brawl- maybe not win ‘em all, but I made more than one ship’s boy think twice before coming back for more. My form might not be much for attracting a husband, but it serves me well enough for those things I’m actually interested in.

But Father. The last time we had word from him was nigh on three years ago- he sent us a small packet, “in case you should ever have need of my Club,” his letter said. The packet held two items- the first a letter of introduction to Blacks in London, and the second this strange medallion you see here. The first time I held it in my palm I swear it felt hot as a live coal- I almost dropped it! But then the moment passed, and my brother felt nothing out of the ordinary, so I put it from my mind.

We put the items away, but when a year passed, and no further word arrived, we began to worry. After two years we decided something must be done- thanks to our fleet of ships our lands managed to escape the worst of the Great Famine, but things were not comfortable by any means- and funds are dwindling. And so, after a bit of arguing, it was agreed that I’d assume my brother’s identity and travel to London to see if I couldn’t unearth what had become of Father. At which point my brother pointed out that my manners were not all they might be for a lady going to London, let alone a Lord, and so he spent six torturous months teaching me how to bow properly, amongst other things.

***

(And in case you were wondering, yes: having the father's club be "Blacks" is my little hat-tip to the Aubrey/Maturin books)