At Your Service

Chapter 18- Gentleman

As the time neared for guests to be arriving, Carlisle knew Anja was upstairs getting ready after helping with last-minute preparations in the kitchen and the ballroom in spite of the instances of the servants that they didn't need her help; however, they ended up being grateful for the help of her magical abilities making their jobs much less tedious. He was going to check if she needed any more help with getting ready since it appeared as though the first guests were arriving.

    He knocked on the door of her bedroom three times but received no answer. "Madam?" He still received no answer, but he knew she was inside; he could sense it. He opened the door to see Anja dressed in a black turtleneck, heeled black leather boots, black leather gloves, a pair of black velvet pants, a flowy black velvet cardigan that dragged on the floor, silver wire-rimmed glasses, despite hardly ever wearing them, in preparation for crying, since she didn't want to face later problems with her contact lenses, and a fire opal pendant that Carlisle recognized as her father's, as well; he was not concerned so much about her appearance as by the fact that she held a pair of scissors in her hand and clutched the long part of her undercut in the other as they stood in front of the mirror on the dresser, leaning against the edge for support since she wasn't currently in possession of her crutches. He'd interrupted her cutting her hair off.

    "Could you help me?" Anja whispered as she stared at him with startled, teary eyes behind her glasses, chest heaving with nervous gasps, hyperventilation.

    Carlisle scowled as he shut the door behind him and locked it. "What's wrong?" He could feel her absolute terror, but he had no idea what could possibly be causing it.

    The witch set the pair of scissors down and pressed both hands onto the table for further support as she inhaled deep, shaky breaths. "I'm not a girl," she whispered.

    This was not news to Carlisle, who responded as he walked closer, "Damion mentioned that you-"

    "At all," Anja interrupted. "I'm not a girl at all, ever." She hung her head. "I haven't felt like a girl in a very long time, I just didn't want to tell..." Carlisle stayed silent as he stood behind her, just watching with raised eyebrows. "I don't think I'm genderfluid anymore, because I used to feel like a girl sometimes, but now I don't; I haven't in a long time." She paused. "But, I don't feel like a complete boy either: just somewhere between boy and neutral, but closer to a boy?" She thought for a moment, scowling deeply. "I don't know what I'd call that, being boy and neutral at the same time." She grabbed a makeup remover wipe from a container and started taking off the black lipstick she was wearing. She began muttering to herself bitterly. "Foolish. Today of all days... I shouldn't be-" Carlisle suddenly took hold of her arm, spun her to face him, and wrapped an arm around her waist to lock her against him. He gently took the wipe from her before starting to softly wipe the lipstick from her lips.

    "You need not worry about finding a label right this second," Carlisle said quietly, refraining from smirking as Anja's cheeks went pink. "There is a lot going on right now. Your parents' funeral is today. Focus on what you'd like to and can do in this moment, while you get ready." All of the black off her lips, he neatly folded the stained makeup wipe and tossed it into the wastebasket.

    Anja turned back around and stared at their reflection in the mirror, the butler standing behind her and to her left. "I don't want to be called a girl anymore."

    Carlisle nodded. "All right, so, would you like me, the servants, and the guests to use masculine and/or neutral pronouns and titles for you?" Anja continued staring at his reflection as he nodded. "Very good. Would you like me to inform the servants?"

    "That would be great, but I'll just... tell everyone else as I go along."

    The butler's expression softened. "Very well. What else?"

    Anja stared at themselves in the mirror. "A name." Their eyes shifted to Carlisle's reflection in the mirror. "Anja Elise is a girl's name, but I love it a lot, and that's how my parents knew me. Today of all days-"

    "Remember that your parents are as present here as I am," Carlisle reminded them warmly. He closed his eyes, calm and gentle. "They know, and they understand, just as they'd done before." He listened to and felt their souls swirling in the emptiness where his soul used to be. "Ah, they like 'Ansel Elias,' though they don't wish for you to feel obligated to choose this."

    The witch stared at himself in the mirror. "I like that."

    Carlisle grinned, opening his eyes. "They love you... they love their son very much."

    Ansel started crying a little harder. "I'm... so glad they're here today."

    "They are always here, just as long as I am succeeding," Carlisle reminded the witch as he set his hands on their shoulders and rubbed them soothingly. "Is there anything else, Master Ansel?"

    Ansel's heart thumped in their chest a little warmer than it did before at the use of his new name. As familiar "Anja" was to him, Ansel felt warmer, better-fitting. "I'd like to change my hair."

    The demon tapped his chin thoughtfully, keeping one hand on his master. "Well, it seems like you've grown it out for quite some time, and you like to braid it, yes?"

    Ansel shrugged. "But, if shorter hair will make me look-"

    "Let me show you something," Carlisle quickly interrupted as he pulled a comb off of the dresser before beginning brushing through their long, thick silver hair. "In ancient Greece and Middle Ages Europe, long male hair was associated with wealth and power." He began braiding their hair in thick plaits. "Although this is modern England, there is no need to associate long hair with femininity. But, if you decide you still want to shorten it, I can do it as soon as tomorrow, if you wish. Now, there just isn't enough time to do it properly. If we did it now, we risk messing it up when there are many guests who will be looking at you."

Too soon if he weren't a demon, Carlisle finished the braid. "You look a fine gentleman, Master Vandiver." Ansel turned around and hugged the butler, who gladly returned the embrace, and began crying harder. "You are wearing a compression garment of some sort," he stated after several moments of silence. The witch nodded. Although they were only a 30A, they felt self-conscious about their chest, so they wore a compression sports bra, as there was really no need for them to wear a full-out chest binder. "All right." He gave the witch a gentle squeeze before separating from them. "Shall we go and welcome your guests?"