It seemed like he'd hit a nerve there. What would happen if he pressed it?
Tristian stopped and inclined his head slightly at the boy, his fingers reaching up to come through those loose curls that framed the fledgling's face. "Oh, you poor thing. My sire taught me everything I needed to know; I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now, lost and alone in the world. Like a little stray," the older Kindred leaned in, his hand wandering down to brush against Rhys' neck. Was it his imagination, or did his skin seem slightly warm? "It pains me to see such a young thing abandoned. If you need any help, with anything, I'll always be more than happy to guide you."
He gave Rhys' hand a sympathetic pat and started walking again. "Malkavian, yes, although you'd be surprised how many times I've been mistaken for a Toreador," the remark was like verbal preening. "Which is flattering, I suppose, although I hear they can be terribly shallow." At least his clan had insight. What was the point in being pretty and nothing else?
"And who is this new mentor of yours? Anyone I know?"