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(In which Leonardo thinks about common social conventions.)

Hamato Leonardo was having a bad day. Back on Earth-3 clothes, being made for and by people who were possessed of distinctly non-terrapin body structures, were something he rarely had to worry about. This alternate world, however, was filled with turtle-shaped people. Said turtle-shaped people wore clothes as a matter of course. It was a bit like Leonardo's first visit to Usagi's world all over again. Seeing everyone wearing clothes that fit and wondering if he would be better off clothing himself or remaining as he was.

Much like when visiting Usagi, not having clothes on was attracting attention that Leonardo... really was not comfortable receiving. (The large male that had first encountered Leonardo was a prime example of Leonardo's discomfort, having been cold-cocked and left laid out unconscious in the park.) So Leonardo hid the children and snuck away to do some much-needed spying. Reconnaissance. (Potato, patahto.) The males of this world's dominant species were all massive, hulking things with spines and protruding horns. Their choice of clothing seemed to be a kilt or loose pants combined with a vest or detached sleeves that tied across the plastron and behind the neck. The dome of the shell was left largely exposed. The females were smaller, for the most part, and lacking the extra mass of spikes had no need for the extra bulk of muscle that came from carrying the increased weight. The women wore layered garments of varying complexity that strongly favoured what Leonardo's mind insisted on calling an Oriental style. (That is to say that it all looked very Hollywood Disney. Leonardo was still waiting on the first musical montage.)

The resigned sigh that escaped Leonardo's control felt like it was torn from the depths of his tormented soul.

"I'm not going to be able to pass as one of their males." Admitting the truth out loud helped him come to terms with it. Mournful, Leonardo looked at a woman carrying an infant. Even most of the women Leonardo could see were both larger and sharper than he was. Red-eared sliders just did not have the armament of, say, a snapping turtle. Titian and the other boys had enough spiky bits to be acceptably male for their ages. Leonardo, however, lacked any genetic tampering meant to make him into a scarier-than-nature-intended war machine. It looked like Venus was going to get her way after all. Leonardo sighed again, already hearing the teasing from his brothers. Grumbling, Leonardo crept through the shadows to gather enough clothing in the local native styles to pass muster.

/.../

"You know something?" Leonardo examined himself critically in the mirror. "Mikey may be the pretty one, but I don't clean up too badly, now do I?"

"I think you're beautiful, Mama." Venus buried herself against Leonardo's skirts, beaming up at the larger turtle. Leonardo could not help but smile back. The simple, excited joy Venus took in her new clothes (clothes that fit her properly without alterations!) was heart warming, and reminded Leonardo not to get too absorbed in his self-piteous brooding.

"Mama's the prettiest." Masaccio declared after taking a good look at his genetic source.

"Thank you, Masa." Leonardo was startled into laughter. The boy looked so very pleased with himself. "Now then, shall we go exploring?"

"Yeah!" Taking Titian's hand in his own, Leonardo followed after the rest of his stampeding brood. Honestly, why had he even bothered to ask?

As they wandered, Leonardo recalled Retkon's throwaway comment amount about matching the children's ages to Leonardo's own temporal signature. It was the only explanation the adult turtle had for why the infant snapping turtle was maturing so rapidly. Already Titian was older than the quadruplet's, and was quickly catching up to Venus. The doppelganger's of his family Leonardo had confronted in the reality he had taken Titian from had been young, now that he thought about it. At least several years younger than Leonardo was now. Judging by the estimated age gap, Titian would stop once he was of an age with Venus. Poor Botticelli would remain the baby of the family for a while yet, it seemed.

/.../

"Mama?" Botticelli tugged on Leonardo's skirts, copper eyes huge in his face. "Why're they shouting?"

"Hmm?" Leonardo narrowed his eyes at the disturbance taking place across the street. "Venus, hold your brother for me please."

"Yes, Mama." The little girl took a hold of Titian's hand with wide eyes, and Leonardo paused to pat her head and give Venus a comforting smile.

This world's civilization level and social structure, at least in the area where Leonardo had been so unceremoniously dropped, was a curious mix of pre-Christianity Roman Empire and Feudal Japan. Leonardo had seen enough of the place to understand the basics of their social dynamics. That was his strength, the reason why Leonardo was chosen as Leader over his brothers, why he was picked to be the next head of their little clan. His brothers thought of battle and glory and honour... while Leonardo knew that their very lives were none of those things. The way of the ninja was a shadowed path, one more dark than light. Their very existence was an accident, a mistake... and the world was not forgiving of mistakes. There was no glory in their lives, for the ninja was one with the shadows. They were the blade that cut throats unseen and vanished into the void as the blood spilled. Unlike his honest, forthright brothers... Leonardo understood misdirection. Subtly. The proper application of selective truth.

This all led up to this particular moment in time. Leonardo knew how his brothers would handle this. These sorts of situations cropped up so often they might as well be scripted, but for once Leonardo was alone for a rescue-the-random-stranger escapade. There was no Raphael (who would no doubt have refused to wear women's clothing, making himself stand out even more than his temper did) to charge in head first. There was no Michelangelo to cause further confusion (by failing horribly in his attempts to flirt with the aggressors. Or worse, succeeding.) There was no Donatello to wander in his rasher brother's wakes with absentminded cheerfulness and a shrug. (The genius claimed to be trying to contain the damage, but Leonardo knew his brothers. Donatello was an instigator of the highest order, the lying little sneak.) There was just Leonardo, and his own judgement, and understanding, and skills.

If some of those skills came from reading the books Splinter lent April for study, or from Karai's rare stories regarding her kunoichi training, or from making nice with Chizu when he visited Usagi, who would know? Certainly not Leonardo's rowdy, toy obsessed brothers.

Smiling gently, Leonardo swiftly catalogued the situation. A group of seven men, their shells all dyed in the same colours. Leonardo had yet to discover if the dyes were something similar to Yakuza tattoos or badges of office or family heraldry or if the local lords also ran the gang syndicates. As warlords it would make sense, but Leonardo had long since learned not to assume anything about an alien populace. The presumed leader of the men was harassing a young girl. From Leonardo's observations and gut instinct, her proportions placed her on the cusp of puberty. Old enough to understand the meaning of the men's coarse jokes, but far too young to be subject to that sort of attention.

Still smiling, Leonardo stepped into the fray.

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So Leo has feels about universally common social conventions. Which is... a thing. That happened. I have no idea how, but Leo wanted me to bring it up. Apparently fashion gives him thinky feels. Who knew?