It had been...some time since he had last paid a visit to the raven-haired woman with the violet eyes and that decidedly acidic tongue. Matteo's gaze lingered upon his bare feet at the very thought, the dark lines of that tattoo that edged its way across them both so inspiring that vague hint of a simper to his features at that very memory. How intriguing a being she had been. For all her bravado and confidence and vocal repertoire of sarcastic weaponry she had been, beneath it all, a decidedly good being- of that he held little doubt. Two thousand years of life so rarely leading him astray when it came to the judgement of others. There was little he had not seen in others and within Harley their had been something....worthwhile. If only Risque could so be prevented from destroying it as she destroyed all else in her wake. Surely harley was strong enough, as Aiden was strong enough, such a loss it would be were it to prove otherwise. How much the world would suffer the loss of that violet eyed woman even if the world so hardly knew it yet. Such destiny Harley had- if only she were bold enough to seek it when life had already sought to bring her down time and time again. How terribly...unjust fate was. Why was it that those with the brightest of futures so seemed fated to suffer the hardest roads to achieve them?

How very much fate had to answer for. Perhaps, if there was a heaven, if there was a god- and one day he held the fortune of meeting such a being he might take it upon himself to query fate, destiny, future and all those intricacies that surrounded it. Perhaps he would demand to know why so many beings in his life had fallen victim to it no matter how he had tried to protect them and why- out of every being on this earth he had been so cursed with the gifts he had. To see horror after horror. To know of every death and tragedy of the world, to see those futures good and bad. To know of them, to warn of them, to change them if he could and yet more often than not simply be forced to helplessly watch them unfold as if another above so enjoyed tugging upon the puppet strings of his existence. How often had he considered his own place in this world? Was he truly a hero or indeed a villian? How he disliked such thoughts.

Matteo lay easily back upon that white sofa then, one leg draping down to brush against the plush carpet of the floor, that book left to balance on his chest as his free hand lowered to stroke the fur of Herberts head in idle consideration. There was much to be done today. He had seen those futures collide. Aiden and Harley entangling upon each others paths as fate had foretold. That very collison perhaps thrusting himself into the outskirts of harleys life if only through her collison with Aiden in turn and yet, if there was hope for the girl still, if she had handled that transformation well then, perhaps, he could help her all the more. If only to steal another victory from that vampire womans grasp even if she hardly knew it. Piecing back together Risques broken toys having become something of a pastime for him. His own penance perhaps, for having failed her so long ago to begin with. Still, his own son's involvement with the violet-eyed woman, more than anything else, prompted his desire to watch over her in a fashion. That- and her intriguing personality. Matteo, for the first time in a long time, intrigued in harley if only because she was intriguing to begin with. The manner in which he and left her last still prompting that simper to his features. Had she come to understand his words since they last met? Surely it was time to see.

The Frenchman rose easily from that sofa then, Herbert, that faithful Corgi, rising in turn at the prospect of a walk. Matteo's features softening decidedly as his hand lowers to caress the loyal creatures ear, those french lyrics offered softly to the creature then in assurance that he could surely not accompany him this time but, later this evening, he so promised to take him out all the same. The near ancient Fae strode easily through that lavish chateau then and up to his own room in search of a pair of shoes to so accompany those jeans and shirt that appeared nothing short of comically casual for the emissary of fate itself. That crucifix at his neck tucked beneath that shirt as it always was before his hand ran through his dark hair to arrange those locks into something presentable. That affinity so easily ensnared his lithe, toned figure then. That fabric of time and space parting at his command to rearrange him within another location entirely. Matteo peering around that decidedly small living room and kitchen combination he knew to be Harley's home. How very modern it was to combine kitchen, dining and living room all at once. People so long ago having traded space for convenience. Yet that home was warm all the same. Those soft sounds that came from the bedroom then assured him Harley was at the far end of the house.

Matteo's attention shifted to that dining room table and the meal that appeared to have, only moments ago, been placed up it. The Frenchman wandering toward that small table then to pick up that plate and eye that meal with a clear curiosity of sorts. His features frowning ever so slightly. Harley perhaps not the type inclined to cooking if that meal was anything to judge by- a fork so appearing within his hand then. The Frenchman neatly stabbed a small piece of roasted potato. Matteo lifting it to his lips to nibble upon within the same moment. That frown only deepening now before the sound of footsteps so saw his silvered gaze glance upward to meet the violet of the woman's own as she stood within her bedroom door. That ready simper so adorning his lips as if near on cue.

"Ah, Mon Cherie, it pains me to say it, but your potatoes- they are not filled with flavour and joy, no. They are made of sadness and blandness. Still, you need not have made me dinner."

How readily those words were designed to tease at her. That near impish grin only furthered upon his lips as his gaze lingered near daringly upon her. It had been several weeks since he had last left that woman within her tattoo parlour- how very curious he was to see just how his return might be received once more. That plate remained balanced within his right hand, that fork within his left as Matteo so moved to slowly and deliberately stab another potato. There was much to be said this very evening and yet, the Frenchman, it seemed, was hardly inclined to rush. His gaze meeting that striking violet off her own a final time, his features softening just so into a look far less impish and far more inclined to a more genuine care- even if she was not yet ready to receive such a thing from him. That questioned so offered all the same. He knew, after all, just what she had been through.

"How are you?"


m a t t e o
it's tough to be a god