Lost sight of the man in the mirror
Following a heart of a sinner
A title. Why would Matteo give him a title? Especially one so important as that passed from father to son - those rules that so banned Dorian himself from taking up such peerage as baffling to him as the meaning behind that very title that was apparently bestowed upon him. It was becoming apparently clear that there was far more to that adoption that Matteo had offered to him than the fae had originally let on, not that he terribly faulted the Frenchman for failing to go into those meticulous details. After all, he had, perhaps, not reacted in a manner the French fae surely deserved with such news and yet, Tetradore struggled to grasp those far more....intense emotions. More often than not, he preferred to simply push such feelings away, hiding under that mask of indifference whilst he so struggled to adjust to each and every feeling that assaulted him. It was that very lingering question, however, that so tugged potently at the Were-King's thoughts. Why? His lips pressed together ever so slightly and yet, before Tetradore could get lost in those tremulous seas of his own mind, Dorian's softly uttered assurance that such a title scarcely required anything of him caused his emerald irises to refocus upon the man in front of him.
The near flippant manner in which Tetradore regarded that conundrum of titles, however, seemed to wholly astonish his 'sibling' in turn. That look of inquisitive awe caused his eyebrows to furrow ever so slightly before Dorian shook his head, that small simper never once leaving the fae King's features. That compliment, if it could be called that, caused the corners of his lips to tilt downwards ever so slightly in a small glimpse of a frown though, frankly, he had little idea of how to even respond to such an announcement. His shoulders lifted in a vague shrug as Tetradore fell back to that silence he had always taken comfort within, the man more than willing to leave the matter of titles and names within Dorian's capable hands. After all, it meant far more in the fae's world than the depraved one Tetradore himself so lived within.
He was, admittedly, glad to see that conversation shift away from the far more....emotional topic to something more within his realm of comfort, even though Tetradore had been all but oblivious to the depth of his sibling's fascination with motorcycles. Carefully, the Hispanic man reached for the sketch pad he was presented with, his vibrant jade irises scanning over the pictures in front of him as Dorian recounted the tale that had come to those drawings creation in the first place. They were, admittedly, truly remarkable. The level of detail was nothing short of exquisite, more reminiscent of those technical drawings than any sort of free form art. His own softly uttered appreciation for his sibling's skill prompted a resplendent grin upon the Monarch's features, the very likes of which Tetradore was sure was unwarranted in his vague show of recognition. It was baffling to the Were-King that Dorian might take such pleasure from even the slightest glimpse of approval. Although he understood the boy's own past with his less than affectionate siblings, he hadn't completed grasped how strong that need for favor was in the near ancient fae. After all, Dorian had the fanfare of a whole country - what did it matter to him what Tetradore thought of any subject at all? They were hardly even truly family were they? Though, perhaps...family was far more...subjective than he had viewed it before - it was a notion that had, of late, begun to linger heavily upon the Were-King mind even if it was so accompanied with the guilt of replacing that family that had been all but stolen from him.
His emerald eyes slowly turned upwards as Dorian began to speak of the very importance of understanding the complexity of such mechanical works of wonder. He supposed he could understand just how...lost Dorian must feel - the world itself had surely changed time and time again in those six hundred years the fae had spent locked away behind his palace walls. To catch up must be...a daunting task. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in thought before Tetradore placed the sketchpad in front of him, the man flipping to those pages in the back Dorian had spoken of. "Let's see how good you really are..." He muttered under his breath as he twitched easily from those full drawings of the classic motorcycles instead towards those engines. For a moment, his gaze skirted over the image in a far more judging fashion, the Were-King flipping back and forth through several pages before deciding on exactly two that satisfied his needs.
"Do you see this right here?" He commented, pointing to the oval shaped container directly under the handlebars. "That's the fuel tank. For a motorcycle to run you need to put fuel in it right there. It's a mixture of gasoline and air." He flipped effortlessly back towards that engine Dorian himself had drawn, pointing towards the top of it. "This is a cylinder block, at the very top, inside of this there's a spark plug. When you turn the engine over...er...when you put the key in the engine and turn it, then a computer starts the spark plug to create sparks. These sparks light the fuel and create these tiny little explosions inside what's called the combustion chamber." His finger moved easily to the different parts of the engine as he spoke, the Were-King continuing without hesitation. "Inside this cylinder, there are pistons, the explosions from the spark plug cause these pistons to move up and down. As they move, they turn gears in the crankshaft over here, these gears use the transmission to turn this chain down here to bring energy to the rear wheel of the motorcycle. All motorcycles are all rear-wheel drive...it means that all the power that causes the motorcycle to go forward comes from the rear wheel. And that's...basically how a motorcycle engine works." His shoulders lifted in an almost vague shrug as he glanced down at the page in front of him. Although he had skipped some of the more intricate details, he had tried, all the same, to give Dorian that very knowledge that made him feel...apart of that modern world.
He leaned back into his seat, reaching for that warm mug of hot chocolate as he informed his sibling that such a motorcycle could surely be acquired in gold nonetheless. Tetradore watched as Dorian's silver hued irises seemed to widen in awe of the very idea. Firmly, the Alpha's head bobbed in agreement, after all, he'd seen the vinyl choices first hand when he'd sent his own Lamborghini to the shop - that blue car temporarily in the process of turning that sleek matte black that Dorian so viewed as a dull color. Nevertheless, Tetradore was almost peculiarly tender in his insistence that such a bike would surely have resulted in Dorian's own sibling's jealousy. Such a steed far more magnificent, in its own way, than any horse they might have ever owned, and far faster too. A small, subtle hint of a grin toyed with his features as Tetradore declared that said motorcycle would go best within Dorian's gigantic entrance hall - the bike surely a more exciting showpiece than the table and the array of flowers that currently occupied the center of the room. He fell silent as Dorian spoke almost wistfully of that motorcycle and all the things that he was simply not allowed to do even in spite of the crown that donned his head. It was, admittedly, a concept he understood well. Responsibility came with a price - the price of freedom. It was an issue that was so depressingly tangible for the Were-King, even if he said little in way of response. For now, Tetradore was willing to play the listening ear, an outlet, of sorts, for the heavy mind of a Monarch.
He watched as Dorian leaned back in his own seat, shaking his head ever so slightly before offering breakfast, an idea which sounded admittedly delightful. A single word of acceptance left the Were-King's lips, resulting in the immediate lifting of Dorian's hand. The very gesture was all but wordless and yet, somehow, his staff seemed to know exactly what the fae King desired. It was an effortless communication that, admittedly, Tetradore was almost in awe of. He hardly expected those trays upon trays of dishes that appeared in front of him - from sausages to eggs and pancakes. It was a veritable feast and definitely not what he expected on an airplane, especially after how entirely unimpressive his flight with Matteo to France had been. His own cup of hot chocolate was quickly abandoned with the prospect of coffee, those staff members all too quick to fulfill those drink orders before a young woman stepped at his side with an unfolded linen napkin in her hands. The sheer closeness of the woman was enough to cause Tetradore's strikingly vivid gaze upwards towards her, his eyebrow rising ever so slightly as he merely stared at the woman. His hand reached forward for that napkin, only for the woman to move that napkin out of his reach. Dorian's sudden insistence that the woman wished to put it in his lap, however, resulted in a soft disgruntled sigh from the Were-King, the man hardly liking such...doting. It was with a roll of his eyes and a slight pursing of his lips that Tetradore gave in, letting his arms lift ever so slightly just in time for the woman to drape that linen over his jeans.
His head shook ever so slightly and yet, Tetradore paid little heed to those foreign words as he reached for his own serving of pancakes and sausage. Tetradore was all but silent as he listened to Dorian inform him of the peculiarities of the fae body, though it was a fact he was already well aware of. After all, Risque had, on the occasion, been inclined to keep those fae alive for a continual source of their blood - their need not to eat altogether a benefit for a woman who had never been one to fret over providing a rounded diet. His gaze rose from that plate only at that almost playful tease upon Dorian's own lips. Slowly, his emerald eyes fell back to his own plate with a small shrug, "Weres have a high metabolism from shifting. It takes a lot of energy." He offered in some sort of vague explanation and yet, he saw little reason to expand upon the sheer amount of physical activity he engaged in - from the ring in the Ark to those evenings he spent fulfilling the whims of his Mistress. Rather, Tetradore was all too keen to cut into those fluffy pancakes, the syrup and butter altogether calling to the Hispanic man. He shoved that first bite of pancakes into his mouth as Dorian spoke, his irises fluttering upwards almost warily at the Italian at the declaration of 'important questions'. What?
Tetradore's eyebrow rose as he swallowed his bit of pancake, his fork working to gather another piece as Dorian inquired after his favorite color and season. He had only just lifted his fork with its precariously position piece of pancakes when his sibling inquired after a...boyfriend? For a moment, his emerald eyes turned up towards the man, staring at him as Dorian suggested that he was remarkably good looking. Good enough, apparently for not only Dorian to notice but too for Sebastian to consider. His own thoughts seemed to go strikingly blank at this very knowledge, the Were-King decidedly inattentive to his own food until that little bit of pancake fell back upon his plate and into that little puddle of syrup. The action alone drew his attention downwards towards his plate, seemingly breaking the man of his...sudden uncertainty of life in general. "Summer." It was the only word he offered as he stabbed his pancakes again, placing them into his mouth to chew. It was only after he swallowed that Tetradore added with some hint of hesitance. "I'm not...with anyone." Girlfriend, wife, boyfriend. He hardly had room for any sort of...significant other in his life, even though he had enjoyed...whatever it was he had with Mira more than he knew he should allow himself to do. He was supposed to keep himself free of those...connections. How far reality fell from those supposed tos.