That near secretive glance stolen between the blushing young woman and that emerald eyed Alpha was hardly missed by the near ancient Fae. Matteo nearly assured such a look was entirely exchanged over himself and yet he so hardly concerned himself with commenting upon it for now. The Frenchman content to find amusement in the pair's shared opinion off him as he continued to lean atop that polished bar surface and query the girl upon her very reasons for traipsing into their company tonight. He knew already just how and why she had come to be here this evening and yet he sought to coax those very words from her all the same. That conversation so simply designed to prompt that confidence for Arya in turn and draw her away from that very shyness and youthful innocence that saw her cheeks catch afire at his own gentle, teasing words. Those very riddles of sorts that befell his own lips in some indication of just what he had seen dancing upon the preiherpy of the girls future seemed to draw from her that very admittance that her job was the source of her stress. Matteo hardly missing that pointed glance Aiden offered him and yet he chose not to indulge such a look for now. Ah, but how well Aiden knew him! Arya insisted then that her meeting the pair of them, rather then that strike to the cheek, had assisted in relieving much of the concern off her mind. Matteo allowed that simper to find his lips once more in response, his head dipped in that faux, teasing bow of sorts. The Frenchman a near eternally jovial creature prone to tease in the very nature his species was so famed for.

"It is off great consolation. Tet and myself do so strive to rescue pretty damsels in distress as often as we can."

His own silvered gaze returned to Aiden once more, the panther continuing to press that ice to the woman's cheek despite his own teasing. How many nights had they spent like this? Finding one girl or another for Aiden to practice those words upon while Matteo watched over or coaxed her into laughing? For all the other man so chose to deny it, Aiden was decidedly good at attracting women. They were, more often the not, drawn to his softly spoken manner and confident, if not quiet words and handsome features. Women would forever be allured by mystery and yet within that very mystery that surrounded Aiden so to existed those very reasons that prevented his adoptive son from ever progressing terribly far within those relationships in turn. No matter how much the Fae so desired it for him. Matteo had known, just as they both had surely known, those nights spent flirting with those woman would never go terribly far and yet he would not change but an hour of that time they had spent in Aiden's youth so exchanging those very words one should offer a girl, or practising that gentlemanly manner that had once flourished in his own time and remained so rare in men today. He had enjoyed that time spent together as friends- he still enjoyed it now. Thoroughly so.

That conversation shifted but briefly to those matters of paperwork, Aiden appearing unconvinced by that very reason behind his visit this evening and yet Matteo so enjoyed doing what was least expected of him. He had lived well over two thousand years, the world had become predictable in some aspects, a part of the Fae content to shift that veritable balance by choosing those more obscure paths if only to baffle those around him. His hand reached effortlessly beneath that bar to let that small stack of paper fall atop it, Aiden eyeing that work in the same manner the man often tended to eye any sort of work before reluctantly agreeing to sign it later lest Matteo be forced to wake him for it. That, it seemed, was enough to allow the Frenchman to shift away from the topic at work, his form lifted to sit idly upon the bar itself in that near picture of relaxation as he commented upon those sleeping patterns Aiden and Arya so apparently seemed to share. Fancy that. The near threat to have that ice thrown at him however prompted little more than the very sort of look that near dared Aiden to do just that. Arya, perhaps fortunately, choosing that moment to offer that information upon her very species. Matteo affording her a look of near genuine curiosity in that moment.

"Some call them mermaids too, or so I have heard. I like both Ireland and Scotland, they are places rich in myth and legends. You will like it, when you visit. There are places of power, old places, that still exist there."

Those accented words were offered softly all the same, his head tilted slightly as if considering some far off thought he hardly choose to voice before Matteo shifted that conversation again to her fortune in finding the west side of the city with its beaches and fish and Alpha's with terribly sexy eyes. The Frenchman well aware in this he had surely pushed his luck to far, that bag of ice pelted at him a moment later to collide with his shoulder. That one he had perhaps deserved. Matteo making some effort to sweep that patch of wet left behind on his shirt as he eyed it critically

"Sacrebleu! That is cold, you devil."

His speech in those moments, tending to become all the more french and yet still that amusement lingered within the words as Arya shyly admitted those eyes were indeed good things. Aiden taking the opportunity to pout in his preferred position with arms crossed over his chest. Ah, but how much he reminded Matteo of that thirteen year old boy whom had once faced him with that very pout on a nearly daily basis during those troubling teenage years! Some things, it seemed, did not change. That very offer off food so prompting that same reaction it always had. Aiden near demanding that favoured food before all but marching to the kitchen as Arya's stomach gave way to her equally unfulfilled predicament. The Frenchman slid easily from the the bar top then, one hand offered neatly to the young woman in a gesture that was simple habit for the Fae. Matteo content to take her hand gently in his own once more and near effortlessly guide her between those chairs the staff were beginning to pack away, the man releasing it smoothly once they reached that doorway to the kitchen. Arya very near assured no one would believe her tale, that rare look of mischievousness flickering upon Aiden's own features as he turned, a look Matteo readily reflected back in turn as he chuckled.

"Ah, I fear Tet is right, this Mon Cherie Arya, is tame. Do you know, I remember few nights as fondly as I remembered your twenty first birthday, Tet? And frankly I don't think I remember all of that either. I remember the bouncy castle at two in the morning and the woman with the hose though. If I recall correctly I was due to give a speech at the opening ceremony for the International Climate Council in Montreal the next day- I very nearly missed it, I had your shirt on, I was hungover and the camera crews were instructed not to show my full body on the television because I only had one shoe."

Those words were offered to Aiden alone then, that near sheepish grin having found Matteo's features even despite that memory. Aiden had found that very footage on youtube the next day. That one of the few times Matteo could remember Aiden laughing till he had nearly cried at the sight of the Frenchman barely able to stand, barely dressed and attempting to fumble his way through a speech he barely remembered writing. Still, how fondly he looked back at it now. The near ancient Fae made his way further into that kitchen then, leaving Aiden and Arya to make themselves comfortable on those stools that surrounded the counter as he knelt beside the nearest cupboard in search of those ingredients he desired, the man pulling a packet of pasta from within only to eye it with no small measure of disdain. Matteo turning towards the pair of Were's then, that pasta in hand.

"Cela je ne peux pas tolérer. Qu'est-ce que c'est? Ce n'est pas de la nourriture! C'est une insulte à la nourriture!"

Those French lyrics fell hurriedly from his lips, Matteo gesturing at that packet pasta once more with clear disdain before marching over the nearest bin only to toss it in. Such food was an insult to food! Of that he was near assured. The Fae hardly caring whether or not his companions had understood those words, the tone alone had surely portrayed his feelings upon that packeted pasta. Matteo strode back across that kitchen once more, a mixing bowl placed upon that table before the Frenchman begun to add those other ingredients so required to make that pasta himself, his hands smoothly and efficiently beginning to knead that dough he had created with a clear satisfaction and the proficiency of one whom had done such a thing countless times before. Matteo skills with food known only by a select few. The man working in silence for several moments before glancing up toward Arya once more.

"Tell me, Arya. Did you come to this city with your pack, Mon Cherie? Tet, where do you keep the rolling pin in here?"

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