Matteo

It's tough to be a god

The pretty, slender young woman lent easily upon the polished bar surface between them. Matteo was inclined to consider for what was hardly the first time that Tetradore truly had chosen an attractive partner. The hispanic woman's nature, in turn, seemed to reflect her same outward beauty as she so quickly insisted she did not blame Tetradore for the meeting with her family and how it had gone. Rather, she merely wished it could be under different circumstances even if she hardly regretted it all the same. Matteo allowed one eye to lift softly, the Frenchman seemingly taken by surprise at her response and yet,for now at least, he saw little need to comment further upon it. Matteo, instead, merely allowed a soft chuckle to hum within his throat as he regarded the young woman before him.

"Ah, Mon Cherie, I think if given the chance Aidun would never have introduced us- but I know that he does not regret it. Even if he says otherwise."

That near-knowing simper seemed to linger upon the Frenchmans features once more before Mira continued. The Hispanic woman lamenting that life so rarely went to plan and that, perhaps, it was merely better to accept it. Ah, but if only she knew of those plans that existed, penned by fate's own hand and yet, with equal passion, erased and altered with Fate's fickleness for such things over and over. How very...peaceful it must be to be so very oblivious of such scriptures. To merely be left to accept rather than face an ever-changing novel of the lives of those around her. Matteo so momentarily considered, as he had done a thousand times before, why he alone seemed destined to...suffer that very affliction. To be privy to fates very plans- only to watch them change over and over again. Hmmm. Perhaps he truly had been....monstrous in a former life. If such things existed. The near ancient Fae, for now, hardly allowed his mind to linger upon such a topic. Such things were best debated with Alexander and copious amounts of wine. Indeed, now was perhaps a better time to speak more of his son. Matteo inclined to offer that near fleeting...insight into Tetradore's disdain for smalltalk, crowds and his seeming impatience for others. It was, after all, so hardly lost upon the Frenchman that his son was, perhaps, not the most....welcoming of people. Tetradore had, over time, built those metaphorical walls so high that few even dared to attempt to climb them. Most chased away at the mere presence of such walls or the stinging words and sharpened glares that often guarded them.

Ah, but how much more there was to be said upon such a topic and yet-how certain Matteo was that such a thing was not his story to tell. At least, no more than need be said to assure Mira understood that Tetradore required ... .patience. More so than any other. That he was, perhaps, not so entirely to blame for the way in which he viewed the world or the cold-shoulder he so often presented. Matteo, in that moment, so attempted some measure of reassurance for the woman that the Were King did care. Even if he so vehemently attempted to deny it. It did no harm, the Frenchman was certain, for Mira to know of that very care. Even if it did not come from Tetradore himself. The young woman listened near intently to his words, her head bobbing a moment later- followed by that very assurance that she did intend to be patient. Her words held a simple sincerity that prompted the Frenchmans own head to nod in soft agreement and yet- ah, she was perhaps ... .sharper then he had so given her credit for. Mira quickly queried just why he had chosen now to offer such words before that taint of worry seemed to find her own voice. Matteo, once more, allowed that warm simper to find his features.

"He is fine, Mon Cherie. He will be mad at me for meeting with you, but, ah, that is a problem for me. You know well that I am given to see the future, no?"

Tetradore, he knew, had spoken to the young Were about such things. Matteo's accented words parting his lips once more, his silver gaze flicking briefly to eye the gin that remained in his glass almost contemplatively.

"I can see ... .a great deal within your future, Mademoiselle Mira. There are a great many paths you might choose and yet several of those are entwined with Aidun's own. I am merely implying that those paths that meld with Aidun's are not always the easiest to walk but, ah, they may yet yield great reward. Patience is a grand virtue."

How distinctly aware the Frenchman was of just how very...crypti his words could be inclined to be and yet,how few knew of those rules he was bound to follow in turn when offering that very insight. That knowing and yet teasing simper found his lips once more before he raised his glass again to drain its contents. His silver gaze inclined to meet Mira's own again before, this time, offering that far more simple insistence that- when it came to his sons he simply ... .cared. The Frenchman perhaps equally willing to admit he was not displeased in Aiden's choice in Mira. Those very words seemed to prompt a smile to the woman's features in turn before she insisted that she was pleased, in turn, to be part of a family that cared. Even if that care came at a cost. One matteo was so often ill inclined to speak of. Just as Alexander had been before him. Ah- but perhaps such was life. Aiden, one day, perhaps, might yet understand it. Yet- how difficult it was proving for either of his sons to give him grandchildren. Such a topic prompted a slight frown to the Frenchmans features before he lent forward upon that bar once more. Matteo was inclined to shift the topic once more, as if to assure that veritable playing field would remain so entirely at his own whim. A look of seriousness quick to settle upon his eternally youthful features. It was perhaps....critical. That he knew of Mira's cooking and just what the woman intended to serve his son when it came to meals.

That look of utter bafflement upon the young girl's features so readily coaxed a chuckle from the Frenchman once more. His fae nature, it seemed, inclined to show itself even after so many years upon this earth. Mira, in turn, seemed to find amusement in that very thing before insisting her grandmother would take offense at the question.

"Oui, yes, the packet pasta. It comes in the box and one puts it within the microwave as if this is some form of cooking. Ah, it is a sin upon this earth. I know he hides it from me. He is still eating it isn't he?"

One eye rose deliberately upward, Matteo so clearly anticipating an answer from the woman on whether or not his son was continuing to eat that.....most unholy of foods. As if the supermarket could even come close to a proper, well-cooked meal.

"He tells me he eats it only because I do not cook for him enough. Ah, but now he has you for such things. You cannot let him eat the packet pasta, Mon Amie. This is most important. Aidun is very....fond of food. But his tastes are, how you say, specific."

Matteo's head nodded once more, his gaze shifting to Mira's own before the woman queried whether or not he was familiar with Brazilian cooking, that very suggestion prompting a snort from the Frenchman. As if such a question was an insult upon him. That amused simper, however, so hardly left his features.

"It has been a long time since anyone has asked me such a thing as that. Ah, but I assure you, I am familiar with all cooking. What else does one do with two thousand years of life?"

One eye rose upward once more, as if daring the woman to suggest his time might have been better spent upon other tasks before a singular wave if his hand prompted the abrupt appearance of a bowl upon that bat top. That hot, steaming dish within it so readily gave off the aroma of hearty, rich meat, black beans, rice and citrus. Feijoada. The national dish of Brazil and a scent so surely unmistakable to Mira herself. Matteo so inclined to abruptly offer the woman a fork in turn. That utensil appeared easily within his hand a moment later.

"I knew you would ask, Mon Cherie. I made it earlier."
A second fork appeared easily within the Frenchmans hand the moment Mira had taken her own, the Fae gently stabbing at that first piece of succulent, slowked meat before lifting it to his lips. Those unique and yet flavorsome Brazilian flavors are so distinctly pleasing. That dish was so assuredly perfect. Matteo waited only as long as it took the woman to sample it in turn.

"It is better than your Vovo's, no? Don't worry, I won't tell her you said it."

Ah, but how impish those very words. Mira's own earlier sentence turned neatly upon her with good humor as Matteo chuckled softly once more, reaching for another bite of that meal.

"Aidun knows well of good food and yet he has others make these...pack meals. Sacre bleu but it kills me. It is as I said before though. Aidun has.....specific tastes. Perhaps it is so I might be inclined to teach you how to make but one of his favored dishes to surprise him with, but, ah, i must first evaluate talent. If you have no talent at all for cooking I fear all might be lost."

Surely....she could not be any worse then Dorian.

"For what it is worth too, Mon Cherie, when you say Aidun it sounds like Aidun to me. My accent is not that heavy, I do not think.....is it?"