For a woman so fierce to those she deemed foolish, she seemed equally as inclined to disregard those very compliments with the same guarded determination. She knew well off her own nature it seemed. Else perhaps she had been told of it so many times by so many men that she had come to wear that very attitude as both shield and bag of honour all at once. It was a glorious thing to meet a woman so proud, so capable and indeed so terribly willing to indulge him within that precarious dance of words and yet too- how unfortunate she could not, or would not, see that compliment for its truth. The young woman wholly guarded as if she suspected some tease in his words or some game behind his very admittance she was not disappointing in any fashion. For how long had the world been so harsh to her that she had come to defend against all things? Until near any softness had fled from her entirely? It exists still, he was assured. Matteo long since having held a near distinct talent for so seeing the heart of those whom stood before him. Harleys own decidedly well armoured against the world and yet he held but every belief that at her very core she was a good person- even if the world had dealt her poor hand after poor hand. Her tenacity to survive impressive all on its own. Risque would not ruin this one. No. Not easily in the least. Harley so insisting he would think less of her were they within the same room long enough. That ready grin dancing upon his features all the same. Ah, but Risque was in for a truly difficult time with this one- and oh how it pleased him. How Harley pleased him in so many ways even if he could not speak of them so openly! The young woman insisting Cherie could hardly be the very best he could come up with. How simple that word and yet how easily it so seemed to rile her if only for her firm belief she was no darling.

"Would you prefer another language, les armoureux? I know a deal many of them, I am assured I might find something more pleasing to you in one of those."

How wicked a game to play when she would so surely know but few of those languages in turn. The Frenchman so evidently content to offer her but any manner of words, in any manner of languages at the very risk she would hardly understand them. Cherie, by comparison so surely not so very bad- and how well he knew it. Another soft chuckle so hummed softly from the depths off his throat as he eyed that dark-haired beauty in all her defiance. That very talk of those tattoos that so already adorned his skin prompting but some indication to his age. This, it seemed, so coaxing a genuine bafflement from his young companion as she so declared he was surely fucking with her. Ah, but such a choice of words! Matteo content to seize upon them with readiness. Harley, this time, meeting them with her own metaphorical checkmate in a move unanticipated even by Matteo himself. That very game so pushed to the veritable age in that singular moment as he assured her his words were so hardly what he would use and she dared to query at how he intended such things. That which lingered unspoken between them positively heavy with its promise and yet he had come so far in this game this afternoon, a game he was uninclined to lose and yet perhaps in all the world he had found another equally as uninclined to lose as she was to blush at his words like most did. Perhaps, one day, he might yet coax that very flush to her cheeks. The Frenchman sighing softly, in a fashion of amusement and yet as if in defeat, his gaze cast but briefly away from her in a singular moment of consideration before his silver eyes returned to the violet hue off her own. That impish simper tugging upon the edges of his lips once more.

"Ask it of me again, when we are finished here today, and if you desire- I will show you."

One eye so lifted once more- just what the near ancient Fae had so offered in that moment remaining to be seen. That very game thrown effortlessly back to Harley once more to see indeed how far she might incline herself to go in a sport neither seemed content to lose. Those stakes so inevitably raised. That conversation shifted to his species then. A species he so readily knew the woman before him held no knowledge off and yet he had long since come to accept that Fae lingered upon the veritable peripherals of this world. Their species so dangerously close to extinction itself. Most beings capable of living the entirety of their lives without meeting a Fae at all and yet one surely passed a handful of Were's and Warlocks and Vampires each day. How disheartening it was- to watch the end of his species after so many centuries and yet....perhaps it was the will of fate. Those grand parties his species had once held no more than memories and ghosts of time. Matteo quick to prevent such thoughts taking hold in his mind lest he dwell upon them. Harley so insisting a club surely existed for those vampires seemed to adore to feed upon before questioning just what held his taste in turn.

"Ah, Mon Cherie, we Fae are unlike any other species. We need neither food nor water at all. We have no need to eat though we often do simply for the enjoyment of the taste of food but it is not a necessity for us. We are immortal, but we are often considered the weakest of all the supernatural species. We posses no great strength or speed like the vampire or a Hunter, no power of the animal or ability to heal as a Were, no connection to the elements of earth like a Warlock. Our blood calls vampires like a siren song and yet- we are more stealthy than most and far more agile than any. Some of us have wings though I have no need of them. Weak though we may be in the eyes of others we often possess powers far greater than any of them may ever obtain- and yet, we are known not fo any of this- but as the tricksters of the world."

There was something near rueful in that simper that found his lips in that moment as if there was some irony to be found in those very words and yet that...sadness he found in the loss of his own species was nothing short of genuine. How long he had lived, the oldest off his kind, only to watch them all but fade into obscurity. Ah, but perhaps such is life. Perhaps, one day, the future might show something unexpected upon its horizon. Matteo so hardly one to linger upon any topic wholly displeasing in any fashion. That very mention of his sons so quick to return that amusement to his features, if only to be declared a DILF. That laughter that fell from him then a bright and genuine is it had ever been. He would tell Dorian and Aiden both off this- and Alexander too. Ah, but he still had it! That genuine delight he took within such a compliment prompting that readily ostentatious bow, Harley in turn letting that laugh ring from her lips in that moment of real and genuine amusement between them both. Such a pleasant laugh she had too- when it was real. His very idea for his newest tattoo, however, so seemed to ensnare the woman's curiosity. Matteo leaning back against that counter as he considered that query and so ascertained his own heterosexuality.

"Aside from the terribly joy I take in irritating my companion I possess a very keen....how you say.....ability for travel. There is nearly no country I have not visited before."

The world, in every sense, truly did linger at his feet and yet he so saw little need to detail those very affinities to the woman before him beyond that assurance he so surely held a passion for travel in the least. The Frenchman, here and now, far more content to turn that conversation toward cats- even if he knew she was near destined not to understand his warning or take any heed in it. She would understand, one day. His hand reaching to rest upon her own for just the barest of moments, prompting that pause within her- only for her to let her hand rest against his own and insist today was not her day to change her mind on cats or even, perhaps, to understand all he had said. One day. One day. Even if that understand would crash down upon her in the sort of fashion that might yet prompt something of an...explosion. If nothing else it might prove intriguing. Mateo content enough to return them both to that topic of tattoos before following the young woman toward that waiting chair before slipping free off his shoes and easily reclining himself within it. Her very jab about 'back pain' met with a veritable snort by way of response. Matteo declaring that canvas ready as her gaze lingered upon him once more in a fashion he was so hardly inclined to mind. The man equally content to merely watch the young woman as she worked. Her manner quick and precise and quite engaging. How intriguing it could be to so watch a woman work at her passion as she prepared those needed tools. Her very diligence so prompting his own query upon the French Revolution and the fashion in which she so reminded him of....someone he had once known so many years ago. Her apaprent education upon the topic so limited to parties....and cake. How....unique. Matteo so eyeing that razor she ran over his feet with care before those accented words found him;

"I fear that the entirety of the revolution cannot quite be blamed upon Maria Antionette or her cake and parties but it did see the overthrow of the Monarchy in the end, yes. On October 5th, in 1789, a single woman took up a drum and begun to beat it in the marketplace. When she had the attention of others she said she would be repressed no longer, she would allow no one to command her any longer and other women rallied to her side. She had soon gathered enough women that she led her war party to the Royal Armoury- ranscaked it and armed with weapons she and a crowd of thousands marched on the Palace of Versalias- agianst all odds she and her army made it to the King and presented their demands. She ran the King from his own palace and thus begun one of the first and most significant steps in the revolution. Do you know what her initial annoyance was? She was astronomically pissed off at the price of bread. She was told to be quiet. So she got a drum to make her demands louder. You would have done well in the French Revolution. You would have an enjoyed an age and time, I think, when women were bold."

Ah, but she would have enjoyed a good Palace siege he was assured. The very thought to prompting that touch of amusement once more as Harley opened that numbing cream to lather it against his feet before shifting to begin that sketch. Matteo already aware of just what it would look like, after all, he had already foreseen it. That compliment for it upon his lips all the same as she wiped away that cream and lay that transfer paper down, that near wicked grin she offered hardly missed. Matteo chuckling softly once more before peering again down towards his feet to consider that placement. His head offering that singular nod.

"That is quote fine. I am rather pleased your geography is superior to your French History, Mon Cherie."

Perhaps he should not dare to use such words when the very woman he offered them to was so about to put needle to flesh. Matteo declaring himself ready for her all the same as he leant back within that chair. Harley quick to rise to that occasion as always to declare such words music to her ears before so suddenly offering that candy.

"Yes, please."

Ah, but how he would not turn down such a treat! Matteo reaching easily for one of those suckers before leaning back in that chair once more to peel off the wrapping in a fashion near gleeful and slip it between his lips. Harley insisting they could well take a break if need be as she reached for those gloves and needle gun, the woman insisting she was an artist, not a masochist. Matteo grinning readily once more.

"That, Mon Cherie, is the first lie you have told me all day."

Those words were little more then tease all the same. The first touch of that needle perhaps not quite so bad as he had envisioned. Matteo content to enjoy the taste of that candy. That second touch and even the third more uncomfortable than truly painful in any sense. It was not until those fine neelds brushed over the bone that the first flicker of pain so managed to find his features. That....rather hurt.

"Ow."

That very sound was somewhat muttered around that sucker. Matteo frowning every so slightly and yet he so bid the woman continue all the same. His features frowning slightly once more as she continued, that pain steadily becoming more and more...notable. Yet- that amusement still managed to permeate all the same with that touch of tease.

"Your hands looked so very pleasant and yet I think they lied to me..."


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