How very oblivious he was, in those moments, to the worry that turned within his age-old companion for himself and those very riots that had all but overtaken his beloved city of late. Matteo knew, without question, of Alexander's care for him and yet it was decidedly rare for either man to directly voice that love for one another both knew existed without any need for acknowledgement. That Alexander might still worry for him, that those fatherly instincts still stirred, after all those years, was nothing short of endearing and yet the Frenchman had so hardly considered his companion's quiet demeanor this evening was the result of those turning thoughts. Rather, Alexander was often off a disagreeable nature, the mans decided grumpiness so hardly new in any sense. Matteo so readily presuming that mood of sorts was the result of being coaxed from the warmth of his cafe and forced to perform some actual form of work beyond commanding a coffee machine. Ah, but how he enjoyed to tease his companion so! That promise of a movie night, in the least, perhaps his manner of so attempting to make up for forcing Alexander to trudge those dreary, cold streets so late in the evening. In the least that destination was hardly far. The pair crossing the road toward it but a few moments later, that very plan uttered once more even despite the fact it was a plan they had used far more than once in their terribly long lives. It had been rather a long time since they had last hunted a vampire. Matteo content to remind Alexander that their prey tonight was so required to believe alive...metaphorically. That soft snort from the Hunter hardly unanticipated as Alexander so assured him he would keep their captive alive- unless things got out of hand. Matteo offering that simple nod.

"You worry to much, it is not good for you- it will make you age you know? But if it gets out of hand then I will not stop you ending the creature. The world will not suffer from one less vampire."

How displeased Dorian would be to hear him offer such a sentence and yet those words held little save for truth. Matteo so hardly desiring to murder any creature this evening and yet he would sooner take the life of a vampire then risk Alexander's or his own. The Frenchman, for all his efforts to preserve the lives of those he cared for was so hardly above the destruction of another if it became a necessity. The pair of ancients so paused outside that bar then, Matteo's hand waving loosely towards it with that query on just what Alexander thought of the oddly irish-themed establishment that seemed almost...family friendly in turn. That very view providing them both that chance to assess the layout. Alexander's assessment of 'quaint' prompting that so chuckle from within him then before he gestured toward that alleyway. It was rare, in every sense, for the age-old Hunter to relinquish that leadership to his Fae lieutenant and yet this very experiment of sorts was Matteo's own- those roles effortlessly shifted with little need for conversation. That plan so understood even despite the roll of Alexander's eyes he was offered at both the insistence of his heroics and that back alley vampire hunting was, by any mean, representative of their glory days when they had, once, near ruled the world and commanded thousands upon thousands of men in battles and sieges the world still talked off today. Perhaps this was a step down.

Still, that very simper so lingered upon the Frenchman's features as he made his way into that alley at the back of Red On The Water. It was a simple matter to appear lost, disorientated and vulnerable. The Fae so presenting himself as an easy target. That smooth cut made to his own hand readily prompting that flow of blood to the surface, spreading that intoxicating scent far and wide. Fae blood, more often than note, a siren of sorts for anything vampiric. Fae blood as old as his own even more so. Matteo's silver gaze glanced but briefly back down that alleyway to assure himself of Alexander's position, this a routine they both knew well. Those accented lyrics parting his lips then as he bemoaned his injured hand and so pretended his attention was upon that injury alone, his gaze downcast to prevent that red tinge to his eyes so being seen and giving away his use of that ability to peer into the immediate future. Matteo so barely having to wait more then ten minutes before that vampire so crossed his path. How readily he pressed that affinity to another level, that power focused entirely upon himself and his immediate future, one that so allowed him to track those vampires movements to the building he lent against and the guttering directly above him. Hmmm. Smart. This vampire clearly not in the mood to waste time. This one focused on that desire to feed and nothing else. Matteo merely continuing to wait until that last possible moment. Alexander undoubtedly already aware of the vampires appearance and preparing himself in turn. Matteo foreseeing that leap a mere second before it occurred. That gift for teleportation seizing him in the same moment. His figure disappearing only to reappear a foot or so away. Damon landing squarely upon the empty ground instead.

"You are unusually fast."

He needed that vampires attention to remain squarely upon him and not Alexander. That blood-lust, surely, enough to keep his focus and yet one could never be to certain. Matteo's gaze overtaken entirely by the red hue now. His own affinity in full effect as he readied himself for Damon's next lunge. Matteo teleporting once more to land behind him this time.

"Ah, mais ne pouvons-nous pas en parler comme d'un gentleman?" (Ah, can we not discuss this like, gentleman?)

That hand that reached for him once more so prompted Matteo to sidestep, to duck, to step back or dodge away with each new assault. The Fae so infuriatingly aiming to stay just out of Damon's reach every time, tempting that vampire with his closeness and scent, allowing him to believe he might capture him at any moment and so affording Alexander every chance to make his own assault. Matteo fixated on Damon alone in that moment, the Frenchman unwilling to allow either the vampires hands or fangs to grasp him nor to underestimate the speed and precision with which an irritated, hungry vampire was capable of striking.


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