i used to rule the world

seas would rise when i gave the word

It was not often, within this era, that Alexander was called upon to take up his sword and the mantle of his species. His investment within the call of the Dark Hunters waned and waxed like the moon, drifting with his own fickle interests throughout the multitude of years he simply continued to survive though. His present involvement within the Cavalry was, admittedly, the greatest interest he had taken within his organization for several centuries - it only seemed fitting, perhaps, that he too might be requested to return to those days spent fleeing through cobblestone streets hunting the creatures of the undead. For Matteo alone, he never once hesitated to dive into the very depths of hell. Where ever the fae's red-hued visions led them, Alexander had long ago made it his own personal duty to ensure that they returned relatively unscathed. Tonight was certainly no different, despite the concern that still tugged within the depths of the Conquerer's heart for the far younger Frenchman's welfare. Their own relationship had long ago shifted from that mentoring rapport they had once held to something far more akin to old comrades and dear friends and yet...on occasion, those paternal instincts roared to life within his still beating heart. He spoke not a word of it, however, resorting to that demeanor of stoic disagreeableness he was so often associated with. That naturally innate charisma, after all, was hidden perhaps as much as his own feelings were so often buried.

For now, Alexander was content to focus upon the brick facade of the building before him as they crossed those dimly lit streets. His gaze traced every facet of the bar's exterior, though whatever the Dark Hunter saw, he kept to himself as he declared the tavern permissible. He listened as Matteo reuttered that plan they had once used time and time again, even despite Alexander's blatant dislike for utilizing the fae's blood for bait for such hellion leaches and yet, it had always proved to be...effective. A soft snort left Alexander's nose, even as he informed his companion he had every intention of capturing the creature alive unless it proved too unwieldy. His eyes rolled at Matteo's insistence that he, of all beings, might age from worry and yet, it was the fae's admittance that the world could, perhaps, be a better place with one less vampire that caused him to mutter in agreement. "No, it would not." His eyes slowly turned back towards the bar at Matteo's gesture of the Irish Tavern and yet, the man voiced little more than a singular word in an utterance of his thought on the place. It was almost peculiar really, just how charming the bar was. Although there certainly existed far more....tame members of the undead race, they were quite a rarity within Alexander's experience. Most establishments owned by vampires were rarely as...family friendly as this, or, if they were then they were primarily a front for other nefarious desires.

It was with a soft sigh upon his lips, and a roll to his eyes, that Alexander was left with his fae lieutenant's retreating figure into the very darkness of the alleyway. He was quite certain that this hardly compared to the true depths of the pair of ancient's glory days and yet, he had little need to point out such a truth to Matteo. This was, perhaps, unbefitting of the great Alexander of Macedonia, and yet, here he was all the same. The Dark Hunter took up his own position at the very entrance of the alleyway, just out of view of the fae and whomever he happened to coax into the depth of the passageway. He allowed his own senses to spread as Alexander leaned against the brick face of the building. His eyes fluttered closed as he simply focused upon what those heightened instincts could feel - the loss of one so clearly assisting in the expansion of the others. Those ten minutes took far longer then Alexander would have liked and yet, the Hunter, at least outwardly, seemed the very epitome of placidity. It was only the sudden creeping sensation that caused his blue-green gaze to flicker open with the very knowledge of the closeness of a member of the undead. A frown crossed his lips as he shifted closer towards the edge of the building even though he was forced to wait longer still. It was the sound of the Frenchman's voice that caused Alexander to move, the Dark Hunter altogether swift within his own moments when the need arose.

He was, admittedly, nothing short of thankful for that shift within positions, Matteo nothing but helpful as he gave Alexander the Vampire's back. His own kind were, perhaps, the only ones capable of successfully grappling with the undead race and yet, even so, a certain level of precision was required to ensure those fangs failed to touch his own skin. His arm snaked forward to hook under the vampire's chin. His own strength pulled back and upwards with the intention to press against the creature's windpipe. Although air hardly mattered to the undead his intention was to keep the vampire's fangs from him as his foot struck out for the vampire's knee, the Hunter all but intending to put the creature on his knees if only for the better control it gave him over the man. Alexander paused for mere moments, his head tilted to the side before a scowl crossed his features. His hand reached out, that dagger materializing within his fingertips - it's very point made of plastic. "Bien sûr, vous en choisiriez un difficile." (Of course you would pick a difficult one.) He muttered to Matteo, hardly bothering to voice just what his own affinity had picked up on to prompt a peculiar choice of weapon from the Dark Hunter.