Matteo

It's tough to be a god

It was the very mention of Sacrosanct own resident Crusnik that seemed to inspire within his niece that very love of the hunt. How readily he could see that intrigue within her, that curiosity, and too- that fire that so found her gaze in much the same manner it was content to alight Alexanders when presented with a challenge. In this, it would seem, Father and daughter were much same. Else the Hunter breed in its entirety was given to relish that challenge of seeking out the worlds more obscure creature to eliminate. Anastasia's further queries upon that creature so prompted from the Frenchmans lips that accented assurance that while the Crusnik surely remained within veritably easy reach that company he kept might yet prove problematic in the aftermath of his death. Dorian and Sebastian after all, his own son and son-in-law, had befriended the creature and his girlfriend in turn. For Dorian to be told his own Anastasia had sought about the removal of his companion would cause little but grief for them all. The Italian monarch prone to distinct dramatics when the opportunity should present itself. Sebastian perhaps equally so. Anastasia so underestimating the irritation of an equally irritable Italian Royal Family. Yet- in a manner so alike her own Immortal Father she was quick to declare that she answered to nothing and no one. Ah, but how true such words were! That fiery passion so alighting the simper upon his own lips once more as they finished that tea.

"That, Mon Cher, I know all to well. You Father suffers the same affliction."

There was little save for tease imbued within those very words. Alexander, after all, was equally inclined to answer to no one save his own judgement. Matteo affording such thoughts the faintest of chuckles before his suggestion of that church saw the pair rise to make their way out onto the streets. That late afternoon sun so afforded a weakened warmth that struggled to bite through the cooler air that surrounded them, Matteo so offering his niece his arm in that moment before tucking his hands into his coat pockets to spare them the cold. Yet, despite that cooler weather, those streets were pleasant. Calm. The world itself so seemingly at ease as if in the wake of a soothing sigh. It so hardly took long to reach that street they desired. The golden domes of the Church rising to meet the bright blue of the sky above. That very lack of cloud surely attesting to the cool air below. The pair were notably quiet and yet Matteo had long since known of those memories that tugged at his nieces mind. Her thoughts, in this moment, far from him and the world around her. Matteo seeing no need to pull her from that revirer of memory as he so silently continued to act as her guide and steer her toward that Church entrance to fulfil that tradition long since held of alighting those candles in her family name.

Their arrival at those church steps seemed to prompt a return to the present for the woman at his arm. Anastasia insisting she would be but a moment. Matteo affording her that simple nod of agreement before releasing her gently to the embrace of that church. The Frenchman so merely choosing to wait at the doors that afforded him view of both the dimly lit Church interior and the bright street outside. He was so hardly of that Russian Orthodox faith. Matteo long since having followed the teaching of Catholicism and yet he could not deny the beauty of that Church with its carvings and statues and roof of gilded gold. The Frenchman so eternally finding a peace of sorts in those religious places. No matter the religion. Alexander so eternally having failed to perceive his pleasure in them. Religion a singular and potent point upon where the two men had differed starkly. Each had been nothing but tolerant with the other. Alexander so finding his belief in Christ to be a ludicrous waste of time in near the same fashion Matteo was assured Alexanders belief that he himself was descended from a God no less was but the worship of a false idol and yet- Alexander had willfully accepted that role as Dorian's Godfather and attended that ceremony. Matteo in turn having assisted Alexander far more than once in those sacrifices and ceremonies to his own Gods. Tolerance and understanding so deeply ingrained within their friendship.

It is near sudden, like the strike of a bolt of lightning to his very mind. The force of that vision near blinding in its insistence to be seen. Matteo so rarely afflicted by such commanding futures. The man more than capable, in most instances, of seeing only what and whom he desired and yet such insistence, on occasion, so struck him with violent intent when that future so encased those close to him in both the physical and emotional sense. That vision demanding to be seen as it danced behind his red-tainted gaze. Matteo so hardly required to see that vision in its entirety before his feet so pivoted upon those concrete stairs to carry him into that church and in pursuit of his niece. His footsteps echoed in that empty space that seemed near ominous now. How well he knew that man whom lingered like darkness itself in that vision to cast shadow over Anastasia. The Frenchman near desperate to find her now before he did. That warning upon his lips and within his voice.

"Ana! We need to leave-."

His own accented lyrics echoed through that space in near the same moment the light from those candles evaporated into darkness. That distinctly un-holy cuss falling from his lips in his native French. How readily those dual swords so appeared at his back, summoned into existence by his affinites reach. Though they had lain dormant within his armory in Chambord for more years then he could count their was a certain....rightness to feeling their weight behind him once more. Matteo one of the last duel wielders of such blades so left upon this earth. The Frenchman made no move to draw either just yet as he so reached the base of that dias now plunged into darkness. Matteo halted only by Rasputin's sheer proximity to Anastasia then. Whether the man held a weapon he could hardly tell and yet, for now, he sought not to provoke the the man into action lest his niece suffer as his casualty. Matteo's narrowed silver gaze so readily finding Rasputin then. His eyes so hardly leaving the man despite those words so directing themselves to Anastasia alone.

"Ana, I think it is time we took our leave."