How very long the meeting was taking. Matteo, long ago, having lost interest in the notion that worsening relationships between the French border with Luxembourg might be repaired with 'better communication' and a 'greater tolerance for the cultures of others'. The world had become far to....politically correct. Those petty arguments between farmers would be better sorted with each mand given either a sword- or a stiff drink to bond over. Instead they had delegated a task force to researching the problem- as if the problem was not clear enough to be seen! Ah, Sacrebleu but these people! This, he was certain, was why he continued to avoid these meetings as much as possible. For all those ministers had huffed about his not being present at the last meeting- not one had sought his opinion tonight all the same. He was here because they required his signature and nothing more. They already knew what his opinion would be upon this foolish waste of time. Hmm. Perhaps come the morning he would visit those warring provinces himself. If he could prevent the Battle of Toulouse from ever occurring he could surely prevent a veritable border war even if those Germans were unlikely, at first, to take well to his distinctly French presence. Surely he might win them over. How certain he was that he was a personable being. That vaguest hint of a simper so managed to find the Frenchmans lips at that very consideration and the notion that Alexander would surely have argued it before, at last, those ministers saw fit to present him with that piece of paper they had worked all day to draft and present before him in the most politically correct fashion they could manage.

Matteo's silver gaze drew downward to eye the paper upon his desk, those neatly printed words taken in quickly as his eyes scanned the page, the vaguest lift of a singular brow all the emotion he was content to display before his gaze drew upward once more to eye those expectant men around. Ah, but he could sense their trepidation from here! Each one of them fearing he would refuse to sign it and so send them back for hours upon hours of work and negotiation. A time frame, Matteo was certain, they had forced upon themselves with their inability to agree.

"It is not useful, but it is acceptable, I will sign it, oui."

Two of those ministers breathed ready sighs of relief. Both, after all, had long been subject the French Ambassadors.....curious personality. The pair entirely willing to merely accept that ready answer and free themselves from work for the evening. The third, however, was far younger than his counterparts. Indeed, today had been the first day Matteohimself had been introduced to the young new Minister for Farming Relations. Matteo inclined to wonder where the boy was even old enough to have any true farming experience and yet, if this was the way the party had voted he was hardly inclined to disagree. After all, the future would prove to them what the Frenchman already knew and had long since seen- the boy was a poor choice. For now, however, the near ancient Fae remained content to hear from him. What do you mean, Mr Deverux, that is not useful? This will see to it that we can have a task force research and attend to the border matters within weeks. Is that not useful? Matteo's own lips parted and yet those words hardly found his tongue as one of those older, far more experienced ministers turned readily to his counterpart as he held a pen toward Matteo to take in turn. Oh for heaven's sake, Louie! Do not ask him that! Don't ask him anything, we will be here all night if you do! No offense Matteo but god knows how I've learned about you over the years. A soft chuckle rose within the Frenchmans throat. He had known Victor for well over twenty years, neither man inclined to call the other a friend and yet both had come to acknowledge the others need to tell them exactly what they thought of one another. His hand reached for the pen then, his signature neatly added to the bottom of the page.

"It is not useful, Louie, because it will not achieve anything. No task force has ever solved a border war I assure you."
"I don't mean to offend you, Ambassador, but times have changed, men are far more willing to settle these matters with words then with guns"
"Perhaps I am offended..."
I...what?
"My feelings have been terribly hurt, so much so that I fear I must leave. Besides, I am now late for another meeting. One that I am certain will be better then this."
Don't you dare, Matteo! We aren't done! You haven't signed all the-

Victors voice shouted towards him then, Matteo so managing to afford the man a grin before that power for teleportation abruptly ensnared him, the Frenchman disappearing from that room amid Victor's cursing at Louie only to reappear within the streets of Sacrosanct and outside his own Father's cafe. Hmmm. It had grown dark already. Time, as it so often did, had seemingly gotten away form him. He had left Maeve waiting to long. Matteo's hand reached upward to press agianst the door for the cafe, the Fae smoothly making his way inside and toward the young girl with her pale hair. He had seen already, after all, just where she would be waiting and indeed just what it was she would be working on tonight. Matteo, despite that displeasing evening of meetings and the discomfort of that suit and tie he still worse, so easily managed to coax a simper to his own lips for the young girl before him.

"Bonsoir, Maeve.I have missed you too."

He uttered gently, the Fae moving to take that seat so clearly left out for him as he settled himself opposite her. This meeting, he was assured, was far preferable to the last. It had been some time since he had last seen the gifted young Fae child. The Frenchman was just as content as he had been the last time to find himself in the company of a child of his own species. How very, very rare they were becoming. Matteo allowed one elbow to rest upon the table, his head coming to rest in the palm of his hand then, that gesture nothing short of boyish as he eyed that dream catcher Maeve held upward for him to admire. The sweet child was clearly so proud of her work. That distinctly old magic so woven through those pieces decidedly palpable to the elder Fae and yet for now he said nothing of it, rather, Matteo so strove to see what the child new of her own gifts herself. Those accented words, as always, ever gentle as his fingers upon his free hand extended to brush agianst her creation.

"Oui, I should like to see it, what have you made young one?"

c'est dur d'être un dieu.