how fate does so love the restless

"It is not in the interest of France."
"It was not within the interest of France to begin with, Hugo."
:What would you know of the interest of France, eh? It was you who supported the contract with Australia to build submarines. A contract we have lost to a joint political effort between England and America!"
"Will you blame the English for everything Jon-Paul?"
"The English started it all!"

How quickly that parliamentary meeting began to descend into a colourful sort of chaos. The very kind Matteo so often enjoyed and yet had long since lost interest in today. That meeting had droned on for nearly four hours now. His thoughts had abandoned that boardroom sometime after the first hour. It was always the same, men in suits talking about problems larger than themselves that were, for the most part, largely of their own making. It would be kinder, perhaps, to solve their trivial issues for them and yet to meddle within that future was almost to spoil the surprises that surely awaited the vast majority of those politicians. No. Today was far better spent idly drawing upon the paper in front of him. Matteo contemplating what meal he might serve tonight. Beets and potatoes were well within season. This year's garlic crop had been excellent. Hmm. Perhaps he might roast them with a spring lamb from the back pasture. The herd had been grazing on dock and clover and rye and saltbush. The meat would be tender. The realization that the room had fallen silent at last prompted the Frenchman to glance upward from his idle doodling. Even beneath the lenses of those sunglasses he so religiously wore in such meetings, the near expectant faces of his colleagues regarded him cooly. It would appear someone had asked him a question.

"Ah, forgive me, I was...taking notes. Can you repeat that?"

A near heavy sigh from the Minister for Trade echoed across that table then. "You have not taken notes in over a century, Matteo. Do not pretend to do it now. You were asked where you were in regards to conversation with Australia regarding their cancelling of a contract that was providing billions to our economy?" Matteo's own features frowned ever so slightly. Australia had, admittedly, not been terribly content to talk with him. England and America, for that matter, had been equally content to reap the benefits of their new deal and yet- while the loss of that contract was distinctly...displeasing to his nation. It was so hardly the veritable end of the world as his colleagues were so content to act as if it were. Besides, it was not as if France was terribly skilled at building submarines to begin with. The Minister for Defence, in his opinion, should have listened to him to begin with when he had warned agianst that contract ever being offered. Ah, but how often they refused to listen to him. As if they enjoyed entangling themselves in political knots for months on end before, finally, admitting that perhaps they might require his assistance.

"Those discussions are progressing."

That room erupted into conversation once more. Matteo's gaze, hidden beneath those lenses, abruptly shifted in colour as several images danced rapidly behind his eyes. The near ancient Fae, after so many years, so hardly showed any outward sign of that vision before the vaguest of simpers touched his lips. It had been years since anyone had dared taken on Alexander- at least, not like this. It had been Matteo himself, he was certain, who had been the last to dare to defy a direct order from his Father. The Frenchman had only ever dared to do so on two occasions. Several centuries existed between both those moments of direct defiance. How quick Alexander had been to remind him of just why it was a...poor idea to press upon the Hunter's nerve. Matteo so never again having quite...dared to push Alexander that far again and yet, it seemed, Frost had taken up that mantle. The mere boy so evidently oblivious to the battle he had invited to his doorstep. Ah, how Matteo was loath to miss it.

The Frenchman moved to rise abruptly from his seat, his papers (which contained nothing at all but idle drawings) were collected quickly in one hand. "Matteo? Where on earth are you going? We are not finished. He does this every time! I do not care how good he is, he cannot just-" Whatever words the Minister for Commerce had been about to say were all but lost in that abrupt teleportation. The Frenchman rapidly disappeared from that boardroom only to appear with equal abruptness in Alexander's cafe. His sudden emergence prompted several shouts of alarm from a small crowd of people who appeared to be gathered in the far corner of the cafe, as far away from Frost and Alexander as they could get. How very perfect. He had not missed that show! Matteo moved to raise his sunglasses then, balancing them neatly atop his brunette locks before he moved to flop dramatically into the nearest arm chair. That seat afforded him a perfect view of his Father and Frost in turn. That veritable battle of wills was still very much ongoing as Frost faced Alexander with a near icy glare. Alexander, in turn, appeared completely unperturbed as he eyed his mount. The warhorse's gaze shifted briefly from Alexander if only to glance toward Matteo as the Frenchman loosened the tie at his neck, one leg folding comfortably over the other. "Matteo? What are you doing here." Frost's voice was near as deadpan as it always had been. Matteo was certain he'd never met a boy capable of less emotion, save perhaps Aiden on a particularly moody day.

"Ah, Mon Amie, I came to see the battle. No one has told Alexander 'no' since....myself- and that was a very long time ago. I am here to see if perhaps you can win a battle I could not."

Those world's were near teasing. It was almost...cruel really, to so afford the boy false hope. He had no chance at all in this war and yet how amusing it was to watch him try all the same. In a world where Alexander's mere presence alone was enough to silence most, it was rare to see a being face him head on with such wilful defiance. Then again, was it so unexpected? Young though he was, Frost was an Alpha, a war horse, a stallion. It was in his very blood and breeding to be...stubborn. Besides, in all his life Matteo had only ever met two beings capable of defying fate itself. Such a gift was....beyond a mere talent or affinity. It was something....ingrained within a soul. The ability to go agianst destiny itself. A power even Matteo did not understand if only for how rarely a being existed that possessed it. For centuries Alexander had been the only one and now, by fate itself perhaps, the only other commander of that genetic curiosity stood facing the Hunter. Frost. "Fjandinn"

That single, Icelandic curse word was uttered near imperceptibly beneath Frost's breath. His violet gaze lingering on Matteo a moment before cutting back toward Alexander in continued defiance. Matteo, this time, was near unable to hide that chuckle that hummed within his throat.

"Ah, Alexander, did you hear that? He just told me to fuck off. Does this remind you of those joyus days when I was younger, Mon Amie? I hope it does."

The impish grin on Matteo's features so hardly faltered. The near ancient Fae struggled to hold back his amusement as his silver gaze lingered upon the two men before him and the near terrified looking human girl who had been the initial cause of it. Matteo offered her a warm simper.

"Look what you've done, Mon Cherie. You have been the catalyst of a glorious battle. Well done, Emerance. You have made my day."