how fate does so love the restless

There was something oddly satisfying in watching someone, after so many years, so dare to do what Alexander's mere presence often discouraged any being from trying. Alexander, for as long as Matteo could remember, possessed a simple way of being, a manner of existence even- that suggested he was not to be fussed with. No being, human or animal, ever seemed truly inclined to test the Hunter's patience and those that did were often inclined to go down in the flaming glory in which they first attempted to rally. Alexander, in his glory days, had laid waste to entire empires with veritable ease. A single, stubborn boy was no true match for him and oh- how well Matteo knew it. He too had once been that same stubborn boy. Indeed, the Frenchman could recall only two occasions within the vast expanse of his life at Alexander's side in which he had ever made any true attempt to oppose either Alexander's will or direct command. Those punishments that followed had ensured Matteo had never made any effort to try again, nor offer his Father any true disrespect. It simply wasn't worth it. Alexander would win. He always did. His patience was endless. His capacity to exact revenge unlimited and more so- his own ego and pride and stubborn will were so distinctly vast that Frost hadn't a hope of ever exceeding them and yet still.....it was almost fascinating to watch a new contender take that metaphorical stage after so very long.

Matteo's near humorous query as to whether or not Frost's newfound rebellion reminded Alexander of Matteo's own younger days prompted a ready scowl from the Macedonian- along with the blunt insistence that it reminded him far too much. Ah, but surely he had not been that bad had he? Then again, how inclined he was to remember more than one occasion in which he had pushed Alexander's patience to its very extreme. Had not Aiden done the same to him in turn years later? It was nothing if not the cycle of things. Matteo fell into a near comfortable silence then, a final chuckle humming within the depths of his throat as his silver gaze shifted languidly from Alexander, to Frost and back again. How readily he could see Alexander's mind turning over that blatant no Frost had offered him. Had the war horse truly not learned yet that to decline a relatively simple task would only bring about a punishment that involved a far more arduous one? It was, Matteo had come to decide, a rather brilliant tactic. If a fuss was made about a small job, Alexander so often punished that tantrum by making those following jobs more and more difficult. It had a way of making most beings entirely compliant afterward- many of them willingly accepting any job they were given knowing that refusal resulted in a significantly more weighty workload. It was, after all, the same way in which Alexander trained his horses. The way in which he had taught Matteo to train them. Striking a horse in punishment, after all, taught it nothing but fear. Fear brought only ruin in a moment when a rider was required to trust his animal with his life. No. It was better to train a horse through work. Refusal to perform a movement saw Alexander take the horse around the arena again and again and again until it became far easier to simply do as the Hunter had asked the first time rather than be subject to heavier work. It made for sound horses- as it did sound people. Even if Matteo was unwilling to lavish his father with such praise.

It was almost...surprising to see Frost agree to make these drinks by way of contrition. Matteo, for a moment, inclined to believe that the equine had given up that fight and yet, that distinct stubbornness still clung to the young man's figure as he all but stormed behind the counter only to begin to flawlessly work that espresso machine. Those days of watching Alex do that very task so carefully had allowed the boy to...propagate that skill. That was, well, more impressive than Matteo had anticipated. His silver gaze shifted briefly toward Alexander for any hint that the Hunter felt any satisfaction in that act and yet, his fathers face, as always, was distinctly unreadable. Frost's near biting words to those customers, however, displayed just how distinctly determined the equine was to continue that losing fight. If anything could be said of the boy it was, in the very least, that he was going to go down swinging. How utterly delightful. An even better show. The equine slammed several more drinks down on that table some moments later only to step out from around the counter with the clear intention of leaving. Such audacity! Matteo could hardly help that snort of amusement that left his nose. The grin on his lips failing to falter as a single, sharp word from Alex prompted the young man to (wisley) rethink his actions. Frost, it seemed, willing to obey that unspoken command....but only as he saw fit. The man instead stormed back across that cafe only to flop down on a sofa across the room and opposite Alexander's own- his gaze cast upward at the roof, his arms folded across his chest in defiance.

"Oui, this is the best thing I have seen in years."

Those very words were uttered aloud and yet to no particular being as those customers began to hurriedly exit the shop. It was getting late and how readily they seemed to anticipate that it was wiser to be clear of that makeshift battleground. All save for one. That rather pretty young woman beside him who had spent the better part of the last few moments staring at him in abject horror only to scramble backward with the demand he tell her who he was. The warm simper upon Matteo's features had faltered as his gaze shifted to face Emerance then.

"I am the Ambassador of France, Mon Amie."

Ah, but how often they did not expect that answer. Perhaps it was not terribly kind to tease the poor woman when she faced him with such clear fear and yet- Matteo felt nothing if not impish in that moment. After all, it was rare he was treated to a show so spectacular as this.

"That is to say, the government is following you, I am sorry. We wish to speak to you about your offshore accounts. We are concerned you are using the Banque De France to launder money, oui? We have some questions for you."

She was a pretty thing, it was a shame to make her face pale so much as that. The poor girl sure to spend the rest of the evening looking over her shoulder for fear 'the government' might yet be seeking her and yet really....it had been far too long since he had enjoyed a little harmless fun. Another ready grin was flashed towards poor Emerance then, Matteo's gaze shifting back to glance between Alexander and Frost. Did they both truly intend to simply...sit here all night, waiting for one or the other to give in and clean that floor? Surely Frost knew Alexander would simply retire to bed? Then again, perhaps the equine was waiting for just that. A chance to slip out the door the moment Alex left. How very....daft Frost was if he believed Alexander would ever allow that. An almost curious silence persisted then. One broken only by Matteo's own words. The Frenchman, in that moment, so effortlessly switched his dialect to that ancient Greek that Alexander and himself alone would understand. The near hard lines of Alexander's features as he eyed Frost (who was still determinedly refusing to look at Alex) prompting an almost curious thought to Matteo's mind.

"He is only six, Alex."

That utterance prompted a flick of Alexander's gaze. Matteo assured his father had heard him. Those Grecian words continued.

"He may be twenty-six in human years, which is still no more than a boy, but twenty six human years is six equine years. Only just old enough to be called a stallion rather than a colt. You did not even break your horses to be ridden until they were four or five, then you turned them to a pasture for a year to finish growing before you worked them properly. Even your beloved Bucephalus was approaching his ninth year before you rode him into a real battle. You always said a war horse needed to be fully grown in body and mind before you asked the world of him."

Matteo paused once more, Alexander's gaze seeming to shift towards him. The Macedonian, he knew, waiting for him to get to the point of his veritable speech. Matteo's shoulders rose in a loose shrug as he settled more comfortably in his own chair- clearly content to watch that battle unfold.

"You have asked more of Frost sooner than any other horse you have ever owned- and he has never failed you. The things you are yet to achieve with him, Alex, I have seen so many of them- believe me when I say you will never have a horse his equal- but success or not he is still....so young. Do not be too hard on him. I do not mean you should allow any disrespect, indeed, you should not have him question who is in charge. I merely mean to suggest the reason he irritates you so much is because.....he is exactly like you."

A soft chuckle rose within Matteo's throat then.

"If ever there was a being, man or horse, who has come close to matching your stubborn ego, your pride, your determination, your often infuriating will- it is that boy right there staring at the ceiling and pretending he cant see you. Don't pretend that you would have been any different if anyone had dared to tell you to do something you did not want. He is not going to give up without a fight Alex, believe me. He knows he is wrong and I think he knows he will lose too- but he is nearly as stubborn as someone else I know. You're going to have your hands full with this- and I look forward to every minute."