Tetradore could scarcely imagine a place quite like that sleepy little village he found himself wandering into. The roads were near non-existent, more cobblestone pathways than any real street. It was nostalgic for those old souls like Matteo, he supposed. It was a reminder of a life that had long ago passed for the Frenchman, a glimpse at a quieter, more peaceful time in the world - the very sort of world that Tetradore so desperately needed and would never truly have. He understood exactly why Matteo might wish to share this place with him. From the hand-painted signs that swayed gently in the breeze to the plethora of flowers that lined the storefronts. It gave him a place to come to, at least mentally, when his world was too vile. It was meant to give him hope in the void of misery. It was a promise that the rest of the world wasn't so bad as the oppressive dungeon that Risque's dance club had become for him. His emerald eyes briefly shifted towards Matteo, the Alpha entirely content to simply eye the man that had taken the role of his guardian in the absence of his parents. He was hardly oblivious to how that town seemed so very alike Matteo's usual demeanor - carefree and placid in a way that even Tetradore had not fully mastered. A small snort left his nose before the were-King shook his head and yet, he said nothing of those inner thoughts, or the vague knowledge of what the Frenchman wished to impart upon him.

Rather, Tetradore was entirely content to simply stroll alongside Matteo. For today, he was willing to simply observe the quiet undercurrent of life that thrummed even here - from the few villagers upon the streets to the colorful stores and the equally as lethargic employees lazing within. Vaguely, he couldn't help but to wonder how any of those stores managed to stay in business. After all, with his own monthly check of profits and assets and expenses, to consider such facets of ownership were almost natural to him now - the sort of thing that could not be easily turned off just by a flight overseas and one night in a comfortable, warm bed. It was Matteo's voice that drew him from his contemplation, the Ambassador answering some of those idle quandaries in the process. "Hmm...." He commented, that simple sound was meant to show his own attentiveness to the fae, even if he had little to say on the topic. It explained, at the very least, how so many knew Matteo and how he knew them all in turn, just as it too explained how those very villagers could afford to continue that peaceful life in the modern world. After all, if everything was handed down from one generation to the next, perhaps those demands for careers and money were not nearly as necessary.

He followed, unquestioningly as Matteo led them down one of the small streets, the aroma of freshly baked bread was particularly poignant, prompting a rumble in his stomach. Though it was afternoon, the Were-king had gone without breakfast (having slept through it) and lunch. His emerald eyes swept over the various loaves of bread in the small cart, the man only half attentive to that jovial argument in French that he was not wholly privy to. He could tell, by tone alone, that Matteo was amused, even in spite of his clear insistence. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly as he eyed the pair of men with an almost blank look, simply waiting for...well...what he wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't until Matteo finally took that baguette that Tetradore found himself giving into that hunger, reaching for the piece of bread with little concern for its freshness or flavor.

Frankly, he failed to see how the ends of the bread were the best part, the Were-king far more partial to the softer, fluffier center and yet, Matteo seemed so assured that he was willing to try....he supposed. A small shrug crossed his shoulders as he bit into the bread, his stomach surely happy to finally have something of subsistence! Tetradore couldn't deny that it was good bread. The warmth, the flavor, the texture. It was perfect bread. No. It was near perfect. Butter. It needed butter. Melted. The very thought of it was almost enough to make him salivate, the Were-king altogether content to declare that flavor it was surely missing. He met that glare he was given with a head-on stare of his own, that scowl only prompted a roll of his eyes. That insistence that he was uncultured, however, only caused a snort to leave his nose. "Sometimes, I do." He retorted, only to glance down at that small piece of bread still left in his fingertips. "But really...." He continued, before popping that piece in his mouth, clearly determined to still protest that the baguette would have been better indulging in with something else than just bread.

His gaze drifted upwards as he chewed on the bread, almost unsurprised to find the fae leading them towards a church. He had, to some degree, anticipated that this was what Matteo had meant by that phrasing of showing the were-King his parents. It was the exact sort of term he'd used with Frost before he'd driven the opposing Alpha deep into the mountains to the site of his own family's murder. He followed Matteo through the iron gate and towards the rows upon rows of headstones that awaited them beyond. His gaze glanced with vague inquisitiveness over the various stones and obelisks. The names and dates, when visible, were all but foreign to him and yet, someone had to remember them, to pay respects to those lost to time. It was all that was left of them, after all. He paused beside Matteo, his gaze drifted over the headstones in front of them. One was little more than a large rock, any identifying information upon it was all but worn by time and weather. The headstone next to it, however, was clearly more recent, the dates etched with clarity along with her name. His mother.

Tetradore listened in silence as Matteo shared that story of his youth. He hadn't considered before, what life for Matteo had been like before - when the world still felt fresh and young. It was peculiar, to consider the man he knew now as once a boy - with the weight of the world on his shoulders so young. How far the Frenchman had come from then! Still, it was nice, in a way, to hear of the fae's life when so many of their days were spent revolving around Tetradore himself. It was the inquiry of his parents, however, that drew his attention back towards Matteo, only for his head to shake ever so slightly. There was no one else but him to bury them and he had only just revisited that 'home' for the first time since his capture all those years ago. His gaze shifted slightly at the sudden weight of Matteo's hand on his shoulder. A soft sigh left his lips at that promise, and too those words of reassurance. "I need to. I just..." He paused, his gaze turned downwards as his toe gently toyed with the grass under his feet. Matteo was one of those few individuals who ever saw glimpses past that iron exterior he presented the world with. "I'm just...not sure I can face that yet." He admitted, his lips pressed together in a firm sort of frown, even though he knew how moronic that truth was. After all, they were dead, what did they care where they were? Those bones were never going to come back, and Risque was unlikely to go back there - so what was there to unsettle him so greatly except for his own damn self? A grunt left his lips in frustration.

He pushed away those thoughts with a small shrug of his shoulders, the Were-king content to focus instead on Matteo's story and that question that still lingered on his mind. That question of Matteo's mother clearly caught the usually unflappable Frenchman off guard. He supposed, truly, he shouldn't have been terribly surprised at Matteo's ability to guess those concerns that rested on the forefront of his mind, those worries quickly waved off with the assurance that age was not of issue. His head tilted inquisitively to the side as Matteo spoke of those very affairs his mother had been involved in. It was...curious really, how Matteo had turned into the warrior while his mother played a healer. It was as if the pair continued to persist in those things they knew best, even if war had changed drastically in all those years. "I'm sorry." He muttered simply, knowing such a phrase of empathy hardly made a difference while also finding himself at a loss of anything else to offer. The sudden shift of the fae at his side caused his gaze to flutter upwards as he glanced at the wallet Matteo fished from his pocket. His eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the sight of those photos the fae kept on him. How had he not noticed that before? Had they always been there?

His gaze shifted over those photos Matteo flipped through, only to eye the one he paused upon. Tetradore could hardly believe the young girl in that photo was Matteo's mother. Though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. After all, Matteo was more akin to a father to him and yet, by all appearances, the man hardly even looked older than the were himself. His emerald eyes shifted as Matteo flipped to the next photo, the first one Tetradore had ever actually seen of Matteo's son, even in spite of all he'd heard of the man. He could certainly see the similarities between the two - from the eyes to the hue of their hair. That connection was clear, as too was the simple happiness that seemed to exist between the two men in that photo. His gaze shifted towards the picture of Herbert as a puppy, the Were-king unable to help that snort that left his nose at the derpy cinnamon roll. Of course, he still looked just as gleeful about life even as a puppy. His head shook ever so slightly before his attention shifted towards that final photo - one of himself. His eyebrow rose again as his gaze turned towards Matteo with a glimpse of incredulousness. Why the Frenchman would keep a photo of himself was...baffling, as far as he was concerned.

His own memory of that night displayed in the photography was...sketchy at best. He remembered the magazine and how fascinating it had been, particularly considering he had only just discovered the luxury vehicles that Risque kept herself. Cars had always been of interest to him but he had never before seen anything quite like those vehicles in the magazine or in the vampire's garage. It was, admittedly, the most Tetradore remembered of that night - his own childlike mind ignored those more uncomfortable aspects of nights like that. He hardly remembered that it was the first time he'd given Matteo that boyish grin, or just how long it had taken before he had even allowed the man close enough to touch him. His hair had always been unruly, even as a child and yet, in that photo, it still was far more clipped and controlled in comparison to now. He could hardly help that face he made as Matteo reached up to ruffle his hair. "All right, all right, I'll get it cut when we go to Paris or...something." He declared pushing Matteo away with a wrinkle of his nose. He watched as Matteo shoved his wallet back into his pocket, only for those flowers to blossom at the base of those graves. Tetradore had, admittedly, become so used to his foster father's affinities that the appearance of those flowers hardly received more than a second glance from the man as he turned to follow the fae.

That inquiry of anything he wanted to do, however, prompted a mere shrug of his shoulders. After all, he had little notion of what that quaint little town had to offer him, the Were-king entirely passive in such a foreign place. He reached for another piece of the baguette as they meandered back towards the town, more than content to assist in devouring the loaf of bread while they walked beneath the warmth of the sunlight above. They hardly had to walk long, however, before Matteo paused in front of a brightly painted store. His gaze drifted towards the glass window, the sight held within fully captured his attention. The sheer color of candies and sweets within caused his mouth to water. Just look at all those things he hadn't tried yet! His lips parted ever so slightly in awe as Tetradore eyed those candies, so this is where Matteo often brought him sweets from! He recognized some of the jarred candies, some he enjoyed many of while others made him balk at even the memory of the taste and yet, there was no denying Tetradore's delight at the store. He reached for one of those bags only to scoff at Matteo's comment. "Only half? Though I suppose you do have this place any time you want it." Lucky bastard. Oh well, he had every intention of filling that paper bag in his hands up entirely, Tetradore already pulling off the lid of one of those jars to the honey pearls he had once relished in.

aiden tetradore