There were distinctly few moments within the Were-King's life in which that veneer he so often presented the world came tumbling down so absolutely. A majority of those fleeting occasions were with the fae Frenchman alone. An almost impish grin crossed the Hispanic man's features at the very suggestion that, while willing to travel to Japan for a mere sword, he had proven to be deceptively difficult when it came to flying to France. A small, almost innocent shrug crossed his broad shoulders. "She didn't ask me to pack a bag." He retorted with clear bemusement, the man entirely aware of his own tendencies to simply forgo those tasks that required any effort he deemed measurable, particularly when so vastly uninteresting as planning outfits. Even Matteo, it seemed, was capable of finding some delight within Tetradore's own eccentricities, though such was truly not surprising from the fae. The Frenchman was so often the epitome of pleasantly composed in spite of all things. Regardless, Tetradore saw particularly little to praise in that jump across continents. After all, it had left him exceedingly tired, resulting in far more mistakes in that mission then he would have liked to admit before that jump back had been required of him and, in turn, he'd slept the majority of nearly two days before he could be coaxed to leave the warmth of his bed, much to Tobias' own continual disgruntlement. Though he might have held some degree of natural talent, his expectations of himself eternally seemed to be far more than the world around him, as unfeasible as it often was.

He was, admittedly, inquisitive of all Matteo had learned of his affinities since he had first shown off his power. That gift was one he had not thought of expanding beyond its existing capabilities and yet, it was the fae Ambassador that always made him into a man more than he had ever thought himself capable of being. The very notion of plains of existence intrigued the Were-King and yet, any other questions he might have asked where entirely shut down with the promise that they would speak of it after breakfast. Tetradore knew better, by now, than to make an effort to further pry those words from Matteo when the Frenchman was not prepared to give them. He had become familiar with that tone the Ambassador used when he deemed the conversation over, temporarily, at least. Rather than linger upon such a quandary, however, Tetradore was content to merely pile his plate with a plethora of those dishes Maria had crafted just for him. From pancakes to bacon and hash browns, he fully enjoyed every bite of his birthday breakfast, the very result of which was consuming far more than he had originally intended.

It was sometime later that Tetradore rose from his seat at the gesture of his companion, allowing himself to be lead up the stairs and deeper into the whitewash labyrinth that made up the French Chateau. It hardly took long before Tetradore was sufficiently lost within those identical corridors up multiple flights of stairs. The view of the grounds outside the multitude of windows that lined the hall was his only saving grace at orientating himself. Fortunately, the pair hardly meandered much further before Matteo abruptly stopped in front of a door that, quite frankly, was as nondescript as all the others they had passed. The only difference, subtle though it was, was the equally as white keypad hidden at the side of it. His vibrant emerald eyes met the striking silver of Matteo's own, that almost baffled look crossing his features at his faux father's demand for secrecy. It was hardly a necessary requirement from him, really. After all, so few within his life even knew of Matteo's existence altogether - his very presence a secret as closely guarded to his heart as his own name. Nevertheless, he was more than content to call out Matteo for the man's continued theatrics, demanding that, whatever was on the other side of that door, better be astounding. He listened as the door's mechanism began to unlock with the press of Matteo's hand against that touchpad, the door sliding open but several moments later to reveal the vastness of what once might have been a ballroom. The lights above turned on with their entrance, near flooding the area with their luminosity to reveal a plethora of photographs that bordered on a near obsessive hobby of Photography - one of...places?

Matteo's explanation of that room prompted a soft, singular word from Tetradore's lips, his eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated the true extent of all Matteo was offering him - the possibility to visit the world. To escape. Tetradore offered his companion a soft grunt in retort to the Frenchman's assurance he should not get too excited, those thoughts weighing far too heavily upon his mind for such teasing antics to prove distracting. Slowly, he turned to the nearest wall, his hand reached out to run gingerly over a dated photograph of Italy. He was, admittedly, unaware of how telling his very silence was, his thoughts far too focused upon what this very well could mean for him - true freedom if he dared to take it. What would happen to his pack of he left them? Would they survive under the hands of Frost? Would he be willing to walk away from that life he'd attempted to create for himself and everyone in it to find a world in which he no longer had to answer to the whim of a vampire? Maybe he could merely...take them with him? Was it feasible to bring the entirety of the Ark and its inhabitants? A thing so very large and so intricately detailed? He was hardly foolish enough to think himself possible of such a feat in his present power but...maybe one day...if he allowed himself to foster that glimmer of hope.

It was almost habitual for the man, the way he so flawlessly deflected that conversation too far 'safer' aspects of that power, even if that question sounded entirely flimsy falling from his lips. Tetradore was, admittedly, almost surprised to discover Matteo hired a whole team to keep the location of all of those pictures up to date. A small frown crossed his features as Matteo spoke of the changing of furniture, the Were-King altogether certain that running into a dresser, for example, would hardly be fun in the slightest. It was the mention of a wall, however, that caused his gaze to deviate from that photo in front of him. Matteo's somber assurance that teleportation was not a game caused his eyebrow to rise and yet, it was the Frenchman's assurance that there may be those that wish to bring him harm that brought a chuckle to his lips. "Welcome to the last twenty years of my life." He muttered sardonically. Threats upon his own life were nothing new, as far as Tetradore was concerned. His day to day existence within Risque's care put his very life in constant jeopardy, resulting in his almost blatant disregard for himself. Nevertheless, he appreciated the knowledge all the same of the risks he took, it was far better than simply discovering for himself in some last moment realization that he'd fucked up before his very death.

His emerald eyes slowly turned back to the photo within his hand, only to eye those gardens that belonged to Matteo's son. His head bobbed ever so slightly in a brief show of understanding. Although he might have scoffed at the idea that his teleportation sights might be harmed in an effort to kill himself, he was hardly inclined to ignore sensible advice when it was given. "I'll think about it," Tetradore replied to Matteo's offer to make copies of those photos. That notion of training, however, brought a small sigh to his lips as Tetradore sluggishly trailed behind Matteo to the far corner of the ballroom. His gaze slowly followed Matteo's hand as the man gestured to the other side of the room, the Were-King merely offered a small nodd in response as the Frenchman demonstrated his own teleportation. "A series?" He inquired, a singular eyebrow slowly rose as he eyed his companion, simply watching with that continual glimpse of indifference. His eyes followed the disappearing and reappearing of his faux father in that series of rapid teleportation before landing with such easy control upon the floor. He turned ever so slightly to glance at the Frenchman behind him at the sound of Matteo's voice and yet, the frown upon his features quite clearly gave away the thoughts of feasibility that had begun to plague him as to how such a task could be completed with his own affinity.

Teleporting to midair was a task he had certainly done before, on two separate occasions. It was the task of teleporting in the midst of that fall that he was uncertain of. Those drops he had allowed himself to take before were far higher than this. Still, he supposed that's what trying was for. A soft sigh left his lips as his shadows rushed forward from the furthest depths of that room. Those very shadows engulfed him, teleporting his muscular frame into the mid-air, clearly attempting to follow Matteo's own route. Gravity, however, was faster than he anticipated, those shadows quickly rushing forth to attempt that second teleportation and yet they failed to embrace his form before the man began to fall. A slight yelp left his lips at that unexpected feeling of falling and yet, like the true feline he was, the man managed to land on his feet, all the same, his hand on the wall to settle himself. A small frown crossed his lips in consideration of that very challenge before him. Tetradore was, at the heart of the matter, a stubborn man, entirely unwilling to believe he was incapable of that task. It was clear his shadows were merely not fast enough. The very light beaming from above limited the shadows available, requiring far more time for those jumps. After all, had Matteo not said he was stronger at night?

He was more than capable of changing that very environment, he knew, to further facilitate his own affinity and yet...Tetradore hesitated to reach for that gift that could do just that. His emerald eyes slowly shifted to Matteo, almost nibbling on his bottom lip in a boyish fashion as he considered his own willingness to utilize that power of fear. The last thing he wanted to do, admittedly, was to turn that power against his faux father. He abhorred the very idea of seeing Matteo afraid of him in the same way he produced that fear in so many others. It was in that very realization of his own fear that some level of ingenuity so struck him. After all, had he not gained such an affinity due to his own intimate experience of the very emotion? It was almost easy to utilize his affinity to manipulate his own fear, the room quite suddenly darkening. Those once whitewash walls almost seemed red as Tetradore's own gift seemed to warp the once innocent ballroom into a glimpse of the very place he feared most of all - Risque's own office. The Were-King hardly seemed phased by his own doing, however, the man merely seeking that very darkness before he attempted that series of teleportation all over again.

Those shadows once again embraced his form, his very body once again reappeared in mid-air and yet, this time, with the darkness so prevalent, those shadows were so strikingly quick to re-embrace his frame, allowing Tetradore to mimic Matteo's trail before his feet were, gracefully, back upon the floor at the Frenchman's side. His very power was all too quick to dissipate, leaving the two men once more in the vast brightness of that ballroom all over again and yet, for a moment, Tetradore merely squinted at that sharp contrast of light. "Why is it so damn bright in here." He complained in a mumble, only for his gaze to turn almost expectantly towards Matteo, clearly waiting for the man's next task with naught a word spoken on what he had done to achieve the first.

aiden tetradore