It had been a chaotic morning, to say the least. The Frenchman had spent the better part of that Thanksgiving day dashing between one kitchen and the next. The vast majority off his preparations having taken place in Dorian and Sebastian's kitchen and yet- there were several dishes that required those tools and ingredients unique to his own estate. The near ancient Fae having converted into a veritable whirlwind as he teleported back and forth between that home in Sacrosanct and his sprawling chateau in Chambord. The house staff, of both houses, had been struggling to keep up with the decidedly ostentatious Frenchman for most of the day. Matteo seeming to have found another level of energy entirely when that meal to be prepared was so destined for the entirety of his family. He had waited years for a day such as this. Perhaps they all had in one fashion or another. Matteo, despite himself, decidedly content with the very notion of so finally gathering that little family they had created for themselves all beneath one roof. The very thought of it, even now, so coaxing that simper to his lips as one hand stirred the pot on the stove, the other wielding that knife with expert ease to slice several potatoes at the same time. There was some measure of anxiousness, perhaps, in so introducing Aiden to that family and to Dorian in particular and yet, Matteo found himself cautiously optimistic all the same. He had seen little in that lingering future to perturb him from those introductions even if he had already foreseen the veritable shock Aiden's existence would prompt from Dorian and Sebastian both. Yet- surely the time had well and truly come for his sons to meet one another.

His silver hued gaze lifted from those potatoes to eye the clock upon the wall. Dorian and Sebastian both likely to be up by now, that sun having set at least a half hour ago. Aiden in turn should surely be getting ready to arrive in the next forty minutes. Matteo having visited the WerePanther earlier in the day if only to make sure he had something to wear that did not have holes in it, let alone to assure himself his adoptive son was even awake. For Aiden to arrive anywhere at a certain time surely required the emerald-eyed man to be coaxed out of bed or off the sofa well in advance. Matteo's head simply shaking at the thought of it and yet he knew, distinctly so, that this evening was important to Aiden in turn. Even if the boy so staunchly refused to lower those barricades and offer any glimpse of emotion over the matter. The appearance of Charles carrying those tea cups upstairs assuring him his eldest son and son-in-law were awake in turn. Elizabeth hurrying into that kitchen next to collect more of that cutlery, her cheeks flushing that rather delightful shade of red as her gaze fell upon him again. Matteo rather inclined to find the woman endearing. Still, there was every chance Dorian and Sebastian in turn might find his...entertaining of the young woman after hours to be decidedly displeasing. How unfortunate he could not pursue those very activities that might bring all the more of that colour to her cheeks.

"Elizabeth, Mon Cherie, could you stir this gravy please?"

The young woman hurried back into the kitchen to take his place at the stove as Charles returned from upstairs. Matteo summoning the manservant to assist in carrying out those rolls and salads for the table. The Fae balancing several plates and bowls at once with that practised ease. The table having been set near perfectly in turn. Matteo readily begun to set out those finished dishes with hurried precision all the same, his mind content to turn over those very meals still to be prepared or finished off, that turkey surely needed checking on, those potatoes needed boiling and bacon for the green beans need be nothing short or perfect. How readily this very cooking so nearly reminded him of those army days and the near constant rush dinner so often was with but thousands of mouths to feed and such lacking...supplies off every kind. How fondly he looked back upon some of those days and yet how quickly he remembered the displeasure of cooking nothing but salted meat for weeks at a time. Those very thoughts prompting the Frenchman to peer into that loungeroom then to where Alexander sat with drink in hand having arrived a half hour or so ago to witness the very end of the storm that was Matteo's efforts to assure every being at that table would enjoy that food and that each dish was perfectly timed in turn.

"Don't trouble yourself, Alex. I've got this."

There was little save for tease in those sardonic words as Matteo finished laying out those dishes. Alexander appearing perfectly content with not helping. The both of them wholly aware that Alexanders efforts when it came to cooking were rarely appreciated by the Fae in any sense. The safest place for Alexander most assuredly in that very chair. The Frenchman turning to head back into that kitchen then only to pause, his figure angled back toward his age-old companion once more until the silver off his gaze met that striking blue green of the Hunters own.

"Alexander, if you so much as touch this table before dinner is ready I will fight you Mon Amie, do not think I won't and do not think you can touch it without my knowing."

One eye arched upward just so. Matteo very near daring his companion to attempt to derail those dinner preparations. The normally laconic, calm Frenchman so decidedly...less so in these very moments. The sight of Charles laying out that butter dish prompting a sudden shout from the Fae in turn. The unfortunate Charles jolting at that very sound before glancing upward at the Frenchman.

"Charles, what is that?"
"It is butter sir."
"What kind of butter?"
"What kind sir? I fear I am not entirely sure, it is the butter we always buy."
"From the grocery store?"
"Yes, sir."
"Charles, Mon Amie, it is as if you try to wound me. This butter hurts me. I will bring some better butter in a few moments, you may return this to wherever you found it, or better yet dispose of it before it injures others."

That wholly baffled manservant shifted to return to the kitchen then, Matteo hurrying behind him to check on several more of those elements. The Fae moving from bench to oven to stove and back again. Matteo decidedly organised despite that chaotic look. The Frenchman, when the moment so called for it, wholly capable of being nothing short of attentive to the task at hand. Two spoons were easily plucked from the draw then, Matteo dipping each spoon into a different pot of gravy before that teleportation carried him smoothly, if not suddenly, into the living room to stand before the seated Hunter again- both spoons suddenly held toward him.

"Do you prefer this one, with more sage? Or this one with less sage? And do not tell me they both taste the same- I know they do not. I also assume I do not have to remind you to be nice tonight, Alexanderous?"

Dorian, after all, was terribly fond off his Uncle. Aiden, however, would likely require considerable more time to pass any sort of judgement on Alexander at all. The Hunter's often decidedly gruff nature and dry attitude so unlikely to assist in those considerations. Matteo taking advantage of Alexander's momentarily occupied hands to reach for that drink the man had placed upon the coffee table. The ancient Fae easily grasping it in his own hand before collapsing onto that chair beside him, his legs resting casually over the arm of that sofa in a manner far more reminiscent off his usual, laconic style. The Frenchman content to take those few moments break to sip on that drink. His gaze lingering on his companion then as those quiet, accented words left him.

"How many years has it been since we have had a thanksgiving? Let alone one that was not just us?"



m a t t e o
it's tough to be a god