For years, the Were-King had trudged through the horrors his nights so frequently consisted of with only the promise of those blissful hours of sweet distraction that Matteo's presence provided him. He rarely knew when the Frenchman would return. It was too risky to keep anything gifted to him by the fae, much less anything that belonged to him beyond the cellphone Tetradore had been given when he turned fourteen. Those memories were all he had to cling to for so long when everything else seemed so bleak. It was...nice, that in the days ahead when the darkness once again took over his world, he might still have this to remind himself that there was more to the world than the pit of hell that was Syn. His fingers slowly trailed over the darkly hued beads, the smoothness of that carved wood almost soothing beneath Tetradore's touch. A small hint of a simper pulled at the corner of his features, the Were-King finally realized just why Matteo seemed to reach so habitually for the beads that hung around the fae's own neck when his thoughts ventured to heavier topics. It had, for years, been the Frenchman's tell, even though Tetradore had never spoken a syllable of his own observations. It was, however, Matteo's assurances that those beads might help him, however, that disrupted his thoughts of his faux father, there Were-King instead inquiring just how they had managed to do such for the Frenchman for so many years.

Tetradore watched as that contemplative look crossed the Frenchman's features. He was unsurprised, perhaps, that Matteo's own lingering desolation occurred near centuries ago - long before Tetradore himself, the birth of Matteo's son, the fateful meeting of the woman he'd come to so intensely love or even the unyielding companionship of the great Macedonian King. It was still bizarre all the same, to imagine a life in which Matteo was lost to the affinities that he so effortlessly wielded now. Much less that the Frenchman had, once upon a time, eternally lived in fear of being sold out to vampires. The Were had heard, albeit vaguely, of the very flavor of fae blood and it's appeal to the undead. Tetradore himself had met distinctly few of the species outside of Matteo, all of which had winded up murdered and drained of the blood that flowed so richly through their veins. Risque, however, had never seemed to greatly savor in their delicious flavor. She preferred the distinct taste of pain, he supposed. Or himself, maybe. As a species, they were drawn to that blood they favored like a moth to the flame, Risque was surely no different even despite her own often refined tendencies. With blood so thick in the air on those battlefields, perhaps it was not surprising that it had so tempted Matteo's comrades to sell him out to save their own skins for the night.

Tetradore could understand how in the depths of those anxieties, those beads might be of distinct comfort. When surrounded by foes, sometimes the knowledge that there was a life outside of them, a singular individual somewhere that cared in ways they did not, made all the difference. He was silent for several long moments, so effortlessly drawing those similarities, perhaps, before the man muttered softly his own simple agreement. He understood, with the tale of all the rosary had done for Matteo, the words that went unspoken between them. Tetradore had never inquired before whether or not Matteo thought of him when those visions did not demand it of him. He feared, in some aspects, the answer he might receive, preferring those rose-colored glasses for what stark reality might hold. After all, a part of him reasoned that the fae hardly had any great need to dwell upon the trapped Were - Matteo had his own life beyond the confines of Tetradore's seven thousand square feet. He had a son of his own. He had the entire Chateau and how blissfully glorious such a home was! It was such a difference between his own life. The rosary, however, was surely meant to chase away that voice that so darkly whispered in his ear.

His hand slowly fell from those beads as Matteo teased him of that singular candle melting the chocolate tart. Tetradore leaned forward, blowing out his candle with a singular breath before he commented on the very decorative nature of the chocolate treat. He could hardly help the snort from his nose at the idea of thirty-one of those candles on the cake of sorts. Frankly, he was hardly certain they could even fit, prompting a chuckle from his lips as he tried to imagine how such an amount might even be lit before they dripped wax all over Matteo's fruit. The indignant look he was given hardly helped his own amusement and yet, Tetradore's own eyebrow rose in challenge. "You might need some help with that. By the time you get to the last one the first one will be half the size." He teased as he reached for the knife he was offered. In the wake of the sheer use of his affinities, and perhaps even those delicate topics they had just spoken of, Tetradore cut a slice of cake far larger then perhaps socially acceptable, even if such decorum hardly ever had mattered to the Were-King in the first place. It was only once his chosen piece was on his own plate that he turned his attention to the rest of their luncheon. After all, sugar alone would surely not sustain him, despite his best efforts to believe otherwise.

That request for pepper drew Tetradore's emerald eyes towards Matteo's own creation, prompting a desire for a far more American style sandwich of sorts. He was quick to fin the pepper grinder, offering it to the fae with the one worded demand of bread in exchange. A small simper crossed his own features at the rich sound of Matteo's laughter. He took the still warm slice of bread he was handed, preferring the deli slices and cuts of creamy cheese compared to Matteo's....thing. His gaze deviated from his own creation, however, at the very mention of this 'shadow stream'. It was, admittedly, a place he had never heard of, only managing to prompt a plethora of additional questions that surfaced upon his thoughts. His very suggestion that there might be other life within that alternate world, however, seemed to prompt some consideration within the fae. Tetradore took that moment to bite into his own open-faced sandwich. His eyebrows, however, furrowed all the same at the suggestion that a permanent life within the Stream was surely impossible. Food, he supposed, was a necessity to his mortal body, and likely lacking in such a world filled with darkness. The existence of a shadow based creature, however, intrigued him. How did one see a creature of shadow in a world of shadows?

A soft grunt was all that left his lips in acknowledgment of those conventional weapons, the Were-King instead more interested within finishing his own bread-cheese-meat creation. It was only after Tetradore had consumed his own sandwich of sorts that his attention turned with gusto towards the chocolate tart. A soft sound of satisfaction left his lips at his first bite of the chocolate dish, the dessert easily distracted him from his own inquiry. God, he adored those desserts Matteo baked, too rare though they were if Tetradore was being honest. It was, however, he supposed logical that in a world made of shadows, his own shadow power might become more. Perhaps the value of this shadow stream was not in how far he could teleport so much as what he could then be able to teleport with him. Such considerations lingered upon his mind as Matteo continued to speak of spots within their own future in which they seemed...missing, sort of, only to confirm his own suspicious that Risque too might be incapable of grasping through that veil of worlds. Matteo's assurance that he saw them both afterward however, suggested that he had returned from the sanctuary of those shadows, as remiss as Tetradore was of such a fact. "Yeah, I suppose so." The Were-King responded almost bluntly to Matteo's attempt at positivity. Life, he supposed, was a good thing.

His inquiry of how they would reach such a world, however, prompted that red hue to Matteo's gaze - a tinge he knew the meaning of. For several moments, Tetradore was content to nibble on the tart while he waited for what Matteo had seen. His emerald gaze shifted towards his companion as the familiar silver hue returned to the Frenchman's irises. A soft snort left his nose at Matteo's conclusion. "That's a lot of help." He commented, his baritone voice near dripping in sarcasm. That inquiry of lines, however, cause his shoulders to rise ever so slightly. Lines, he was sure, sounded more like Tobias' thing than anything he might know of. Matteo, he suspected, would come up with an answer in time. The Frenchman always did. He hardly expected Matteo's sudden declaration that, not only were they done training for the day but, the afternoon was his alone to spend as he saw fit. Truly, to be released on the estate with no guidance and endless options was, admittedly, almost overwhelming. For a moment, an almost blank look crossed his features, at least until Matteo suggested he might help cook. His nose wrinkled, his detest of the idea strikingly clear as he shook his head. "I'll...find something else" Tetradore insisted, only to shove another bite of the chocolate tart in his mouth, his fork dangling from his lips as his emerald eyes shifted to the farm that surrounded him in rolling hills of green. How peculiar it was to feel the weightlessness of having no responsibilities, no matters to tend to, and a whole afternoon to himself to fill.

aiden tetradore