How curious it was to hear those very words fall from the young woman's lips. Harley insisting she did not believe in luck so much as she believed that, in this life, one could create their own. Matteo so allowing that simper to find his lips in some subtle appreciation for those very words. Even now, even after all she had suffered, that defiance of sorts remained- and how well it would both help and hinder her in turn. Perhaps she needed him more then he had anticipated and yet how far did he dare allow himself to entangle within the affairs of another? Such thoughts, for now, were cast aside as his own accented words parted his lips once more to offer some insight into just why her own musings seemed to amuse him so.

"I have a friend who believes much the same. That luck and even future are yours to be made, not governed by fate. Such a philosophy has served him very well for a very long time. Perhaps it is a good one to have."

How often had Alexander uttered those very words to him else refused to believe in those tellings of fate? Yet, perhaps even more remarkably, how often had Alexander been right? His age old company one of only two beings in all the world whom appeared to possess a hidden talent, a hidden skill, something more than a mere affinity but rather an ability so ingrained within the very soul- the ability to defy fate itself. A gift so truly rare and one even Matteo was inclined to near marvel at. Perhaps, one day, that dark-haired woman before him might yet prove to possess even a tendril of that very gift. She so assuredly held the defiance for it if nothing else. Matteo, once more, keeping those considerations within the depth off his own thoughts before allowing but a wisp of that future to reveal itself once more with that insistence that Harley was destined still to meet another of Risque's creation. The very disdain of that thought was clear within the woman's striking gaze and yet once more that defiance rallied to her in a fashion near akin to Tetradore within his teenage years. Aiden had perhaps lost some of that outward recklessness over the years and yet he had learned to craft that defiance into a weapon all his own. Hmm. Perhaps, in time, Harley might do the same. For now however it was the Frenchmans own promise of a more tangible weapon that seemed to inspire the young woman's passion all over again. A soft chuckle coaxed from the depths off his throat at her insistence she may not give it back.

"We shall see, Mon Cherie. I shall show it to you shortly."

How very.....taken aback by that weapon she was so destined to be and yet, for now, Matteo saw little need to delve into such considerations. His mind far more taken instead with those very potatoes so eclipsed in sadness and bathed in blandness as they were. That butter appearing within his hand in near the same moment as those very thoughts adorned his own mind. Only for Harley to so suddenly insist that butter was a terrible weapon. His own silvered gaze glanced upward, that bafflement so seeming to find place upon his eternally youthful features before he so connected the very mention of that weapon and the appearance of the butter. Harley so mistakenly believing this to be the very weapon he had promised her. That simper so tugging at his features now.

"Fear not mademoiselle, I shall not send you to war against the undead armed with butter. Though perhaps if you were to freeze it, it might yet prove effective for throwing. I should not recommended it though. The butter is for your horrifically terrible potatoes that fill me with sadness to see them."

Matteo, it seemed, cared little for politeness when it came to food. The near ancient Fae so inclined to consider that argument he had taken up with Tetradore about pasta that came in a packet some weeks before. His own son so equally refusing to understand the variations in the world of cheese. How he had raised such an uncultured heathen remained to be seen. His features frowning in that very consideration as he set to work upon that potato. The Frenchman so hardly anticipated Harley's demand for something positive within her future. That flare of red so readily overtaking his gaze then as he continued to work and peer into the very depths of what was yet to come before so abruptly insisting she was destined to have at least one near heavenly experience this very evening. The woman so fixing him with a decidedly piercing stare that only seemed to prompt that chuckle once more as his attention remained upon those potatoes. Harley keen to insist he was presumptuous to offer such teasing words when he surely could not live up to them.

"Ah, Mon Cherie, it is not presumptuous when I know it is true- because I do not presume. I know."

How effortlessly that logic was twisted to see make his own point then. The near ancient being inclined to meet that near mischievous woman with his own brand of impishness- one that had once personified his very species and yet seemed to have become only more and more dilute over the years within that Fae genepool. Several more ingredients were readily summoned to his hands then, that table quickly resembling a spice rack. Harley's voice suddenly interrupting that silence once more. That question prompting the Frenchman to pause within that work, his gaze lifted to her own then. Such a....difficult question and yet he so hardly needed pause to answer it. His words nothing short of gentle as he offered them in those accented tones all the same. Was anyone truly free?

"No, they are not, but it is the freedom to choose which things will enslave us that is the difference. You did not choose to fall victim to that vampire woman or become a Were- but you can choose how it will affect you. I did not choose to love my eldest son, but from the moment I laid eyes upon him the night he was born I could do nothing but. As for my younger son, I chose to love him. Freedom in itself does not exist- but freedom to choose does. There is choice in everything, no matter how bleak it might appear and those things that enslave us are not always terrible."

That soft simper so touched his lips once more, Matteo offering those words for her to consider and yet, in her youth and willfulness perhaps she would not truly understand them. One day, they would make far more sense. That half of a potato pushed towards her then, his own slipped between his lips. The widening of her gaze giving away just how she felt about that potato before she offered those words. Matteo affording her that flamboyant bow that so personified him.

"I win."

That grin so found him once more, that choice of words distinctly deliberate as he claimed that very victory of the potato- if nothing else. Yet- he was so hardly finished with that very game just yet. The Frenchman appearing behind her then in that position they had found themselves once before. Her heartbeat yet again fluttering in an anticipation that betrayed her sharp tongue and biting words. How it amused him to hear it, to watch her defiance off it. Harley denying he had ever taken that victory to begin with before declaring him disqualified. That deep chuckle rumbling within his throat yet again.

"Ah, you must forgive me, I did not know of these rules."

That teleportation seized him once more. Matteo, this time, content t appear upon her couch. His tall, toned figure stretching across it as his arms folded behind his head with that promise of something more to offer her- if only she would admit her own loss. Harley was quick to move then, her slender, feminine figure crossing that room towards him only to climb onto that sofa in turn and stretch her warm body against the length off his own. The young woman all but nuzzling into the warmth off his neck in an effort to satisfy that inner feline that all but purred its contentment in his warmth- and so apparently his scent. Matteo allowed that warm simper to linger upon his lips as he merely allowed the woman to nestle against him in search of that....comfort. Both physical and emotional. One hand lifted easily from behind his head then, settling upon the warmth off her leg to trace that idle, teasing pattern. Harley's lips pressing against his neck in a fashion he found nothing short of pleasurable and yet that query of just why he smelled so good prompted that soft insistence it was his cologne, amusement lingering still as his fingers continued that gentle, light touch in some effort to only further placate that feline. Harley all but lulled into a state that, he suspected, was far more restful then she had experienced in several weeks. A part of the man almost content to merely....let her sleep and yet- there was still much to be done this evening. His easy words readily reaching her then, the woman all but tumbling willingly into that very trap. Ah, but perhaps he truly was cheating now with those fingers roving her skin. The French Fae so offering her that answer she sought to just why he truly did smell so appealing. How readily she would need to learn to understand her feline side- this, perhaps, a truly effective lesson in how much control that animal truly could exact. The sudden flush of colour to the woman's features seemed to shock her back into wakefulness.

She shifted hurriedly then. His hand moving away from her figure to afford her that space to hurriedly cover her eyes with her hand as if that shield might save her from the emotions that assaulted her system. Matteo unable to prevent that soft chortle that hummed within his throat all the same. Harley insisting he had painted a colorful enough picture. Her words nothing but dry as she struggled desperately to come back from that embarrassment. It was almost endearing, really. Matteo merely remaining silent as she struggled to sort though those very feelings only to dare to glance towards him once more and insist that 'hot' was not the word she would use. His own shoulders lifted in a soft shrug. The Frenchman content to leave her resting against him as she fought an eternally brave battle not to appear rattled. How well she would do against Risque, in time, if she could conceal her anger as well as she did her desires. Her efforts nothing short admirable.

Her cheek rubbed softly against his hand then before she moved to press it aside, Matteo merely allowing that hand to shift as she desired before she lent suddenly forward to press his lips to the corner off his own in that sweet kiss. Harley insisting it was nothing more than an act of thanks and the pilfering of stray potato.

"Je vous remercie."

Thank you. Though whether for that thank you kiss or so removing that supposed potato remained to be seen as that simper simply danced upon his lips once more, Harley easing herself away from him then, that lack off her own warmth displeasing and yet he made no move to stop her. Matteo affording her every chance to firmly place those barriers back where they belonged, held together with sarcasm and disdain for the world. Her confidence seeming to return with each stride away from him and yet how that impish simper lingered still. This round, he was assured, firmly won by himself even if she would never agree to it. Her fingers still toying with his shirt before she suddenly pokes at him, demanding his excuse. Harley nothing if not direct. His own form eased smoothly upward then as she all but stalked away in a manner so decidedly akin to a displeased feline it was near amusing and yet he hardly dared suggest it.

"I do not have an excuse, Mon Cherie. Though I think I won again."

And it is all he offers, as calm as ever. So frustratingly few words that hold no meaning and endless meaning all at once- along with that ever daring suggestion he had just won that game again. This, it seemed, one hand he would not show. At least not yet. His gaze continuing to rest softly upon her figure as she so searched for that drink she seemed to need before asking after himself.

"I will not say no. I shall have whatever you are having. For what is to come next I suspect we both might need it. As I said I have something else to offer you, I think it is time you saw it. After that, we can talk more of my victory once more"

He waited only so long as it took the dark-haired woman to turn back towards him then. Matteo, for once, holding a distinct seriousness he so often lacked as he gestured to that place beside him upon the couch. Matteo content to free her, for now, from that game they both so enjoyed even if its rules remained unclear. That singular wave off his hand so readily summoned a handful of polaroids then. The Frenchman laying each of them out upon that table then one beside the other. Darcy, Tetradore, Cobain, the bar staff, Risque herself among several others all arranged neatly and quite clearly taken without those within them so being aware.

"Do you know any of these people, Mon Jeune? I suspect you do. I think it is time I taught you to play a different game, a game I suspect you do not want to play but no longer have the choice since Risque made you a part of it. I can help you survive if you are willing to learn- but there are rules."

He paused then, his silver gaze so lingering upon her still before the softest of sighs so fell from him. How very great a risk it was to allow Harley to know him at all and yet...how unwilling he was to let one such as she fall victim to Risque as so many before her. Risque had, for so long, thought him dead. Each being whom knew he existed so increasing that risk. Such a delicate game this was.

"You can tell no one of me, you cannot so much as utter my name and I will need to give you something to remove even the trace of my scent from anywhere it is on you or anything you own. Far more than one life depends upon it. But if I am a secret you can keep- then I can tell you some of Risques secrets in turn and I can help you with those powers you do not even truly know you have yet. So tell me, Mademoiselle Harley, shall I teach you a new game?"

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