Matteo

It's tough to be a god

The softest of sighs so fell from the Frenchmans lips as he lay back upon that spare bed in one of those many, many unused rooms in his near excessively large home. That silver chain collar dangled idly from one hand as he held it up above him, his free hand toying with that glorious red gemstone that hung from the end it. Even now, even after all these years, that gem had remained as bright and vibrant as ever- long after that chain had begun to fade. Faint touches of sunlight cast those near dappled rays into the room through the open window and sheer lace curtains that billowed almost softly in the breeze, that very light so catching that gem on occasion and casting a myriad of different shades of red across the floor, the bed and Matteo himself. How long had it been now? Well over six hundred years. Closer to seven hundred surely. How utterly ridiculous it was that after all this time he still felt....indecisive over the manner. That confliction of emotions running far deeper than he cared to admit. If it was his choice alone he was sure he would hardly see reason to return that collar or gem to its rightful owner and yet- that very act so damned another. One who hardly deserved to be damned in any sense. One who had waited so, so and within the next few months so stood upon the precipice of finally finding....peace.

"Are you enjoying that sun, Mon Chat?"

That collar was lowered to rest upon Matteo's chest, his silver gaze shifted to that window and the empty box seat positioned in front of it. There was no answer to his question. There never was. He had stopped answering centuries ago and yet Matteo remained assured he could hear his questions all the same. The Frenchman's gaze lingered upon that seemingly vacant window seat for several moments longer before that sudden, soft knock at the door saw his attention shift. That softly uttered 'come in' prompting that door to open just so and reveal Gregory, his manservant, so standing just within the doorframe itself with that tray of coffee, saucer of cream and afternoon cake. The warlock, as always, refusing to come any further into that room then he need. The fear that clung to the man almost painfully clear even despite Matteo insistence, over and over, that no harm would come to him. Your afternoon tea, sir.

"Thank you, Gregory. You can set it on the table just there."

That very table Matteo gestured to was not more then two or three steps into that room and yet still the warlock hesitated. The faintest of simpers so danced upon the near ancient Fae's features in response to that clear distress his servant so seemed to find in the idea of those few steps. Really, he supposed, he should hardly laugh at the man. Not when Gregory truly did find fear in being within that room. Warlocks, like Witches, so often tending to have a stronger.... sense of spirits then any other species. Gregory's near determined sense of duty however seemed to wage a veritable war within the unfortunate fellow until, not to be outdone by his own fear, the man near ran those three steps to deposit the tray before all but fleeing back to the perceived safety of the outside hallway. That very display so prompting that faint, playful roll of Matteo's own eyes.

"He will do you no harm, Gregory."
He unnerves me, Matteo. In all my years I have never seen an animal spirit, they are never strong enough to persist after death. Ghosts linger only when they have unfinished business. Cats, Sir, do not have unfinished business.
"This one does, Mon Amie. He is waiting."
He is waiting for something? What does a cat wait for?
"Not something, someone. He has been waiting for her for centuries. He is still waiting now. Love is....far, far more powerful than death."

His gaze shifted gently toward that window once more and the place he could only presume that tabby cat still sat, just as he had done in life, every day, waiting and waiting with eternal faith, eternal belief, that his Mistress would come home for him. He had been near impossible to draw away from that window even when he had lived. Matteo able to coax him away for an hour or so for food and yet he would return every time to take up that vigil. That window so facing the very road that lead to home. That tabby having tried, on several occasions, to make that journey and yet each time it had proven far to far. Matteo having collected him from road sides, animal pounds and disgruntled neighbours on more than one occasion. As those years had passed and he had aged that cat had been forced to merely take up that vigil alone. Every day, every night, every week, every year until his body too had failed him. He had died waiting by that window, his body buried within the garden and among the roses and yet his heart had persisted still. It persisted even now in some form. Matteo holding truly little understanding of the spirit world or why some remained as ghosts and others did not. She had surely forgotten her pet over the years. Replaced him with countless others with no knowledge of his unflinching loyalty or that his spirit persisted still to haunt Matteo's third floor guest bedroom.

Sir, is that Red Beryl!?

That sudden exclamation from his manservant seemed to evaporate that haze of thought. Matteo following Gregorys gaze down to that collar that rested upon his chest then, his fingers reaching to lift it upward and display it more fully to the man. That heart shaped red gem catching the sun once more.

"It is."
Sir, it would be worth a small fortune. You should sell it. Cut into that heart shape it would be much desired.
"It is not mine to sell, Mon Amie. It is his collar and I suspect, once it is returned to his owner, he will find peace."
To spend such money on a cat is sinful! Yet if returning that collar to his own will see him leave then for goodness sakes i beg you do it. He has haunted this room long enough!
"It is not so simple as that."

Gregory's hands were thrown easily within the air then. The warlock stamping back down the hall to make himself useful elsewhere. Matteo inclined to chuckle as he watched the man go before he proceeded to rise from that bed. That collar was placed gently upon the night stand before the Fae moved toward that tray of coffee, cake and cream. The saucer of cream was lifted gently from the tray only to be placed upon the floor. Whether or not ghosts could eat he hardly knew and yet Matteo had been leaving something for that cat each evening all the same. Despite those meals remaining untouched. That gesture was perhaps all he could do to display some sort of care for the creature. How surely he deserved to find peace and yet.....did Risque truly deserve to have that heart back? Matteo was sure she did not.

"Goodnight, Petit Coeur."

Matteo reached easily for that tray then, his own affinity so readily embracing him. The Frenchman appeared within that rather small apartment Harley called home. The place quiet, dark, disused for near on three days after Darcy had seen fit to imprison the woman for her words. Yet, if what he had seen of that future was true, she had been released this very evening and was merely twenty or so minutes away from returning home. Thoughts of cats and collars were, for now, cast easily from the Frenchmans mind. His thoughts instead returned to the task at hand of attempting to repair whatever damage had been done to that raven-haired woman in the wake of Darcy and Syn itself. The lights were easily turned on, Matteo moving then to open the windows and allow that fresh night air to chase away that near musty scent that so tended to appear in any place that remained unused for even a day. The Frenchman stepped smoothly towards the refrigerator then, pulling open that door to eye what ingredients he might have to work with. The sight of what appeared to be the sort of soup one poured from a can readily seeing him close that door once more as if it might prompt some sort of disease.

"Sacraeblue!"

She was as bad as Aiden! Did no one in this century understand cooking!? Ah, but it was a veritable sin he was assured! That irritable grumble fell easily from his lips as Matteo glanced upward at that clock once more. His time rather limited and yet he was assured such a thing could be worked with. Those ingredients were readily summoned to his hands then from his own home. Beef, cream, vegetables, seasoning and those very herbs he was assured would best compliment that dish along with that beef stock he had made earlier that evening. The near glorious scent of that soup filling the apartment within mere moments as that pot was placed on the stove. It was near ten minutes later that the door of that apartment so finally opened as Matteo lent agianst that kitchen counter, his free hand stirring that meal he knew would mean more to Harley in that moment then words surely would. How exhausted, hungry and very....shattered that woman appeared. The mere sight of her so prompting that near ache within himself and yet he so refused to allow that warm simper to falter from his lips as he turned to face her. Harley needed strength, not to see that look of....pity upon his features. After all, she had demanded he never pity her. So he would not.

"Ah, Mon Cherie, you are home. There is coffee and vanilla cake upon the table, small sips only, it will do you no good to drink or eat to fast. Dinner will be ready in a moment."

Not but a word of what had so happened to that woman and what she had seen those nights past left his lips. Not now. Not yet. There would be time for that later. Matteo, for now, so seeking to afford her but some return to normalcy (in as much as it was normal to have a 2000 year old Fae prepare dinner) and- like he had done for Aiden so many, many times before- to begin to pick up the breaks and chips and fractures so done to her very soul and piece them back together again. The world, after all, so tended to look even a tiny bit brighter when one was not hungry.