aiden tetradore

Lost sight of the man in the mirror
Following a heart of a sinner

The Were-King reclined effortlessly into the comfortable embrace of that armchair, his cheek resting against his fist as his elbow nestled against the arm of the chair. His intensely vibrant emerald irises remained focused upon the fae in front of him, his sibling appearing all but good-natured even despite that troubles that so clearly weighed upon his shoulders. Dorian's comment that his next day off was not until June, however, caused Tetradore's lips to purse together ever so slightly, "You should tell your staff you want a day off every month after June moving forward. Leave them to figure out the mess. I don't think it's too much to ask given all you're clearly doing." The Alpha was quite clearly insistent upon this very point, the man mentally taking it upon himself to ensure his sibling was doing more than just work. He hardly seemed convinced by that simper that fluttered across Dorian's lips before the fae merely shook his head in an almost dismissive manner. It was, perhaps, some effort to cheer the Italian Monarch that caused him to so deviate from his usually grim demeanor. That playful simper so clearly unexpected as Tetradore merely suggested the King lie of his whereabouts for those hours he so required to himself. It was, admittedly, a simple enough solution, even if Tetradore hardly expected Dorian to take such a suggestion with any measure of seriousness. That distinct roll of Dorian's silver hued irises prompted a soft chuckle upon his lips though Tetradore merely offered his brother a shrug in response.

Dorian, however, hardly seemed inclined to linger upon that conundrum for long, the fae instead uttering of his own confusion at a peculiar text message he'd received from his father - one that, admittedly, left Tetradore almost surprised. He hadn't thought Matteo might so see to informing Dorian of his own...tendencies, and yet, to see those words written upon that small screen prompted a snort from his nose before a nearly mischevious thought so crossed his mind. His emerald eyes glanced upwards as he inquired just how Dorian might go about calling the fae an 'ass' - such a word surely far more impactful if sent from Matteo's true son than from himself. The mere suggestion of that word alone provoked a glimpse of astonishment upon Dorian's features and yet, any efforts Tetradore made to glean any sort of true answer were largely fruitless. An audible sigh left the Alpha's lips that pointed look apparently enough to get his feelings across without even uttering another syllable. The last thing he had anticipated, however, was for Dorian's acute observation of just how alike the Frenchman he was! It was a point, that Tetradore largely would have contested and yet when so followed up by that compliment that he was exciting, the Hispanic man found himself almost at a loss for words. His gaze readily diverted back to that screen in front of him, the man thankfully saved from those compliments by Dorian's sudden insistence that he had come up with the perfect sort of message.

He watched with a raised brow as Dorian's gaze turned towards those closed bedroom doors as if the fae somehow feared his husband overhearing that scandalous message they were apparently crafting. That very suggestion at the 'letter' the Alpha was supposed to take down, however, let him almost reluctant to agree and yet, he settled further into his chair with Dorian's phone nestled within his hands. He listened in silence as his sibling so dictated that text message with an unnecessary amount of poise, the fae looking nothing if not entirely proud of his efforts and yet, admittedly, Tetradore had hardly gotten past those first two words before merely staring at Dorian in clear disbelief. The rest of that message was wholly ignored as he watched that pride drain from the youthful fae's features and for one singular moment, the two men were merely left to stare at one another before Tetradore inquired of Dorian started all text messages with such a formal greeting. He hardly waited for a response, truly, before his emerald eyes fluttered towards the screen in his hand. His fingers flicked through those messages, his eyes scanning with no true interest in those matters they discussed so much as that singular consistent greeting that prefaced each and every message sent to the Frenchman.

Those cursed words were all but muttered on his lips as he quickly coaxed that screen of texts back to the most recent one. His vibrant irises rose only to eye the pouting fae across from him, his head shaking ever so slightly in response. "I don't." He responded simply, only to reach for his own back pocket. His ebony cell phone plucked from the depths of those jeans, unlocked with a simple press of his fingertip on the back before he effortlessly pulled up his own far more vulgar and certainly more ridiculous line of messages with the same fae. That phone was easily slid across the small table between them for Dorian's own perusal as his fingers flew easily across the keyboard of Dorian's phone. His lips moved wordlessly as he so read back that very text message to himself, ensuring it sounded fitting before he pressed that send button - handing Dorian back that golden phone, only to retrieve his own far darker one. He watched as the fae King's silver gaze turned towards that message upon his phone - only for his eyes to widen at the very sight of that very last word. A small grin tugged at the very corners of the Were-King's features and yet, he hardly gave Dorian a chance to dwell upon that very curse word. His own attention deviated easily to answer those questions the Monarch had asked of him, particularly what those gaming consoles were, to begin with. He stopped himself short, however, realizing quite quickly that his opinions upon those games and their associated systems were surely lost upon the elder fae.

That comparison to board games however, was fairly appropriate and yet, he hardly anticipated that Matteo and Alexander might be so competitive to ruin a rug over such a dull game. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly as Dorian recounted the events that had led to the destruction of that carpet. A snort left his noise as Tetradore shook his head ever so slightly. "I'm not surprised, I mean....it is Macedonia." He pointed out, apparently of the belief that the loss of the country, even in a game was akin to sacrilege for Dorian's Godfather. After all, he had near grown up on those stories of the infamous conquerer's determination and vengeance. Admittedly, Tetradore hardly expected that conversation to deviate towards the two arguably most important men within Dorian's life. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly at that notion of Matteo stealing the Sebastian's fangs, that threat certainly within the fae's capability and yet...it was peculiar that Matteo might so take to threatening his son-in-law when he had hardly expressed a great dislike for the Englishman, aside from how difficult it made fostering that relationship with his son. His head shook ever so slightly as the Were denied any knowledge of such an event before inquiring if Dorian might like him to ask after it. Tetradore, it seemed, was far more capable of getting answers out of the Frenchman than the well-mannered Monarch. A soft grunt left his lips at Dorian's insistence that Sebastian was afraid of the Frenchman, though Tetradore had little to say of Matteo's tendency to surely worsen that already rocky relationship. "I'll ask." He offered as a way of a promise before purposefully shifting that conversation to Dorian's own interests - paint.

Dorian's face seemed to brighten at the very mention of that artistic hobby, the fae clearly delighted to discuss his artwork, even if Tetradore himself provided distinctly little in way of that conversation. The last thing he anticipated, however, was to be shown the fae Monarch's very love for that craft as Dorian plucked from his pocket a white pastel. Tetradore's insistence that it was certainly not paint seemed to garner little other than amusement from his sibling as the Were-King leaned forward to rescue his hot chocolate from the drawing that had begun to take over that small table. He watched as a single tap from the fae's finger so prompted that flower to fill with color, only for Dorian to pull the flower from the surface of the table. His eyebrows rose as the flower was handed towards him and gently, Tetradore reached out to take it. His fingers ran over the petals in a clearly mystified manner as he so contemplated the power his sibling truly held. Its applications were...vast, to say the least. His vibrant gaze rose slowly towards the fae as he asked after it's ability to craft the very thing he loved most - a car. The very inquiry seemed to baffle the fae King as if Dorian had scarcely considered something so distinctly functional. His admittance that he had never tried was, perhaps, not surprising and yet, it was Dorian's complaint that cars were not pretty that saw Tetradore's lips press together in a subtle glimpse of his own disappointment.

He slouched further back into his chair, his fingers tracing the edge of the armchair in what was a subdued gesture of the boy's content. Tetradore knew, naturally, that not every individual shared the same enjoyment as he did in those luxurious sports cars. But what he had naively hoped for was the ability to share some common ground with Matteo's own son. It was a hope that had quickly begun to dwindle. The fae Monarch was ignorant of those video games, disliked the mere appearance of cars, had never heard of his favorite foods, and likely was not only uninterested but also surely abhorred the fights Tetradore partook in. Truly - the only thing that bound the two men together was those few souls they had in common between them. He suspected that this was....not going to be the warming camaraderie that Matteo had so hoped for them. Tetradore shoulders lifted in an almost vague shrug as Dorian began to consider the technicalities of that request. "Don't worry about." He commented, simply attempting to brush off the idea with little notion of just how that quandry had so begun to fill the fae, much less just how difficult it might be now to dismiss. Tetradore was, thankfully, saved from entertaining such notions as those that filled Dorian's thoughts by the very approach of....well....another servant, he supposed. His emerald irises rose to look up at the man, simply watching with a nearly vacant look at those foreign words he was presented with.

His gaze shifted briefly towards Dorian as the Fae Monarch so effortlessly caught on to his difficulty comprehending those very words spoken to him. "Title?" Tetradore inquired, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side. Did they truly intend to refer to him as Alpha? Or King of the West? They were, after all, the only titles that Tetradore knew of and yet, despite these, he was so rarely actually called them. They were things spoken of behind his back. They were...understood implications at best. That glimpse, apparently, coaxed his sibling to elaborate upon that very request, providing him the options of 'Lord' and 'Sir'. Were those....things the Italians called their Alphas? Why would Dorian's court even care about that very position overseas - so far from his own pack? It was only that singular mention of Matteo that so drew the Were-King from those thoughts he was clearly so focused upon considering. "Tell me....what, exactly?" Tetradore inquired, that suspicion all to clear upon his features. There was much, he was sure, that Matteo did not tell him. After all, why would he? Those tales he had elicited from the man were often more for his own comfort than Matteo's eagerness to share. That soft sigh upon Dorian's lips did little to dispel that caution within him, however, as the Fae so announced that decidedly French - wait, Matteo....was a pear? His eyebrows knitted together as Dorian continued, informing him that such a title was on passed down from Father to Son and yet, even still Tetradore saw little it had to do with him.

For a long moment, Tetradore remained silent, simply contemplating that choice of title before him, much less the fact that the very thing that had been bestowed upon him when he'd accepted Matteo's adoption of him, even though he'd been less than...welcoming of the idea in the first place. It was a fact he would certainly have to make up at some point, he supposed, even though Tetradore found himself wrought with those taxing emotions at even the consideration of it all. Matteo had always been there for him and yet, why the fae would so wish to formally take him as his own still baffled him. Much less his concern for both ensuring he didn't taint the memory of his father while also still showing the appreciation Matteo surely deserved for all the Frenchman had done over those years - for bringing him back from the brink time and time again. That silence from his part must have lasted an uncomfortably long time, the fae Monarch so softly assuring him the title hardly required anything of him - the man's voice alone so interrupting his thoughts as Tetradore merely should his head in a dismissive fashion. "They may call me whatever they like, I don't care."