Matteo

It's tough to be a god

He could hardly remember the last time he had walked barefoot anywhere, let alone along the beach. That damp sand felt almost odd. As if he had forgotten the sensation over time. Perhaps he had. The Frenchman shifted slightly, peering back and over his shoulder to eye that line of footprints he had left in the sand. His own stride notably longer then that belonging to the set of footprints beside his own. Alexander never had possessed terribly a terrible wide stride, his companions shorter stature surely owing to that an yet, even Matteo could hardly deny the striking evenness with which Alex walked. The Frenchman momentarily contemplating that very thing before his silver gaze returned to the man beside him. Alexander, like himself, had removed his shoes and left them further back up the beach amongst the tussock grass. The pair of ancient beings having decided, quote on a whim, to remind themselves of what it felt like to walk barefoot in the sand. It had hardly taken long for their easy conversation to shift from Matteo's children, to Alexis, to horses and at last to the very last battle they had fought upon a beach all those years ago. How far such glory days seemed now! Yet, with a memory like Alexanders it was near strikingly easy to relive those times. How very alive his companion seemed when he spoke about those battles, his memories of it, his impressions and his actions. Alex remembered not only that battle itself but the weather, the time, the date, how the very air had smelled and exactly which horses they had both ridden. Horses and battles, after all, were two of very few things in the world Alexander spoke about with true passion.

Matteo shifted slightly as Alexander continued to speak. The Frenchman moving closer to the water to allow that next wave to wash up and over his feet, the water far colder then he had anticipated. He could so hardly prevent that ready laugh that fell from his lips as Alex so reminded him of his less-than-brilliant plan, all those years ago, to attempt to camouflage an entire ship as an Island no less to allow them to escape the waters around Indonesia. Ah, but had it not worked? That very roll off his companions eyes prompted that simper to the Fae's lips once more. The pair continuing down that beach. Their conversation becoming only more animated as Matteo so insisted the credit for that island escape was surely his own. Alexander content to argue it had been he himself whom had done all the planning, let alone the execution of that very plan in the dead of night and no less than fifteen knots an hour, a veritable feat of naval brilliance if he'd ever heard one. How very tempted Matteo was to see if he could push his companion into the ocean completely and yet- there was every chance the Hunter with his far superior strength would push him right back and send him tumbling into the sand. Maybe another day.

The pair had very nearly reached the end of the beach where the waves crashed into that rocky pinnacle when his silvered gaze fell upon the sight of that young woman huddled atop the sand- her gaze turned out to sea. How very familiar her features were and that long dark hair. It had been some months since Aiden and himself had last entertained Arya within the Ark. The young WereSeal having proven to be unusually agreeable company. The girl very near destined to find a place amongst Aiden's own pack and indeed it had been for that very reason the Frenchman had taken an interest within her. After all, his power so intended to unintentionally encompass any individual set to cross Aiden's path or shape his future in a distinct fashion. Arya falling very nearly into both categories in one sense of another. Although why the girl lingered out here, alone, he hardly knew. Matteo, for now, hardly seeking to embrace his own affinities. The man allowing his own curiosity to linger as he turned to his equally as ancient companion.

"I will meet you back at the Cafe tonight. I know that woman. Perhaps it is you who excels in battle, Mon Amie, but my true talents lie elsewhere. I was always better, I think, at talking rather than fighting, oui. See you tonight."

Alexander turned easily to make his way back down that beach. Matteo continuing alone then, his hands tucked into the pockets off his jeans as he strode toward the young woman. How hardly she seemed to notice him. Her gaze firmly upon the ocean ahead in the very fashion one so tended to look when their mind was full. Hmm, how curious that one so young and so bright might find themselves so very afflicted. The Frenchman clearing his throat softly if only to garner her attention and prevent her being startled. His silver gaze readily meeting her own the moment she glanced upward.

"It has been a long time, Mademoiselle Arya. No, no, you need not stand. I shall join you instead. I was most possessed this day you see, with the foolish idea that I should like to remind myself how sand felt underfoot. I had forgotten, I think. Just as I had forgotten how it sticks to all things."

That soft chuckle rose easily within his throat, thos accented words offered warmly and gently as Matteo eased himself into the sand beside her. He allowed one long limn to extend put before him, the other remaining bent at the knee to rest his arm upon. The Frenchman appearing nothing short of casual even if he could hardly remember the last time he had subject himself to sitting in sand. Perhaps it would be good for him. His gaze hardly wavering from his young companions then.

"Why is it you are here today, Mon Amie? I suspect the feeling of sand is not so foreign to you. Perhaps you merely like this beach, although I am not assured it is the most likeable of all the beaches the city might offer. I find myself with little to do this afternoon, perhaps you will entertain me with a story, I have nothing but time."

How easily that simper tugged at his lips once more. The French seeking to coax the woman to share whatever it was that plagued so clearly at her mind and yet- by that same notion- his words were left wholly open to allow her to speak of anything at all she might like. After all, some preferred to speak frankly of what bothered them, others preferred to speak first of anything but that which bothered them and some preferred not to speak at all. The near ancient Fae content to merely offer his presence this very afternoon. What Arya might chose to do with it so entirely up to her alone.