Ah, but how the Frenchman could hardly help that warm chuckle that found his lips in the wake of the young woman's insistence that girls were surely as silly as boys. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps, in the end, they were all truly silly when it came to matters of the heart. How readily affection so often made a fool of them all- even himself- at least within his younger years. The Frenchman, after all that time, content to think of his own teenage years with a ready amusement. How much he might surely have liked to tell his teenage self now, after all this time. Yet- how keenly he suspected it was neither boys, nor girls, that Arya truly wished to discuss today. Whatever thoughts clung to the young woman's mind, he suspected, were far more grand than matters of the heart anc school-girl crushes. The near ancient Fae so hardly saw any need to press. Rather, if Arya chose to share those worries, she would do so, in her own time- and if she did not then that day had hardly been wasted all the same. There was always time, he was certain, for sitting upon the sand in good company. In the very least he might surely say that he had remembered what sand felt like after all this time. EVen if he suspected he did not share quite the same love for it as his young companion.

Those worries, it seemed, were quick to present themselves. Matteo inclined to listen quietly as Arya explained those thoughts that conflicted and too- the worries that seemed to turn over and over until doubt about her own choices clawed at the forefront of her decisions. How uncertain she seemed over whether or not Tetradore's pack was right for her. She feared her difference, feared her ability to fit in and too- as so many did- Were or otherwise, she feared for her lack of acceptance amongst a group already so tightly bound to one another. Ah, but how well he remembered such fears! Matteo's own head shook gently. The Frenchman quick to assure her she hardly rambled. Rather, those very fears where ones he knew well in turn. Perhaps he could not provide her an answer to those worries and yet, in the very least, he might offer her the simple assurance that there was little harm in trying. That in the very least, if that pack did not suit her, she could surely walk away from it. After all, it was better to know than to wonder- of that he was certain. Tetradore's pack, as.....unique as they were, would surely have a place for a young girl such as Arya with her own talents to bring. Tetradore had never yet turned away any being willing to try. The WerePanther, in turn, was hardly without his own faults. besides - no matter how unusual Arya might believe herself to be- she would hardly be more 'different' then Tobias. A ready tease found his accented lyrics then. The near ancient Fae offering the gentle jest as another chuckle rose to his lips and he leaned further back within the sand- his toes moving those grains about as if feeling for them once more. Arya's own gaze turned toward him then, the young woman's bewilderment clear before her own laughter seemed to find her. The WereSeal insisting that 'boys would be boys'. That very phrase coaxing another grin to the Frenchmans lips.

"Ah, Mon Amie, that is the truest phrase I know- and I know many phrases."

Matteo's own silver gaze shifted from the young woman beside him then to eye the ocean once more. How very much it reminded him of Naples- of the waves that crashed agianst stone walls of the summer Palace. He had found it...soothing once. So many years ago. The Frenchman, for the first time in so very long, content to...remember that feeling. It was perhaps, so hardly difficult to at least appreciate young Arya's draw to those ocean waves. The young woman seemed equally as content within his own thoughts. His insistence that family was what she made it so seemed to provoke some measure of consideration within her. Matteo, for now, saw little need to interrupt her contemplation and yet- how very true he believed those words to be. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It had been the saying once, long ago, when the world was new and filled with those who desired to be remembered for words and deeds and grand gestures, Matteo hardly had cared to think of it in centuries and yet- the meaning of those words remained as potent as ever. Those relationships formed by choice, by promise, were stronger then those formed by birth. They almost always were. Choosing a pack was no small choice and yet- the promise of a choice rightly made would bring her a whole new family. One she had decided upon for herself. A choice she was destined to make and yet, as always, the Frenchman so kept his very knowledge of that future to himself. After all, her fate was her own to act on. His role surely no more than to merely guide her toward it from afar.

Ayra seemed to wonder aloud then, the woman attempting to muster up that courage to act on those words he had offered her. Matteo's silver gaze shifted back to her own then, that simper on his features hardly faltered as she insisted she merely needed the courage to make that leap- before declaring she hardly knew how to go about asking to join the pack to begin with. Her query on whether or not she might simply go down to the Ark and ask to join brought those words of reply to Matteo's lips before the Were Seal insisted Tetradore would at least be pleased to know she was not bleeding to death any longer. Those very words prompted a lift of the Frenchmans eyes in clear curiosity and evident surprise. Arya insisted, a moment later, such a thing surely required explanation.

"Oui, I should like to hear this tale I think."

Matteo's hand gestured softly toward the young woman then in a gentle gesture for her to continue. Arya readily offered that tale of her near unfortunate encounter with a harpoon of sorts. Tetradore evidently assisted her in removing it and seeing to the healing of the wound. Arya's fingers reached for the hem of her shirt then, Matteo's own head dipped slightly to peet at that scar that remained agianst her creamy skin. The woman insisting it made her look tough as another chuckle hummed within the depths of his throat.

"Oh, it is a thing most tough, I agree. You shall be feared up and down the coast for it I am sure."

That easy humour found those accented lyrics. A near impish look was inclined to linger upon the Frenchmans features before Matteo lent further back within that sand once more. Those grains were content stick to his skin in every place they touched. His silver gaze, as before, finding the young woman's own. It was...pleasing, in some respect, to know that Tetradore's good heart persisted still, even beneath that near frosted exterior he tended to present to the world at large. Ho terribly fragile that goodness was and how desperately he had fought to preserve it within his son. Those fractured, fragile tendrils so often seemed to grow weaker and weaker as the years passed. In the very least, however, Tetradore had managed to endear himself to Arya enough to present his pack as a consideration for her- that manner of joining it however- was another thing entirely.

"Tetradore is not a man for formal things, not in most regards. Seeking him out to ask if you might find place within his pack is the best way. However, you will not find him at the Ark any longer, I fear, Mon Amie. The Ark resides at the bottom of the harbour. There was an....accident."

How very...unpleasant that word tasted upon his tongue. Matteo allowed the briefest of frowns to find his features before that look and too- the emotion that came with it was all but dismissed. Here and now was hardly the time to consider the fate of that ship and what or whom was to blame for it. Matteo, in that moment, determined to focus far more upon his companion.

"Tetradore is staying elsewhere for now, his pack is scattered, but there will be another Ark in the coming months- another place to call home. Until then though he enjoys the bakery downtown or the Inner Sanctum cafe, you can find him there some afternoons. If he is being difficult tell him Matteo sent you- that will earn you a sigh, a roll of his eyes and his full attention."

Another teasing smirk so found the Frenchmans lips then before a near faint tint of red suddenly seemed to ensnare those silver irises. That silver colour was chased away, replaced entirely by that near scarlett shade before, all at once, his gaze returned to that silver hue once more. Matteo so hardly seemed to miss a single beat. The man, ao apparently, unaffected by that sudden touch of power in every sense.

"He will be at the Inner Sanctum on Wednesday next week at four in the afternoon four eleven to be exact. He will be back again on Sunday at about two minutes past five in the evening- if you decide you wish to talk to him."

c'est dur d'être un dieu.