Matteo

It's tough to be a god

The young woman's insistence that he meant to tease her with ambiguity only seemed to further that warm simper upon the Frenchmans features. Matteo was content to enjoy Mira's own quickness of wit and mind. The woman in turn so hardly seemed to mind his own fashion of speaking. Those often cryptic words, at times, prone to irritate Dorian in particular to no end. Mira's soft admittance, however, that she was content not to see the future was perhaps a statement the near ancient fae understood so very well. Ah, but how often had he, too, so desired such a thing as that? How often had he strove to remove his own 'gift' from himself with the assistance of more alcohol than one was surely so designed to drink? That was a desire he understood well and yet- Mira continued in that moment. Her thoughts were purposeful as she offered them, the young woman querying as so many before her had done when it came to his own talents to see the world as it would be within the future. Did he not find it confusing to see so many life paths for so many people laid out before him? Did that not also leave him in the dark? How readily her words prompted a soft lift of his lip once more, Matteo regarding her warmly as she hurriedly insisted he need not answer such a thing. A bar keep, she insisted, need not pry. A ready shuckle hummed easily within the Frenchmans own throat, his hand lifting lightly to wave away her concern.

"I think, Mademoiselle Mira, that it is very much the role of a barkeep to pry, non? Why else do her customers sit at the bar while she wipes it? But, as you say, yes, it can be...difficult to see so many paths-but that is not the true challenge. Ah, the true challenge, Mon Amie, is choosing which path to try and help them down- or prevent them from walking."

To guide someone to their future- or away from it- was perhaps a distinct manner of morals. Perhaps even more so of fate. Matteo long having contemplated just what his own role was within such an ideal and why, out of so many upon this very earth, he had been cursed with the affliction to see them suffer. Over and over and over. Victims to their fate. Yet a fate perhaps he might have prevented- were he capable of guiding so many at once. Ah, but perhaps such was his lot in life, to watch the world burn. A punishment for a crime he did not recall commiting and yet such disparaging thoughts were so rarely conducive to good company. Matteo, as always, was quick to discard them to the back of his mind. Mira instead presented with that ever-present grin before the Frenchman sought to direct that conversation to a manner he deemed of great seriousness. The matter of feeding Tetradore. A task that had been his own for far too long- of that he was certain. Yet whether or not Mira would prove a suitable person for this task remained to be seen. Even if the young woman was assured her grandmother would be offended that Matteo should question Mira's own skill. In a world in which meals 'in a packet' were so readily available the Frenchman had become nothing if not convinced of the lack of skill of others- and of Tetradore's determination to continue to eat that 'mac n cheese' from a box. A box of sin! That, Matteo was certain, was exactly what it was. His very query on whether or not Tetradore consumed this meal more then the Were admitted was met with Mira's own insistence that surely it was acceptable to enjoy life's simple pleasures- even if that was food from a box.

How readily Matteo's own features shifted into a frown, the Frenchman eyeing the woman across from him with a present and clear disdain he saw no need to conceal. How readily he had known she facilitated such things! She, like Tobias, was an enabler of such habits as microwavable meals. A soft snort echoed from the Frenchmans lips then. Matteo regarded the young woman incredulously now.

"That box of sin will result in heart failure from the level of salt within it I am certain- and that is just the beginning. Salt is what people with uncultured pallets use to hide poor cooking."

Matteo's stance upon food was undoubtedly strong, the Frenchman's nose wrinkling at the idea once more before returning that conversation toward Mira once more and her own talents. After all, if she intended to date his son then she would surely be required to feed him- and appropriately so. This, it seemed, Matteo deemed a near critical skill. Mira's sudden query upon his own skill in regards to Brazilian cooking, however, was one it seemed the Fae had anticipated as that singular touch of power prompted the sudden appearance of Brazil's national dish upon that polished bar table. That baffled, wholly questioning look from the young woman across from him prompted a ready chuckle from the Frenchman before he so easily procured that fork, offering it to Mira now. This, Mira insisted, was, perhaps, more then merely 'prepared'. Her very words coaxed a near impish grin from the man once more as his shoulders rose in a shrug.

"Ah, but it is another facet of a life so long. I have ample time for such things. Besides, you are pleasant company."

Sharing a meal with his son's girlfriend was, Matteo was certain, a necessity, even if he so hardly insisted as such out loud. The Frenchman was wholly curious of her thoughts upon that dish all the same. Even if he remained confident in its authenticity. After all, he had gotten most of those ingredients from Brazil itself. Mira seemed almost wary of that dish, even as she insisted it smelled right. The young woman moved around that bar then to sit beside him, that first bite lifted to her lips without complaint. Matteo assured it was surely better than even her Vovo's-a secret he was inclined to keep upon her behalf. Mira's teasing words prompted a look of clear innocence to his features.

"I am not asking you to betray her, Mon Amie. I am asking you to merely...secretly admit to my cooking genius."

Someone, it seemed, was not terribly humble. His words were offered with good natured humor all the same. Yet, why should he be? Cooking was, perhaps, his greatest of talents. Even if it was a skill he had learned forcibly all those years ago with Alexander at a loss for finding any task a teenage Matteo had been capable of completing competently. Matteo's own fork reached over to stab at a piece of that soft meat before slipping it between his own lips with satisfaction. Mira was near insistent that she could surely follow a recipe if offered to her, even if here and now behind that bar was so hardly the place. Ah, but how refreshing her confidence was. Perhaps she might yet prove worthy of being taught how to properly cook at least one dish Aiden enjoyed. The young Were querying after Aiden's specific tastes once more.

"Would you be surprised to know Aidun does, in fact, have a very well developed palette? Oui, he is very good at discerning flavors in food- though he would never admit as such. If certain dishes are not cooked right he will not eat them or will do so only begrudgingly. He is very French like that."

Matteo's grin widened a little more at such an admittance. Tetradore was, after all, something of an oddity in that regard. His son would eat packet pasta one day and yet adamantly refuse a favored dish the next if it was not seasoned right. His son was far more culinary aware then he ever let on. How pleasing it was.

"I think though, next week, on Wednesday night, I have some time for you to cook for me. We shall see how it is so you cook. If it is sufficient I will teach you one of my recipes. Do not fear, you are not working next wednesday- I have already seen as such."

Mira, after all, so surely...deserved to be part of their family. Even through that act of cooking. A task Matteo was already ner certain she would excel at. His very query upon his accent, however, coaxed a ready laugh from the woman. His accent was apparently 'not that bad'.Much like Mira's grandmother. Ah, how certain he was such a thing was not so very complimentary and yet that warm chuckle found his lips all the same. His silver gaze met her own once more.

"I am pleased, Mon Amie, to have spent some time with you. For what it is worth though, Aidun does not regret having introduced you to us. He regrets allowing me to meet anyone. He thinks I am, how you say? A bad influence?"

That warm simper hardly faded as Matteo moved to gently rise from his seat then, content to allow Mira to finish that meal before the Ark opened and those fights got underway.

"Next wednesday, non?"