<Continued from here>

Under the rather flamboyant flamingo mask, Zechariah smiled and shook his head.

“Hardly that bad,” he said, though that was where that argument ended – surprisingly. “Alright,” he agreed, even more strangely. “What would you recommend, sir?”

Menachem had been tempted to give him kosher, instead he thought hard on the last drink he remembered his brother really liking . He glanced at the variety and then leaned on the crutch to get to a bottle of one of his favorites, if it still was? "How's this?"

There was a fancier looking bottle right next to it, and his eyes flicked to it. Then, the gentleman’s … crutches. Ah, he was injured. Poor thing.

“Yes, perfect,” he decided instead. “Thank you.”

He let his eyes coast over the bar. A woman leaning over another woman … a woman on some man’s lap, with his face in her bosom. Matters, ahem, escalated occasionally at bathhouses too, though it was not typically multiple people (unless they were doing the same thing together, cough), nor was there typically the blatant exchange of money.

Zechariah eyed the woman’s twitch of her hand, and the gentleman slipping coin into it without pausing.

… He felt like he should be more stressed out about all this indecency. Oh well.

“Have you worked here long?” he asked conversationally.

Did he want a different bottle? He'd accepted the offered one, so Menachem wasn't about to change that. Let him finish his drink then perhaps.

He'd considered saying or doing something to wreck his night, but he wanted the job. He wanted to help pay back the medical bills. He had no idea what else to do, so it was one step at a time.

As the assistant noticed him people watch, he almost let him alone until he spoke.

" Ah. First night actually. This is temporary, I'm going to be watching the door when I'm back on my feet." He said as he tapped the support for his injured leg. "You come here often?" Was that an inappropriate question? Asking his own brother if he was desperate enough to come buying often? The look from the bartender seemed to be that it was. "Sorry, I've not learned how to talk politely yet. "

Zechariah smirked at his pun and shook his head. (Usually, he acted like Menachem’s jokes were low-brow.)

“Ah, no,” he laughed, taking a sip of his drink. “My fiance inherited this place. I was not certain what to think, but she is doing …” what did he say that did not sound like condoning this, while still being supportive of his beautiful wife?

What if Elijah- ahem, not necessarily Elijah, but someone beautiful and yet complicated nonetheless, ran a place like this? He would probably cut his losses before he ended up with another Simon, but barring that …

“She makes it a diamond in the rough.”

Faking love felt kind of nice, actually.

“Love takes you down strange roads.”

"Fiance?" Was his surprise do clear. Did Uriel know about this? He had to admit he was surprised.

He laughed weakly though perhaps it came out too forced. "Then you'll be one I need to keep happy alongside her." He said, and was slowly considering where else he could work to make money as he was dreading the idea of his brother as his employer. Flashbacks of child hood days when he had to do what Zechariah wanted came to him and he nearly dropped the bottle he was holding.

"I see. Well..." he glanced around the place then back at him. "It seems like she has quite an eye for pageantry. This is quite a party. I'm sure it'll be successful under her. And believe you'll both be very happy since you seem quite enamored." And indeed, Zechariah did seem happy.

He was happy for Uriel finding love and getting married. But there was a deep resentment seeing his cold and usually cruel brother getting the same. He looked down and poured a drink for someone else to hide his expression. "I suppose that means you get anything you want from the bar." He hoped the guy got drunk and made an ass of himself.

His brightly clad older brother seemed outwardly unfazed by his disbelief … but … did it truly seem so strange that a masked stranger would be engaged? To Sonia herself, he presumed. Had he ended up with another suggestive article about himself? What if Elijah’s strange nemesis had spotted them out together?

… Paranoid. He was being paranoid. As far as he could tell, Sonia was trying to forget she ever forced him into a corner – of course people would be surprised to hear her engaged again! It was his duty to solidify what she had begun.

Zechariah laughed as well (… was it just him, or did they have an awfully similar laugh?) and shook his head.

“Well-accounted expenditures are all it takes,” he assured.

He mentioned the pageantry, and Zechariah took a moment to admire some of the not-in flagrante delicto patrons.

“If it were not for the type of crowd this place attracts,” Zechariah though aloud, “it would be an absolutely splendid gathering.”

He glanced to the bartender, and cleared his throat. He took a hearty swig of his drink.

“I need to work on that,” he admitted. “There was someone before her, with a similar trade on the side, who …” broke his heart “… murdered a …” friend, a friend he felt dirty even thinking of as a friend after what he did “… man I used to work with.”

Should he really be getting into this? Ah, fuck it. They were strangers and masked. Zechariah took another hearty swig – heartier than he tended to take around Menachem, whom he played the picture of self control about. He waved a hand at Menachem’s ‘free drinks’.

“I appreciate the offer, but that will fuck the books,” he said quite plainly.

Zechariah had zero doubts that the marriage would go through, and the brothel be his strange mixed blessing. He took another shameless gulp.

“This is good,” Zechariah said, surprised. “Thank you.”

The bartender nodded as he listened and his own brother tumbled out knowledge to him. He'd dated a prostitute before? And they murdered someone?! And he gave him shit. He wanted to hold this over him, and he would... but probably for something very small and unimportant. He seemed sincere and more human than Menachem was used to.

"Well it is a brothel. I don't think you can control the type of clients and people it attracts. But it's better than most and this has been done well. Artistic?" He suggested and worried slightly if he'd be fired at any moment for speaking so honestly.

"Sorry about your past ah.. relationship. She seems sincerely nice, I'm sure history won't repeat itself." He knew it was a dumb thing to say but it just came out. He wanted to say something sympathetic and it was just the word vomit he came up with.

"Fair enough." He shrugged and nodded to him. "I know what you like. This used to be a favorite of yours, right?" He asked, quite prepared to let the cat out of the bag.

“We can keep the dangerous ones out,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “Do you need a rifle while your …” he waved vaguely out at Menachem’s crutches, “while you heal? I have one at home I could lend you.”

These were soon to be his people too, after all, how ever different they may be. He would be damned if he did not do his best to protect them. He shrugged and took a smaller sip, letting it roll over his tongue and relishing in the burn down.

“The past is in the past,” he shrugged.

He believed it, too.

“Now I have a beautiful fiance, and twins on the way. Twins!” he grinned. “Can you believe it?”

Zechariah automatically nodded and took another appreciative sip. Swallowed, swished the liquid in the glass and watched its ripples--

Wait. He knew his favorite drink. Zechariah looked him up and down.

Stared.

“Tony!” he laughed, uncomfortably. “Shit, when did you get such good memory? You could hardly remember which bed was whose in school!”

Or at least that was the excuse he gave for getting piss drunk and then making that literal on any bed but his own.

He listened and shook his head with a confident grin. "I think a rifle is unnecessary, besides if you use it once, people know and might try to take it from wherever it's kept. If I'm in danger, I can just throw a bottle at someone or something. I have a few empty ones I can keep nearby. But thanks."

Was he usually nice to strangers and only an ass to family? Or was it him specifically?

His smile remained though it was only because he kept it there when his brother mentioned cheerfully about twins. Damn, there'd be two more of him now. He wanted to be happy for him, and maybe he would honestly be a far better father than a brother. But his smile started to slip and so he looked down to busy himself getting a glass for someone else as he managed a hearty sounding, "congratulations!"

Tony? He didn't know who Tony was and for a brief moment wondered if he was fucking with him. He decided he was sincere and there was a crossroad. Should he correct him or try to get more dirt.

"Ha, you got me. Be honest, how surprised are you I ended up here??"