Uriel. Pathetic, short-sighted Uriel, already begging for charity to anyone with ears.

He was not quick to forget how crude and disreputably Uriel had behaved since their paths had crossed again. But Zechariah? Zechariah had class. That was why he worked his kitchen into the ground and incidentally left one of the blindsided bakers short of flour for the rest of the week. That was why he took time out of his faux-busy life himself to come with an overflowing basket of fresh loaves in arm himself, rather than send Rose.

… Alright. Mostly because he rather anyone with more than two pence to knock together not associate any Wards with him. But other than that.

In a cheery yellow suit that seemed too flamboyant for the occasion, Zechariah meandered off his horse and carriage and into the schoolhouse just before lunch break. Obnoxiously, he took up the whole doorway to spectate over the classroom as though it were a zoo.

Usually, school was when Uriel ignored reality outside of the classroom, and tried to focus on the realities inside. For instance, he knew that the children learned better when they ate and the proof was in how rapt most of the kids were as he talked about Camelot. "It is said that there was a sword that only the true king could pull from the stone it was embedded in. A young boy named Arthur approached the stone and took hold of the sword... with a great heave for a boy his size, the sword slid free and the people were in awe... And Arthur was declared king. Now, was there truly a boy who could perform such a feat?"

He did not notice his brother and simply continued with his lecture until the clock struck noon. "You may gather your lunches now." When he looked up, he finally saw Zech and a dark expression crossed his face. Now what did he want? He approached Zech and said, "What do I owe the 'honor' of your presence here today, brother? Come to criticize something else I do?" Uriel was clearly still pissed at him.

Without a second thought, Zechariah passed the basket to one of the plebeian children at the door, not noticing that a couple of still-ravenous kids had already nabbed loafs. After all, the passing out of food was servant work. Ignoring the bloodthirsty fight that immediately ensued in the doorway, he strode in not unlike their mayoral father often did to town hall: confident, cocky, and ever heads above it all.

Figuratively. Most of the brothers had gotten their mother’s side’s impressive height.

Unsurprisingly, Zechariah wrinkled his nose in disapproval as he looked about – though he still looked low-key delighted to be witnessing The Poors in their natural habitat.

“What is that smell?” he idly answered instead.

Even though it was not nearly as rank as the courtroom.

Ed was near the back, having snatched some bread for himself. As he tore into it, he suspiciously watched the guy who walked in. He was wondering if the man carried money on him and how much. Of course, it was a challenge to try without Uriel catching him.

It made him focused enough to notice the man speak. A small, impish grin appeared on his face as he spoke up trying to be quiet enough that the teacher wouldn't hear him over the others.

"Probably all the shit e's been speakin all day ta be 'onest."

Any fight that may have resulted from the bread was quickly squelched by the clearing of Uriel's throat as the kids knew he did not tolerate fighting. "Surely you know what unwashed body smells like," said the big man with a raised brow once the children cleared. He was not amused at all by this disruption to his day. "But welcome to the schoolroom." A thankless job, really, that didn't pay so well but somebody with intelligence had to do it and that was Uriel's resolve. "What brings you here, brother?"

Zechariah Meijer was not before a courtroom today. He had no crowd to regale, no essay of a case to build: he just had a brother who had made some foolish decisions.

He happened to stride past Ed as he spoke, and there was a sly slide of eyes to him as Zechariah passed – though he might just as easily notice the approval as a cheery copper chain hanging out his yellow pocket.

Or the golden cufflinks. Probably the golden cufflinks.

He settled with his white gloved hands resting against Uriel’s desk, checking his palm quickly with a skeptical look before setting it down once more.

“To better find what drives the boy who tossed the Excalibur in the lake,” Zechariah answered glibly.

He looked across all the dirty faces, crossing his arms with a haughty smile.

“You could just adopt.”

He was starting to wonder if he could get around fathering children with a loophole such as that; adopt one that was damn near full-grown anyway and launch them out the door as soon as they had a trade.