Darius was slowly sipping his wine and looked away in deep thought. "Alright, I think I'll have mother do that. It was her that had been attacked." He nodded looking somewhat concerned before turning towards Zechariah.

He was not going to question whether he had been grieving. He knew he felt little, he wasn't close despite being brothers, but there was no way he would let them know that.

"My father?" Darius was confused by the question. "I .. don't know. I think he finds me a disappointment. He loved his son, Magnus. I don't want to be the person he wants me to be." He finally admitted.

[[CW: Domestic abuse references.]]

Rivers ran, and so did wine ... but Zechariah’s cup did not overflow.

This was starting to sound like he actually needed a solicitor. He had consulted with a probate solicitor, moreso to establish rapport and reputation on Darius’ coattails and payroll than actually do anything.

But, work was work and Darius himself seemed a surprisingly easy client thus far.

The father situation, however, was putting him on edge. He had barely been able to stand him (and though Abba had been far more polite about it, the feeling had seemed quite mutual) … but his fear had never been physical. Not for himself.

It brought him back to the bruises on Simon. He washed down the queasiness with the rest of his cup, swishing it in his mouth like that would clear the uncomfortable tang of helplessness.

“Who does he want you to be?”

Darius had been losing his joy as the conversation turned to something he didn't want to talk to Zech about. He downed his wine and started another glass. He didn't want to get drunk, but he didn't want to be there at that moment. His face remained down to avoid Zechariah's eyes.

"Look at me, what do you think? I am a man who could only find a lover if they want my money, I have no charm, and no brains. I barely completed my schooling but I have no mind for business. My mind and heart is raveled into art. I am not a man who is good at talking to people, not even my own family. If I were a bit more of a shame, I'm sure they'd have started to deny I even existed." He frowned more and stared at his wine.

The wine was unpleasant, but the schadenfreude made up for it. He managed to just look thoughtful as he tipped his inferior wine to his lips, took a lighter sip and drank in the sweet, sweet sight of Darius Carrington’s impending meltdown.

“Oh, that sounds terrible,” he breathed, hardly bothering to hide his delight. “Clearly, you are crushed under your … responsibilities.”

This time when he finished the glass, Zechariah bothered not pouring from the bottle when he took a swig.

“Have you tried an embarrassing art exhibit?” Zechariah said with a sly look. “Then they shall have to acknowledge you.”

Darius stared at Zechariah. He wasn't hiding his joy, and this was making Darius reconsider things. He was becoming very nervous and started to reach for the paperwork he'd already signed. "Maybe.. I should think about this a little more.."

He clearly looked embarrassed. "I've never shown even my good work. The art world is hard for anyone to get into their first time." He didn't say it, but it was clear being crushed in the one thing he loved would break the eldest Carrington child's heart.

It was difficult to detach the toady Darius he had always seen wafting after Chris like a bad fart from the Darius who had a lot (a lot) of potentially upcoming money ahead of himself. Zechariah put on a sympathetic look and placed his hand over Darius’, mainly to stall the retreat of that juicy, juicy contract.

“I apologize,” he sighed, apparently remorseful. “That was insensitive of me.”

You thin-skinned golden calf.

“Your taxidermy is …” hm, he should have finished that sentence in his head before he started it aloud, “like nothing I have ever seen. It may take a specific audience, but I might be able to shake some branches and see who might want to exhibit it.”

Darius looked at Zech with a small frown forming as his hand was stalled but didn't retreat. He glanced down then back up.

"That ... those pieces aren't for show." He had seen the repulsion on his brother's face. "Those are for me." He was working through something and posing the dead helped somehow while also making him a little ill. Maybe he was desensitizing himself from something, he didn't know but it did something beneficial.

"I show off my paintings. And I don't like how they were your go to for embarrassing." He was feeling more like this was a mistake, something stewed inside and felt like something buried was becoming unsettled and rising to the top once more. "But this is supposed to be about the contract, not me getting my family's approval or notice." The few times Darius had been noticed it was never anything good. He was happy to cast them out and live in the mansion like it was cursed by something that stalked the windows. That sounded really nice actually to Darius.

He felt vaguely uncomfortable resting his hand atop Darius’. What had those hands touched recently? Dead things? Living things? He did look cleaner than Zechariah thought he could ever get, like some maid had disassemble him, polished him, and thrown him into the real world as a respectable gentleman.

Oh, the beauty of appearances: they could fake anything in passing.

“Oh,” Zechariah acknowledged, not particularly certain where Darius was going with this.

At Darius’ admonishment, Zechariah finally withdrew his hand and poured the last of the kosher wine into his cup.

“My apologies, Mr. Carrington. I did not mean to distract.”

He folded his hands on the table before him, a glance at the folder enough to get him back on track.

“To reiterate: you are aware that by default, the eldest son inherits all at the time of the patriarch’s passing.” He doubted he was. “Is there a reason you believe he might wish to subvert this convention?”

Darius pulled the papers back to him, but didn't take them off the table. He was just considering it even though he'd read it all twice and had no clue what it truly said.

"Yes but.. I heard that father might be planning to give everything to my baby sister. And mother said.." he didn't want to mention it but it was important, right? "That Pearl was born to a maid that father was.. acquainted with intimately. Pearl is the one person in the entire household who has been kind to me. I do not care if she gets it, but I worry what the rest of the family would do. She doesn't live at home so she should be safe but.. " He frowned, not wanting to mention the kidnapping. " There has been an instance already where they showed their displeasure but she is safe. And if I got the fortune, her and mother are the only ones I'd care to make sure they were taken care of. So it wouldn't be like I'd be completely going against his wishes..." It was wrong of him to say he wanted the fortune to guarantee his easy life, but it was the truth. He was the only person in his life that was ever there for him. Why should he trust in any other family to keep him safe and let him continue the life he lived?

Zechariah sat back, hands clasped, and crossed an ankle over his knee.

“While proving that might be …” odious, and he pitied the young Carrington daughter after her swirl of debacles, “challenging, Mr. Carrington, the law is on your side if your mother’s records and associates can vouch for this. Are you familiar with the bastardy laws?”

This was how he treated the one person who had been kind to him. A woman who had no doubt been raped and fallen into the arms of opportunists in the aftermath of all this. Zechariah swirled sedimented wine in his cup, face neutral.

Mercifully (tactfully), Zechariah did not speculate aloud about Darius’ father’s wishes.

“Any documentation or personal contacts whom can vouch for your father’s wishes in a better state of mind will be helpful to proving that, Mr. Carrington.”