Darius had seen the ball approaching as he ran up to him and if he had tried a hundred more times, it wouldn't have aimed as true as this. As the ball hit the man in the face, his eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile.

He immediately wiped his grin and looked at his caddy, "Not a word to anyone.." He made his way up to the man and covered his face to stifle any unnecessary sounds.

"I thought you were a lawyer. Now let me just see. I doubt you're blind. These are really light balls." He moved to grab his hands and pull them aside. "We will see how badly you need a doctor." He certainly wanted to laugh in his face but it wouldn't help his case if this guy did get authorities involved over assault by golf ball.

"You're WRONG," Zechariah howled, now clutching his own face hard enough to leave red marks.

If nothing else, shouting that was a sort of painkiller in itself.

"Stop it," Zechariah demanded, though the size difference was not lost on him. "Please," he amended with gritted teeth and one glaring eye, still clutching stubbornly to his face.

Darius snorted in frustration and grabbed his wrists tighter. "It was fate that injured you, perhaps karma. Now let go and let me see or else I'll leave you here to die! And that too will be your fault." He said sharply as he tried to pull his hands free to look at his face. "I am trying to help but you are acting like a small child!" He wanted to cover his ears at the man's howling but he did feel perhaps a tiny hint of guilt that it happened but he comforted himself to know the man certainly deserved it for the misery his choices in life had caused.

"What did I do?!" Zechariah snapped, though his hands briefly loosened and he dragged forward at his yanking. "Hey!"

There was nothing more than reddened skin, but his hands scampered right back and he ducked his face into his elbow.

He very maturely elbowed him (face still hidden in the crook of his arm) at the 'small child' accusation.

Darius glared at the man at his declaration of innocence. Without pushing his own accusation, which he knew was groundless, he merely shook his head. "Are you trying to tell me you have never hurt or caused trouble? " He winced and held his hip where the man elbowed him. "Hey! You are not blind, it is just bruised. Perhaps a black eye at worst." His feet brought him back a few steps to avoid being hurt. "I at most, damaged your pretty face a little", he mocked. "It will heal fine, it would have been worse had I hit your nose. So stop that and don't hit me again!"

“I deal with it on Yom Kippor, like a civilized man!” he gritted out defensively, still clutching his eye.

Darius stepped back. Zechariah tried to angle a foot to trip him on his way. He almost felt bad after Darius called him pretty. Almost.

“I would do no such thing!” he insisted, eyes still watery and voice still sulky (but otherwise fine).

Darius let out a short cry as he was caught and fell back into the grass. "You're hurting me now! Such a liar!" He called out and tried to scramble back to his feet.

"Stop sniveling and attacking me. I have sincerely apologized and you are acting very uncivilized!"

What was “civilized?” What was the peak of British behavior? What, Zechariah asked himself … would Chris do?

How could he not think of Chris in this moment, when he was the reason he knew the shabbiest looking Carrington in the first place? When he knew the depths of humiliation so deeply thanks to him that he felt he might spend multiple lifetimes crawling out of that well?

Zechariah dropped his hand, tear-stricken eye squinting down at Darius as he moved forward. He planted his foot on Darius’ chest as he started to get back up, putting his weight into trying to flatten him back onto the ground.

“Civilized men dress better.”

Darius winced at his weight and frowned gripping a handful of grass. "It's beyond civilized. It's It's fashion on an artist!" He threw the clump hoping to hit the other man in the eyes but it was just a handful of grass that just managed to fall on his own chest while a few pieces stuck to his hand. He let his head fall back and he still glared up at the other.

"The idea you represent anything civilized is a joke."

There Mr. Darius Carrington, second in line to the Carrington fortune, laid. Prone. Under Zechariah’s polished shoe. Hair astray, flustered. He stood silently a moment, gloating. Reveling in this short-lived victory. Admiring how much better gentry looked crushed under his heel.

He might have even gotten a little hard.

Zechariah spat at Darius’ face, then wiped his mouth dry.

“You look good like this.”

Then, he wiped the bottom of his shoe clean on Darius’ chest and left.