[CW: There’s a million terrible things that can happen; the thread starts out with casual and enabled anti-Semitism and probably just gets worse from there.]

They were at a ritzy hotel lobby, where one of Chris’ other friends were staying – and it was clear that all three men had arrived there well before the time Darius had been given. There was a cheery glow to their faces, and the bartender looked about ready to have them leave three drinks ago.

“Your murderous god will forgive you for another Bloody Mary,” Chris teased a curly-haired man who wrinkled his nose but smiled.

“The point was to make us drink less,” the curly-haired man retorted, but reached immediately for the glass as it was refilled by the red-eyed bartender.

“You said there would be women!” grumbled the third friend, who looked the same age as them. “I’m starting to think you two repel women.”

“It’s against-” Chris started, and the curly haired man joined in with an amused look, “my religion.”

Chris pulled out a cross from his collar – which he had never worn around Darius.

There was a seat open next to Chris.

Seeing the men already drunk as fish made him scowl but he managed to plaster an apologetic smile as he sat beside the one he recognized. He nodded to the men he didn't know before turning to Chris.

"I am so sorry I'm late. My watch must be slow.." Darius laughed awkwardly though he knew damn well that his watch was on time, in fact, he had arrived a couple of minutes early. He'd planned to be waiting for his friend with his favorite drink ready. But he couldn't admit Chris messed up, or worse didn't want him there.

He took notice of the cross and rose a brow but said nothing.

He was going to regret this in the morning. Zechariah had this thought every, every other time he went out with Chris, and yet here he was, slogging down trash goyish vodka (that he had told Chris a hundred odd times he did not even like) and whatever that was which smelled like something sat too long under a fraternity bed.

It tasted better than his own mouth at this point.

He did not notice the newcomer until he sat down, glowering. Zechariah's face cracked into a mean grin, leaning against Christopher's shoulder.

"Is that him?" he asked in what he figured was a discreet volume.

It was not.

Chris merely smiled at Zechariah, then turned to Darius.

"Darius!" he greeted warmly, as though nothing were amiss as he tucked his gold cross away. "So glad you could make it."

As though it were Darius' fault all along.

"Just yourself tonight?" he said with a lightly disapproving tone, though he had not asked him to bring anyone. "We can make do. How is your family?"

Darius looked at the man who spoke to Chris when he sat down and knew he didn't like him immediately. He had a mean face and kept secrets like Chris it seemed. He forgave Chris for it, for his own reasons. As the young man sat and stretched out his free arm over the empty space, he shrugged. He was trying to fit in as if he'd actually been there the whole time, as he should have been.

"Thanks.." He tensed at the question of others. Of course he didn't bring any others. When did he ever have others to bring? What others? Friends of theirs? Girls? He tossed any questions aside and looked casually towards Darius. "Oh they are well. Father sends his regards."

He immediately thought about ordering something of the same they were drinking but knowing his luck, Chris would just foot him with all of the bill when he turned to do such.

When Christopher sized a man up, it was with a lion's grace and leisure - a game stacked in his favor.

His shorter, stouter friend seemed a lot like him in this classy crowd: arrogant yet boyishly coy with his words and glances. Yet there was more the sense of a vulture observing Christopher's scraps rather than looking to make his own.

Still. To Zechariah, this newcomer - this Darius - he was new. He was lesser. Christopher told jokes of him behind his back and spoke down to him to his front. Thus far, that had been Zechariah's place in the pecking order.

He was beautiful, this Darius, what with his flippantly long hair and sun-kissed face. But then so were Christopher, John, and the God damned salt-and-pepper bartender this many drinks in.

Zechariah took a long draw of his Bloody Mary, watching Darius.

Chris smiled sympathetically and shook his head.

"Next time, surely," he said dismissively, then snatched the drink out of Zechariah's hand as though it were second nature.

Zechariah snatched his hand back as though he had been burned, then eyed Chris' still-full drink as though contemplating doing the same. Instead, he just elbowed Chris in the side and slung an arm on the bar.

Chris did not budge, now looking down at Darius as though he were a fascinating insect that he couldn't decide whether to put in a jar or squash.

"And I send mine," he said with that lofty warmth.

A gaslight lamp flickered outside the window, burning away the last of its oil.

"My dear sister will be in town this week - she and Magnus should meet some time, would you not agree?"

Darius was not at all surprised to see Chris take the curly haired man's drink. Nor that he didn't introduce them. It would have been no surprise if he never saw these men again either.

He ardently nodded towards Chris. "That sounds like a fantastic idea." It was a terrible idea for his sister as he thought as low for that particular brother as he could of any family. But he didn't care, it was Chris' idea and he wouldn't say no. Nothing would probably happen anyway, since he couldn't control what his brother did. 

He noticed the other man glancing at him and frowned deciding that it would be best to have a drink. He didn't want to sit there sober with them. In a moment of good will he leaned towards the man who'd lost his drink. "What were you having?"

[CW: Casual misogyny and corrective rape mentions.]

Maybe Magnus could fuck some sense into her - namely, a willingness to take a ring from a proper suitor before she started showing if the rumors were true.

"I thought so, too," he said buoyantly, sipping Zechariah's drink and wrinkling his nose before passing it back.

[CW: Homophobia.]

Zechariah huffed and sidled the glass away from himself, feeling the chastisement but wanting to pretend he was above it.

Darius seemed the perfect little toady. A Carrington, at that! What in the world did he do to earn Chris' ire? Zechariah was too interested in men, the way a man was meant to fancy a mistress - or Lord above, at least a wife; and Jewish beside. If Prague had chafed, York burned in that regard.

But not as much as his family discovering would.

Speaking of things his family need never know: his face flushed darker and he smirked when Darius leaned to speak to him. Was this one drunk enough to start noticing Zechariah? Was there a way to make that happen, if only in his dreams?

"Something that wilts our delicate Chrysanthemum," he grinned, then leaned forward. "Since we're sharing-"

John cupped his hands protectively around his drink and glowered, but Zechariah slid his glass down the bar over to Darius.

"Come now," Christopher scoffed 'lightheartedly'. "He is not even," Chris made a snipping motion in the air with his fingers, "in your fraternity."

Zechariah chewed his cheek and looked away.

"Who the hell are you?" John said, looking at Darius.

John didn't look like he was from around there - but then, only Darius was.