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.