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[CW] Bro Kit
Barrister

469 Posts
17 Threads

Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 26
Occupation: Junior Barrister
Plotter: [Here]
Height: 5'6"
Registered: Jul 2019

#11
The more he pushed, the more they pushed back? Ohhh, that reminded him of someone. But, Zechariah chewed his words before speaking.

“Those kids looked like little jerks, Uriel. Rotten little jerks, the whole lot of them.”

Was there fondness in his voice? Maybe.

“And there is a place for rotten little jerks.” Law, for example. “As there are places better suited for gentler souls.”

He hoped to God Uriel did not venture to ask where those were. He had yet to find them.

Zechariah’s eyes cut suspiciously to Uriel at the offer of food. A brow quirked at the assurance, but the reluctance eased some.

“Yes, thank you. It is so damned hard to find a rabbi in these parts,” Zechariah sighed. “Half the reason I keep going back to London is the kosher brisket.”

He was stalling.

… He was probably going to keep stalling.
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Senior Member

263 Posts
7 Threads

Pronouns: He, him
Age: 22
Occupation: Student/Teacher
Height: 6'6"
Registered: Jul 2019

#12
He finished getting the tea on the table and serving it, and then moved with more grace than Zech might have seen him. There was a certain ease he had in the kitchen, like the prep of food calmed him. "Some of them are. I don't ever remember our childhood being as rowdy as all that." He snorted as he sliced into some leftover chicken. "I don't have any brisket right now, sadly, just a chicken from my own flock." He chuckled and sliced some breast, some cheese, and some bread.

He moved to put the sandwiches on the table with a few plates. He sat and then noticed the bottle of wine. It had been a while since he'd imbibed. He stared for a moment and then murmured, "What vintage is it?"
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Barrister

469 Posts
17 Threads

Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 26
Occupation: Junior Barrister
Plotter: [Here]
Height: 5'6"
Registered: Jul 2019

#13
“Have you ever met a peaceable Brit?” Zechariah laughed. “Bastards, every one of them.”

Ugh. The rough ones made him swoon, too.

He looked at the carcass. Butchering was a noble trade, he supposed. Would his money dry up? Would he have to kill his own meat, too? Did that butcher ever get his, er, ‘her’ raunchy reply? Hopefully not.

“I can pick you some up next time I go to York,” Zechariah said. “Same rabbi who married you gave his blessing to the butcher down there.”

At Uriel’s question, Zechariah’s brows hiked up.

“This is a ‘94 Chardonnay. Belgian,” he added optimistically.

After a pause, he smiled and wrinkled his nose.

“Kosher.”

Translation: boiled.

He thanked Uriel for the sandwich, though seemed still lost in thought when he picked one half up.

“So, how has life been on the … outskirts, for you?”
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