Well. Different church. Not two of the same church, technically, especially given the fact that this false St. Hilda’s likely wasn’t Catholic. If he was offended enough by the question to care, though, Malachi didn’t say as much.

“Yes, well,” he gave an exasperated sigh. “Whitby, as it turns out.”

It was rather odd. Not unheard of, just… odd. Unnecessary. If they already had a Catholic church, what need did they have for any other?

Malachi pretended not to notice the face his traveling companion made, and offered the friendliest smile he could manage. Tired, exhausted, annoyed but – polite.

“Thank you,” but God, it was weird to hear Mr. in front of his name. He’d never been ‘Mr. Brennan,’ but it was about as well suited for him as it would be for this older man to call him ‘Father.’

(He still expected it. Still wanted it. But whatever.)

Reaching out to take back his bag, Malachi gave a nod and said, “peace be with you, Mr. Fa’afili.”