Right, she had a stick. Malachi seemed as determined as she was in clearing away the glass, regardless of the nicks he scored and the careless beating of his 'mother's chosen tool.

His arm did pull out from the frame once a shard had sliced him deep enough to bleed.

The correction struck him as somewhat odd -- he could not say with any certainty that he'd heard of any Benjamin Ward, but the surname was familiar. It was... the one she'd mentioned before, in the church, and... the one given to him by that little boy that'd taken his candles.

"Father Benjamin Ward," he confirmed with a nod.

Quick on his feet, Malachi turned back to his drunken companion. Help her up, she said. Which meant, once again, touching her... piss-soaked body. A deep breath was drawn in through his nose, then he relented to do just that.

"Careful, mother," murmured Malachi, as he held out an arm and crouched down for her to use his knee and shoulder as steps.

"Did you- why did you throw the stick? Take that with you."