She could thank fuck too if she wanted. Malachi didn't give one.

What he did give a fuck about, however, was the awful stench she transferred to his hands. Making a face, he looked down at them, turned them over in brief inspection. The woman had walked in smelling of alcohol and piss, and neither one felt particularly great slathered on his hands. Or his poor cassock, because she just had to fall and grab onto his elbow too. He did what he could to steady her, and held an arm out in case she needed it, but oh, he hoped she didn't take it.

"Thank you," he returned, a reflection of sincerity himself.

Malachi followed cautiously after her, ready to reach out and grab her should her legs decide to give out again. Eugh, the smell would be all over him then. It was a blessing that she made it to the door without incident.

He stepped out to walk beside her, eyes squinted in the harsher light. Dare he go back for his saturno? That ran the risk of her inevitably getting her dirty hands on it, so... no. No, that was not happening. By the time he made it back into the church and returned, she probably wouldn't even be here. And- what was that? He was James now?

"That depends," answered 'James.' He did not want to know what she needed a crowbar for.

"You need it before or after we change my clothes?"