They were so... young.

It was the first thing that clawed at his mind when they turned, eyes as bright and colorful as his were void and dark. They reflected morning light, while he absorbed it. As fine-featured as they were, as prim and proud as they carried themselves, he could not help but think of how desirable a target they must be out in the world. Outside of whatever safety their former caretaker had provided.

Malachi did not look away, though a part of him wanted to.

Whatever reaction they might have been expecting of him, upon hearing their admission, what he offered instead was...

...nothing. Not the slightest indication of surprise or disgust, not even a blink. Instead, a low hum conveyed his acknowledgement.

There were all kinds of entertainers. He knew that as well as anyone else, and whether they meant it as a label of creative pride or of something less appropriate, Malachi had no intention of treating them any differently.

"You must be very talented, if you made a whole career of it," he offered, without any apparent distinction as to which of their talents he meant. It didn't matter. Skill was skill, no matter the medium. Malachi was quiet for a moment after, as he considered their request.

How many hungry people could he feed before Mrs. Higgins said something about it? It wasn't as if he carried around a bunch of money to offer them, to let them buy themselves a proper meal elsewhere. Helping those in need was what the church was supposed to do, and Malachi would not deny someone assistance.

"If that is what you need, I can at least help with that. What is your name?"

Malachi, despite being a vessel of one of the biggest establishments to disapprove so strongly of pride, was not bothered by the lack of humility in their response. Regardless of his teachings, he thought pride was a good thing to have in one's self and in one's work. It could easily bleed into something bordering arrogance, if left unchecked, but he had always believed that pride was important to have.

Just because they had trained for their whole life to be good at whatever it was they did -- it did not necessarily mean that it was a good thing. There was more to life and living than serving other people, even if... it would have been awfully hypocritical of Malachi to tell them that. They were young, and seemed so full of life despite their efforts to dampen their energy within the church.

It took longer than he would have expected to get a name out of them. Even then, it left him with more questions than answers, but Malachi left them unsaid. He did not want to pry, not yet, not when they still looked wary of his reaction every time they spoke. But could he really call them that? It didn't feel proper, but what else was he to do?

"Alright," Malachi sounded somewhat reluctant. Rising from the pew, he made a gesture for them to follow him away from it, towards the sacristy door.

"Come then, Chéri, and we will at least find a meal for you."

Ah. This little creature was hesitant too. Malachi watched their careful expression as they remained still, and wondered how long it had been since someone had offered any kindness to them. They looked far from sickly or hurt (they were closer to glowing, in fact), but there were other cruelties beyond the struggles that came with learning to fend for one's self. The world was harsh, and the people within it were harsher.

Their flighty demeanor conjured visions of a frightened deer, ready and willing to run.

(Rarely did the poor things run in the right direction.)

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly when they stood.

Malachi turned, guiding them easily out of the aisles. At the sound of their voice he turned his head, but did not stop his stride.

"No trouble at all," he assured, hoping that he had understood the phrase correctly. "That is why I am here."

Once he'd made it to the door, he pushed it open, and held it for Chéri to pass through. The sacristy was tidy and clean, but Malachi paid no mind to it, continuing on towards the presbytery.

"Ah- here," Malachi did stop then, and turned to face them with a hand held out. "I can carry that for you, if you like. I'm sure you must be tired."

Not a part of his flock, they said, but that was where they were wrong. Malachi opted not to say anything, but he did not suppress the subtle widening of his smile. This Chéri might not have been one of his congregants, but they could be -- and even if they chose never to walk through the door of Saint Hilda's again, he would still give them help when needed. Whether they traveled with his flock or someone else's, or even no one's at all, they were still a worthy part of creation.

Malachi led them through, and upon stopping, noticed again the reluctance that kept Chéri from immediately handing the bag over. Surely they understood that he would not steal it, nor take it from them if they wished to carry it on their own... but the added physical weight likely wasn't helping anything. He watched, patient as could be, and the luggage was wordlessly handed over.

As swiftly as he'd turned around, he was on the move again, glancing once to ensure that Chéri was still following him.

"I... could not tell you, I'm afraid."

He had spent as little time at the docks as he could, after all. Malachi carried the bag at his side, light in the strength of his grip.

"Why do you ask, chéri?"

The word sounded less like a proper name on his tongue, and more like the term of endearment it was usually used for.

Malachi was not fully confident in his interpretation -- nor in his understanding of what they might have meant. Trying to understand their options, that he caught, but the rest of it... he could not tell from the sentence alone if they wanted to be reached, or if they wished to avoid any potential ships from France.

Determined not to leave Chéri in silence, a low humming sound signaled his acknowledgement of at least having heard. Malachi's free hand went to open the door to the presbytery once they'd reached it, and again held it until the youth had passed through.

"Is it a good thing, to be reached?"

His voice came from behind, from the doorframe. He stepped inside and let the door gently shut.