Better late than never.

It would have been his preference to at least arrive on time, though.

It was far later than Malachi had intended when he finally found his way, and far hotter than he would have liked to have spent the evening walking through. The undamaged quality of his spirit was truly a testament to his enthusiasm for his new placement; his dark hair clung in certain spots to his skin, and he was thoroughly exhausted, but at least he was here. At least he was home, or something close enough to it.

When he entered the parlor, his surprise at seeing the other priest lasted only a moment. He had been told that the man was recovering, and had not expected to see him out of bed on account of that fact -- and hoped, suddenly, that he had not exerted himself for his sake.

He had been told of other things too. Things that Malachi tried not to let influence him as he regarded the man that would be his assistant priest, and put on a smile as he approached.

"You must be Father Richards," said Malachi. "Forgive me, I ran into a bit of trouble finding the church."

Finding the right church, specifically, but he did not wish to own up to that part just yet.

Malachi took the offered hand into both of his own, giving it a gentle squeeze in lieu of a shake. Shaking hands might have been commonplace, but he had never particularly liked it.

"Ah, of course not. Nothing unmanageable," he assured with another smile, warmer in nature than the previous one. Taking a seat at the other man's wordless gesture, Malachi removed his saturno, crossing one long leg over the other.

He was pleased to see Father Richards up and moving about; from what he had heard, he'd suffered quite a fall.

"I was told you're still in recovery, father – are you doing well?"

It must have been a rather nasty fall, to injure him so. Malachi nodded in wordless understanding. Not that he could say that he had ever taken a tumble down the altar steps himself, in his years of priesthood, but he certainly would not set out to embarrass him for such a thing.

"Not to worry," said Malachi. "I'm quite used to working on my own. There's no need to strain yourself before you're well."

What he had not been told, however, was why the church had needed a replacement. Father Richards' diminished duties he knew, and he dared not mention that matter yet, but of Father Kemble he'd heard quite little.

"I would like to hear about the parish, though, if you feel well enough to tell me."

As he listened, Malachi's expression gradually shifted into one of... what was it, confusion? Concern? Whatever it was that laid beneath it, his full attention was clearly taken by Father Richards' explanations.

Not the biggest parish, then, but that was quite alright. He had spent time in various churches, big and small, and the number of parishioners did not count so much as the specific care they required. Figuring out the needs of a community was one of his favorite things to do -- but the first few weeks were always a unique challenge on that front.

"Oh?" Malachi's face turned thoughtful. "Still, the effort was made. We might just need to change the method."

Everyone was different after all. Not all could be reached with prayers and traditional conventions, but that did not make them any less important to retrieve.

"I'm not sure what you've heard of me, father, but I've been told that I am slightly unconventional."

Slightly was an understatement. Still, he thought it important to let the other priest know upfront, lest it lead to any issues down the line. Malachi folded his hands, set them atop his knee, and said, "I place importance on the daily rituals, of course. But I believe that a parish should focus less on praising themselves for their faith, and more on assisting those that have none. Did Father Kemble ever involve himself or the church with the wider community?"

It felt to Malachi that it had been ages since he'd last had any sort of... caretaker, such as this Mrs. Higgins. His most recent church before this one had consisted only of himself and the people he served, and it would take a bit of getting used to, having other people around to assist him again.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins," said Malachi, as he reached out to grab his cup. It was as warm in his hands as the smile that painted his face, restrained though it was in its politeness. He cared for interruptions about as much as he cared for handshakes, but the woman was pleasant enough, and her care was appreciated.

"I didn't mean to worry either of you, but I appreciate the concern. It's good to know that I'll be working with such kind people."