A low hum was the only response Malachi gave, at first, and he let a silence linger for a while.

His eyes returned to the fire, where the flames had begun to die down as the wood within it turned to ash.

"I suppose we have something in common, then, darling."

English again. He smiled, too, in that practiced form that never quite reached beyond the curve of his mouth. Malachi turned away from the fire, and took a few steps away to distance himself from his guest.

"I can show you to your room," offered Malachi, in French. "There is a bath too, if you need it. I know it's hard traveling for so long."

Chéri was more and more confused by Malachi's behaviour, but they had decided to avoid sharing any more than that for now. They were also tired, understandably.

Chéri puffed in seeing that odd smile, but didn't actually say anything.

"Good. And yes, that will probably be nice." Luxurious, even considering the time and the place. They stayed a few steps behind Malachi, keeping a distance between themselves and the priest, as if they'd rather not come too close.

If Malachi sensed the other's reluctance to be near him, he said nothing of it.

He grabbed their bag from the wall, carrying it at his side as he led them through the presbytery and to the rooms. Once he'd shown them to the unoccupied room and set the bag down, he made sure to show the way to the bath before he left Chéri alone to settle in.

Malachi did not attempt to bother them after that, and neither did his behavior stray from that of the polite warmth he had shown them when they'd first arrived. And once the world went dark outside, the priest slipped from his room, and was gone.