What was with these English people? Parisians enjoyed a tad extra brightness in their day, most of them seemed to understand it as simply Chéri's nature and those who did not took it as a personal compliment. Why did the English hate happiness? Chéri didn't protest anyway, they just shrugged and looked for the butter.

"I don't know, the other priest hates it." That wasn't exactly right, but Chéri wasn't one for subtlety "Thank you." Chéri went, keeping it simple. "are you feeling good, today?" Did Pere Dischàrds look distressed in their eyes? Or maybe they were just trying to be nice.

From within the house, foot steps came and opened the door. Francis looked very sleepy and his hair was a mess. He had an old shirt that was two sizes too big and pants that were a bit too short. He went to look around the the table to pick out his own breakfast, but kept eyeing the two. Finally, he rose a brow as he woke up enough to take in the scene and smirked slightly.

"Is he yours?" He tilted his head to Father Gabriel as he took a bowl of oatmeal and sat down across from them.

If Gabriel would have been able to read Chéri's thoughts, he would have protested that he didn't hate happiness at all. In fact, he sought it eagerly. The true, deeper happiness that came with serving God in a life of sacrifice and self-denial. The happiness of the soul. The happiness where you were utterly miserable and empty on the inside, but comforted yourself by telling yourself that this was in fact true joy because all the miserable people around you also believed it was, and therefore you were happy.

But he couldn't read Chéri's thoughts and it was probably a good thing too.

Speaking of misery, before he could answer, another 'guest' walked into the room and Gabriel needed all his self-control not to scowl. Should he have warned Fr. Brennan of Mr. Tully the flasher, or was that considered gossiping? Probably not if Mr. Tully hadn't changed, as his offensive question proved.

He swallowed his indignation. "Good morning," he offered with a neutral face, before turning back to Chéri and answering in French: "I am well, thank you. I'm sure Father Brennan was just trying to be kind and make you feel welcome."

If Chéri could have been able to answer Gabriel, they would have asked if that was actually what God would call happiness and would have done so with no malice.

But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, and even if he wasn’t a confessor, the priest there was Gabriel, not Chéri.

In seeing a new guest, Chéri turned his back to Gabriel and wasn’t able to read his expression before it was too late. They did not understand Francis’s question, but they had their own remark to make, “Oh, look, another one! You are not a priest, though.” They examined him, quietly, smiling warmly as usual, but without the added adoration they always included when it came to food. They turned again to Gabriel at his answer. Chéri manage not to snort, but couldn’t prevent themselves from saying “If you say so…” then pointed the milk jar to Francis: nothing more exciting than food.

Francis rose his brow at basically being frowned upon and unwelcome before laughing. Hearing the other person he looked startled then shook his head as if criticizing Gabriel. "I told your other priest I'd behave and you treat me so coldly." He pouted as cutely as his face would allow before thanking Chéri for pointing at the milk a d pouring himself a cup.

"Guess I shouldn't worry then. I'm not the one inviting poor blokes who don't speak a spot of English. Probably taking advantage of the poor man." He said clearly nit seriously since he couldn't believe it of this one, Brennan was still up in the air.

"Get used to me. The pretty one promised I could stay and eat as long as I cleaned and worked on repairing the church " He said sickeningly sweet towards Father Richards.

This was going well.

Malachi had only been standing on the other side of the door since Francis had stepped out of it, but he could already tell that this breakfast was going to be an interesting one to say the least.

He hadn't slept, but his messy hair betrayed the fact that he'd at least attempted to. A pair of thin spectacles sat upon the bridge of his nose. Preparing himself for disaster, he opened the door and joined the seated trio in the dining room.

"I believe I mentioned something about not bothering Father Richards, as well."

A pointed look was thrown in Francis' direction at that -- but it was swiftly smoothed over, and Malachi smiled warmly at all three as he took his seat.

Gabriel thought he shouldn't be concerned about the poor bloke who didn't speak English. He thought a good morning to that comment was more than civility required. Yet the beggar knew how to press his buttons, and he was about to defend himself when he was saved from that mistake by father Brennan's appearance.

He glanced at Brennan, but decided to stay out of the conversation if he could. At least so long as Tully was around. And so he looked down and began to eat. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get out of here.

Perhaps he did feel some frustration with the other priest for inviting a guest he apparently knew was a bother...

Chéri nodded approvingly at Francis, appreciating someone who displayed an healthy appetite. It was a good thing they could not understand the following comment, otherwise they would have answered their own way. There was a lot of chatting going on between them, but Chéri caught only a few words here and there, or even snippets of it. In the end, they notice “You talk funny.” They said to Francis, counting on a translation by Gabriel. A pause. “I like it. Is that English, father?” They smiled sweetly at Francis, taking away some of their warmth, God forbid they made themselves look suspicious by being nice.

Speaking of suspicious and not being nice, there was Père Brennan. Chéri drank as deeply as they could while the priest from the previous night made his entrance, following him with their eyes slightly closed. They finished their milk and started chewing on their bread. “Morning, Père.” They said, munching on their bread, not openly distrustful, but less jolly than before.

They turned to Gabriel, hoping for the explanation and some translation, maybe, an noticed how grim he looked. A little perplexed, Chéri bit into their bread, reducing it significantly in size. Even in this tense environment, Chéri seemed to easily find great joy and enthusiasm for food. So much so that they couldn’t stop themselves from smiling.

Hearing the voice of Father Brennan, Francis seemed to flinch though he didn't lose his casual demeanor. He sat up straight and glanced back. "It was so minor, father. He was very cold in saying hello and I'm already trying hard to resist messing with him just a little."

His head turned to the french man and rose a brow at what was said. He knew they could talk about so much about things and while he could wonder if it was him, he knew people rarely noticed him enough to do more than insult.

...Why did he get the sense that the three of them were suddenly more uncomfortable than before he'd walked in?

Malachi's smile lessened somewhat. Father Richards seemed far from pleased, and the other two didn't look particularly welcoming either.

"Morning, Chéri," he returned in French with a dip of his head. "I hope the room suited you well."

As for Francis' excuse, Malachi hummed lightly, and said, "at least let him eat in peace, please. It's too early to be bothered."

At least Father Richards had greeted Francis in the first place. He suspected he wasn't too far off in assuming that the guests were a bit of a shock for the other priest... but would it have been better to make them stay on the street? Malachi cleared his throat, for the first time feeling a bit awkward, and made no move to grab any food.