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.