Malachi blinked. Once, twice; processing what exactly the beggar had just whispered so close to his ear.

He looked without turning his head, caught the sight of the onion in the corner of his eye. Something curved his mouth into the makings of a smile, but whether it was amusement or something else behind the expression, it was unclear.

"I wouldn't want you to cry," returned Malachi, in a voice that suggested quite the opposite.

With a small swivel and a swift motion of his arm, the blade pierced through the onion with an apparent lack of care for the man holding it. Malachi didn't skewer it through, however -- he didn't actually stab any of Mister Tully's fingers.

He only made it clear that if he wanted, there was a chance that maybe, possibly, he could.

"I'll take care of this for you," Malachi set the onion down. "Bring me anything else you need cut, too. There's no need to beg."