No matter how old Nettie was, Malachi would always worry for her. He knew how capable she was, how little she truly needed his help, but he was nothing if he could not care for the people he loved. Of which there were... relatively few, he supposed.

"I'm happy to be your support, then," he accepted with a small smile, warm where it reached for his eyes. Nettie would make an excellent seamstress, with or without his help.

Her silence was not entirely unexpected, at the mention of her father. Malachi could not claim any comfort in speaking of the man himself, but he was glad all the same to hear that his brother was not doing any worse. He did not press his niece on the subject, and instead offered a nod of understanding. The rest of their family was... well. Their care left a lot to be desired. He was grateful, at least, for the solace he found in Nettie.

"Perhaps one day," started Malachi, "they will come to realize there is more to life than money."

He was not all that optimistic about it.

Determined not to let the subject linger, he pondered over a question that had plagued him for the last several days, that he could not exactly ask anyone else... and Malachi's expression grew somewhat uncertain.

"Nettie," Malachi slipped a hand into his pocket as they walked, where his fingers toyed with a little cloth pouch.

"Have you ever found me to be too... intense?"