Malachi could not even attempt to follow the woman's logic. Nevermind how strongly he disagreed with her notions of hell and damnation (that yes, he was sure the majority of the Catholic church shared), her ideas regarding God's selection of priests was faulty at best.

Why would he have sold his soul to Satan in order to become a priest? To lead the faithful astray from a better vantage point?

On second thought, that was probably the most logical thing she'd said since she stumbled into the church.

A fool's errand it would have been to correct her on any of the rest of it, and so he hummed along in vague agreement.

"Alright," he gave. "I suppose I don't suffer from that."

The woman's hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt and Malachi's eyes shot wide.

Oh, God, not this again. Just yesterday, a girl having issues with her husband had asked him to 'give her what her man won't' in the confessional and he'd had to rather awkwardly explain why that would only make the problem worse, and- oh thank the fucking Lord when the woman pulled out a bottle.

"The-..." the communion wine? Malachi cleared his throat and said, "we're out. You don't have anything at home?"