Francis had never gotten back to Richards on the promise of cleaning up the church. The guy had seemed very freaked out by his little 'joke' and he was a bit afraid of having the constable called on him. Having heard of a new priest, he decided to try his luck once more.

He picked a quiet and rainy day. It was miserable to be outside, so he hoped for extra compassion, if there was any in the men of God. As the scrawny man walked in, he tried to fix his hair but it made no difference. The ends curled up a little as they dried inside. Looking around and seeing no one immediately, he tried to walk forward and squeezed out some extra rain water from his shirt.

"Hello? Father? " He called out as he walked around, and slowly making his way towards where he'd seen the lock box before, pretending it was just natural wandering.

As if summoned (or perhaps more accurately, as if he had been waiting to hear the very words spoken), Malachi appeared in the darkened doorway to the sacristy. Nearly faded into it, clothed in a black that matched the hair that framed his face and the eyes that peered curiously out into the nave.

"Hello," offered Malachi. Hands clasped behind his back, he stepped into the light and slightly nearer to the visitor.

He must have just come in from the rain, from the looks of him. For a moment Malachi's gaze fell upon the water left behind by this visitor, slickening the floor of the church, before it settled on the man himself.

"I'm Father Brennan, I've taken over for Father Kemble. What can I do for you?"

The wiry man shuffled forward a few steps as he studied the man. "Kemble?" He didn't recognize the name. He smoked helplessly and rung his hands together to look innocent as he turned to the one who introduced himself.

"Ah.. you see.. the previous father .. father Richards. He helped me once. Said I could come back and do some cleaning for some food and shelter. I'm a little lost sheep you see..."

He curled his toes before stepping closer. "So..Richards is gone? Or replaced? Shame, was nice he was... im.." he stretched out a hand. "Names.. Francis Tully. "

I'm a little lost sheep you see...

If he were a more openly expressive man, the amusement that those words brought to Malachi might have made him smile. As it was, though, they brought a mere glint into his eyes; a sparkle of something that passed as soon as it appeared.

Opting not to reward the visitor's statement with a response, he moved on from it instead.

"No," said Malachi, shaking his head. "Father Richards is still here. His duties have shifted slightly."

It was probably the nicest, simplest way he knew how to put it, without airing his fellow priest's business. Malachi stared at the extended hand, reluctant, and took it gently between both of his own instead of shaking it.

"I'm glad to see you here, Mister Tully," he released the hand and quickly returned his own to rest behind his back.

"If you're still interested, I won't turn down the help."

Francis wouldn't say he felt joy at hearing Richards was still there, but he wasn't bothered by the news. Good for him. He gripped the man's hands in a firmer handshake than expected. Hearing his words made him smile more. "That is wonderful to hear. I know you can't pay me. But not starving to death on the street and possibly a bed of straw is far better than the alternative. The world and God may have abandoned me, but I am grateful to see one of his servants has not."

He let go of his hands quickly and folded them neatly before him and hung his head. "I promise, I'm a hard worker. I used to work on a farm most of my life."

He'd realized the real key to getting anything was the long con, unless things got ruined before hand.

If the comment about being a little lost sheep had been unexpected, Mister Tully's forwardness regarding the state of his faith was even more so. It was not... unheard of, of course, but it surprised him how willing he was to lead with it.

Malachi cleared his throat almost awkwardly, uncertain how he was meant to take the man's words. They felt half-praising and half-insulting.

"Of course. There's no need to prove yourself to me, Mister Tully, I believe you. Ah, I'm curious, however... why do you say that God has abandoned you?"

There was no hint of judgement in the priest's low voice, but he could not mask his concern.

Francis folded his arms at the question and looked away he paced a little before finally falling back to sit in a pew. He seemed to mull over in his mind the words but he knew them well.

"God took away the only thing in this world that made me happy, really truly happy. I was a hard working man who followed his rules. All of them...technically." He smiled up at the priest and tapped the back of the seat in front of him. "God took it away. And then my family disowned me and I was kicked out with nothing but the shirt on my back and I've struggled to survive since then. I've had to sin a lot just to live." He said nonchalantly but looked toward the priest , trying to look hopeful that this kind stranger would help him.

Malachi allowed Mister Tully the time he needed, lingering patiently where he had first stepped out. When he finally sat, Malachi followed at a delay and did the same, leaving a few feet of space between them on the bench.

Loss such as his... it had never been difficult for Malachi to understand why so many turned their backs on the faith. Why so many poor souls cursed the heavens, cursed the earth; why it was easier for someone who had never faced such tragedies to remain steadfast in their beliefs.

There was a brief silence before he spoke.

"It is man's nature to sin. To question why, to go against, to... do what we must to survive."

He wanted to tell him that he understood, that he knew what that desperation felt like. What that abandonment felt like. But in telling him anything, he would tell him too much.

"Your hands have made me and shaped me, together all around; yet You destroy me. Isn't it strange how God's hands form us out of sin? Like clay, we're molded and made from that sin into something useful, or beautiful, or pleasing, and given purpose in our new shapes. How much care and effort went into our creation, yet we're so easily dropped and shattered. We blame the hands for not holding us tighter, even when they try to align the broken pieces."

Malachi breathed out a quiet sigh, and added, "I cannot glue them back together for you, of course. I can only help guide them into place, should you wish to be mended. If a meal and a roof over your head is enough for you, then you are always welcomed in the church."

Francis leaned back in the pew and looked at the cross in proud display for a long moment. "This isn't confessional but you can keep a secret. Right? Especially from a man just in need?" He smiled as if it were nothing and ruffled his still slightly dampened hair.
"Nevermind. I just want to say that as nice as your words are they don't describe reality. People turn their backs on a man they look at and judge. God takes away a person's joy for nothing. I've not seen a hint of his light in years. If he can give me a second life then maybe I can be a good catholic man again. But I'm sure if he's really watching his he turned away from me the day he killed Lewis."

He immediately wagged a finger towards the priest. "Doesn't count. I never laid with him, I just loved him. And never felt for another man the way I did him. So I didn't sin or break the law. " He declared almost proudly as he folded his arms.

A secret from a man in need. Malachi would have kept it regardless, the same as he kept everything else: tucked just beneath his skin, bound so tightly to his bones that they must have been filled with secrets in place of marrow. His expression remained carefully neutral.

Why, he wanted to ask, why do you say he's turned against you when you've turned against him too?

The question lingered at the back of his tongue. It tasted bitter, as all things did that weren't meant to be said.

When Mister Tully concluded, having admitted his love for another man, Malachi found that the question died away. He looked to Mister Tully before he could consider doing otherwise, and hoped that his surprise was not as clear as it felt. Mister Tully was... Malachi mulled over the thought. He... he wasn't the man that had fallen for Father Richards, was he?

No, not according to what he'd just said. Not if he had only ever loved one man. Malachi gave a small nod.

"What was he like?"