Gabriel conveniently 'missed' his cue to translate. He wasn't going to talk to Tully if he didn't need to, and he wasn't going to encourage the kid to engage with the antagonistic vagrant either. "Oui," was his only quiet response to the French guest's question regarding the language. He was perfectly pleased to let Fr. Brennan take over the conversation from there, and so he focused on his food, quietly praying hail Marys to himself in the hope of cultivating some of the Blessed Virgin's meek disposition.

Gabriel’s refusal to add anything seemed to confuse Chéri, who lacked some back story to understand the tension. Confused, he kept looking at Gabriel and managed to ask, as the last thing before Malachi made his entrance “Did I say something wrong?” Clearly interpreting what was directed at Francis as something directed to them.

Chéri had no idea was was being said, but they could not prevent themselves from looking sympathetic when Francis flinched at Father Brennan’s entrance. It was brief but it was nor the first or the second time Chéri acknowledged Francis’s presence and they didn’t look mean or offended by him, not at all. In fact, they had only smiled with curiosity and cheerfulness so far, which on them felt very authentic, unless they didn’t want them to.

They puffed slightly. Was it casual or had they noticed Malachi’s smile shrinking? “Yes, Father.” they answered, with the tone pupils normally reserve for the school master “Have you slept well?” no detectable irony, not right away. In noticing Malachi was not eating, offended on behalf of the food -they couldn’t know their table lacked something- Chéri said “The milk is very good,” encouraging Malachi to actually have breakfast with them.

Francis rolled his eyes at the light hearted lecture but nodded and leaned back in his chair to face Father Brennan. "Allright... if I must." He turned his head towards Richards. "I was just playing. I do apologize.." He sat back again to see his preferred priest. "I said it.. now please.. " He patted the table beside him. "Sit beside me and eat, dad-I mean father. " He smiled brightly then looked to the strange man. They all spoke to him in some other language and he pouted at being left out.

He saw them mention the milk to Father Brennan though he didn't know what. He wondered if something was off about it, but it had tasted fine to him. He started to study his glass suspiciously. "What did he saw was wrong with the milk?"

Well. He supposed having a friendly chat with Father Richards was out of the question at the moment.

The only answer Malachi gave in response to Chéri's question was a noncommittal dip of his head to the side. No, he hadn't slept well, and he wondered if they'd been able to hear it each time he'd left and returned to his room through the night -- if they were only asking in an attempt to jab at that. He assumed as much, given the peculiar tension he'd felt in the air as soon as the three of them saw him.

(Had he offended all three of them that badly? His dark gaze held steady on Francis' smiling face, but it was difficult not to take his leave.)

Chéri commented on the quality of the milk. Francis tapped a hand on the table. Malachi stared at the spot, and a few moments later, seated himself beside the beggar as requested.

"Ah," a small frown appeared on his face. Francis didn't know French, then... and Father Richards likely hadn't introduced them. Malachi adjusted his glasses and said, "no, nothing. Just that it is very good. This is Chéri."

He gestured to the youth, and then back to Francis. If the two could not speak directly, he could at least close the gap for them.

"Chéri, this is Francis Tully. He is also a guest here."

Prayerful. Be prayerful. Be... Tully apologized to him. Gabriel doubted the intent, but Jesus forgave murderers. Seemed easier right now. He looked up briefly, offering a: "That's alright," with a plain face. Then he turned back to the breakfast he was midway through, fully intent on looking serene while really just ignoring the others.

He failed. When Brennan mentioned the French stranger's 'name', he couldn't help his eyes flashing up at his fellow priest's face for a moment, before darting to the young guest beside him. He looked down again, hoping the look hadn't been caught. It wasn't his place to question Brennan's decision. Only he did.

Jesus hung out with prostitutes, sure. But he also walked on water and raised Lazarus from the dead. Hadn't seen Brennan pull that one off yet.

Chéri still couldn’t understand the conversation between the brits and at this point, they weren’t even trying really. But whatever was happening, they didn’t think Gabriel was very happy. Or chatty. Were priests weird here? Or it was themselves? They turned to Francis, hoping to received some answer, but couldn’t ask the question. So they just sipped more milk.

They also weren’t expecting much of an answer when they asked about Malachi’s sleep. They just smiled brightly, as much as they did before, keeping what they had or hadn’t heard for themselves. Priests apparently didn’t have all the answers, not in this town. For a moment, they even thought the older priest was going to leave, so they batted they long lashes in surprise when he didn’t and then they were glad, because finally some introductions were happening.

Chéri waved their hands at Francis and smiled again “Hello, fellow guest.” They only said, cheerful to the only other person who was smiling. Then they turned first to Malachi, then to Gabriel, probably imagining the reaction he might have had in hearing their name “And no worries, I intend to find a situation for myself by today.” They had the sense the hospitality wasn’t exactly offered with pleasure.

Food couldn’t be ruined, but they were starting to get close enough. Chéri gulped the last part of the bread slice and wondered if they could have more. They were a very hungry individual who had had limited access to food for a few days. Also, food was joy, and the presbytery needed all of that right now.

Francis let none of their moods bother him, and acted delighted to have Brennan sit by his side. He thanked him with a large smile and turned go Chéri. "Hello!" He placed a hand on his chest and spoke slow as if teaching a small child to speak. "Fraaahhhhn Ciiiisss.. I..am... Fraaaancis."

He drank his milk and looked at Brennan with pure curiosity. Was Chéri his? He'd be most offended if he was since he'd been turned down and he couldn't believe it anyway. "I am paying by cleaning the church, what does he do for board?" He immediately knew to add to it before both priests could possibly turn on him. "Ah or is it just charity for a night or two since it is so hard to stay in a place where you don't speak the local language?"

He then laughed. "Funny seeing as none of us are local, hm?"

Gabriel would have just focused on his food and ignored them. Would have. But he was worked up as it was, and Tully's entitlement in questioning their host and comparing his own situation to that of the French guest rubbed him the wrong way. He looked up at the vagrant angrily. "Never heard the parable of the workers in the vineyard?" he snapped, with such venom that even he was horrified.

He stared at Tully. Anger made way for shame. He turned his eyes down. "I'm sorry" he muttered, and he got up quickly ready to flee the scene. His chair scraped the floor noisily.

Quick to fill in the gap between languages, Malachi relayed Chéri's cheerful greeting for Francis. What the beggar said in return... well, the offensively exaggerated introduction really needed no translation, and the rest of it seemed less directed at the youth than it was at Richards and himself.

(He hadn't missed that look Father Richards shot him -- the poor man looked scandalized by just a name.)

"Chéri is--"

Aaaand there snapped Father Richards, like a string pulled too tight. Malachi's eyebrows lifted above the thin frames of his spectacles.

As much as he wanted to call out the younger priest's hypocrisy in drawing on that parable to snap at a homeless man, he kept his mouth shut. It would be wrong of him to disagree with Richards in front of them, and Francis in particular did not need any more reasons to question his fellow priest's authority. So, smoothing his surprise out of his face, Malachi cleared his throat and looked back to the guests.

"...Chéri just arrived in Whitby yesterday, and I did not wish for him to sleep out on the street. He is not staying here."

“Francìs” close enough, Chéri laughed a little. Chéri had heard their name and was pretty sure no words sounded like it in English, so they didn’t protest.

Had Chéri spoken English, they would have said that they were willing to pay back with work if they had felt generous or that the privilege of their presence was enough for a hundred night if they had felt vicious. Either way, they didn’t answer, just sipped some more milk and stopped dead midway when Father Richards jumped at Francis. Chéri couldn’t tell what had been said, but he could hear the venom. They bent their heads to the side and merely observed. My my, they had been in town for less than 24 hours and they were already seeing such scenes…

They could offer no contribution, but made no show of leaving: they were going to see the end of this before getting out of the presbytery.