Afraid of fire. That explained the gloves. Malachi nodded his acknowledgement, but his face was free of any clear judgement or sympathy.

"Ah? All the murders?"

He lifted his cup, letting the steam warm his face before he took a proper sip. The cream helped to cut through the taste of the tea itself, and he was grateful for it. Malachi's head tilted slightly to the side as he observed the constable with what appeared to be concern.

"I'm afraid I have heard from others that it can be a bit dangerous here -- I've run into a few thieves myself. Murderers, though? Are there many?"

The constable shook his head. "I really shouldn't talk about it. We already have the man who died at the Pony. So that is one less, I am not sure how many others. Not counting your random crime of passion or someone killing a loved one. These seem random and usually prepared. But sorry. I am saying way too much. And to a man of the cloth." He looked ashamed and silenced himself with a cup of tea.

"Sorry about the people trying to rob you. They think because you are a priest you would be easy to take from and might have the donations from the church. They never consider how it's there to help the poor. Father Richards always worked very hard to help the public." He became a little upset and put down the tea.

"Ah, I should go check on the food. I'll be back in a moment." He stood and went to the kitchen, looking over the mostly prepared stew as he stirred it and took a few deep breathes reminding himself it was foolish to get so bothered just mentioning his name, even if he missed him terribly and knowing he couldn't get close to him ever again broke his heart every time he thought about it.

Perhaps he should have expected that the constable would be reluctant to share anything more specific, and offered little more than the beggar had in terms of information about the criminals of Whitby.

The apology earned a frown from Malachi, who replied with, "I am not so delicate, constable. These are awful matters indeed, but it is important for me to understand the extent of the tragedies felt in Whitby."

Even so, he did not push. He sipped now and then at his tea as Crane continued, and only lowered his cup when the other's discomfort proved too obvious to ignore.

"Yes, I suppose," he glanced down at the light amber liquid in his cup. "I do not hold that against any of them, though."

Before he could say anything else, Crane rose from his seat with the excuse of checking on their dinner. Malachi downed the rest of his tea while he waited, and crossed one long leg over the other, to let his now-emptied hands rest upon his knee.

Well, now that Crane was already uncomfortable, he supposed he wouldn't feel guilty about digging into the rest of his questions.

"Sorry. I didn't intend to mean you were delicate in anyway, I can only..ah.. guess what you hear in confession. But it still just feels so inappropriate to speak of to you. I apologize." How many times would he say sorry in his life and still continue on the path of similar mistakes?

"Yes, but it is still a shame. Some of them would only use the money to drink anyway. Not that one more meal does them a lot of good. I wish there was a way to make money for a new shelter or something. And I certainly don't agree with them attacking you when you only wish to help. If you ever need me to help keep an eye on the place, don't hesitate. I can hang around just outside in case anyone suspicious begins lurking around. " He wasn't sure of basically asking to hang around to arrest these troubled men was a good or bad thing, but as a constable it was what came to him first.

When he returned he rubbed his hands together as he sat before picking up his tea again and sipped it slowly. "Ah did you want more?" He asked noticing the other cup empty. "Our meal will be ready in just moments but there is no rush. "

Crane raised an... interesting point, although one that Malachi did not put much consideration into.

It did not matter to him what thieves did with the things they took. If they sold them for drink, or to line their own pockets, it was not his place to judge them. On the contrary, he was there to guide them towards forgiveness.

"I'll keep that in mind," Malachi mused. The thought of Crane standing outside the church as some sort of crime deterrent... it amused him, but not enough to encourage such a thing. He was left alone on the couch after that, to finish off his tea and let his gaze resume its wandering of the room until Crane's return.

Malachi glanced at his emptied cup.

"Ah- no, it's quite alright, thank you."

It wasn't the tea's fault. He'd simply never developed a taste for most drinks.

"I must confess, though," he shifted where he sat, switching the placement of his legs so that he could better face the constable.

"I have difficulties believing that there could possibly be a darkness within you, constable. You are nothing but kind, from what I've seen."

"Certainly, if it is only occasional and no real violence, I can understand not wishing to make a large deal. Priests are always generous." He smiled weakly as he finished his tea and folded his hands neatly.

"I.." he sighed and shook his head and looked at his hands. "I have one great shame and one great sin and both haunt my life and shaped me to who I am."

He held up one hand to the other man. "My shame is visible by my burns." He dropped the hand. "I'd show you but we are about to eat. It isn't from the fire that took my parents but that I was awake and was injured trying to save them and I was too weak. I don't think they ever even woke up, but I still remember the moment as clear as if it were only yesterday."

He smiled weakly and his voice cracked. "It's ridiculous my sin is harder to speak of. But... I have never been able to love a woman. I mean emotionally. Never even bothered to try physically. I have found myself thinking fondly of men but I've never even been tempted to risk sin until recently when I truly felt love even if it were only one sided. " He sighed heavily and could barely glance at the other. "If you wish to leave, I'll think nothing wrong. It is despicable. "

Patient and calm as could be, Malachi listened to Crane's explanations without any real indication of what he thought. The constable's shame was a terrible one, albeit not one that should have fallen on his shoulders. If his failings had been in being too weak, then his virtue had been in trying all the same, in injuring himself just to do so.

It was a heavy burden to bear on his own. Unwarranted, Malachi believed, but he would not step into Crane's past and tell him how to feel. Regrets were rarely governed by reason.

A weak smile crossed the constable's face, and the priest waited, without pushing, for him to continue.

Things fell into place rather quickly after that.

Crane was the one, then. The parishioner that'd been mentioned when he'd heard the filtered explanations for Father Richards' visit to the monastery and the removal of certain powers. Malachi had suspected as much since the constable had brought the basket by the church, but the souring of his disposition each time Richards was mentioned only confirmed it.

The first thing that left his mouth was, "despicable?"

Catholicism had sure done a number on him. For every eager sinner that walked into his church, there was an innocent repressed near into oblivion.

"Why would I leave, constable? Has your form transfigured into that of a monster, now that you've shared with me your truth?"

Lightly, Malachi shook his head. He set his empty cup to the side.

"Does it feel evil to you, this fondness? Or have you only ever been told that it must be?"

Every word out of his mouth had become more and more difficult, to the point he was struggling to finish his woes. He hadn't been certain if the priest was quiet for his benefit or too disgusted to speak. When he finished, and the other finally spoke, he looked over confused. Clearly, it was... wasn't it?

"The way the church and society speaks of people like me, I must be a monster in human skin, aren't I?" He was not some beast lurking in the darkness to lure men into his clutches, but that didn't matter. He wasn't normal. The other spoke more and he became troubled more so and looked down before very slowly shaking his head.

"No. The love I felt for this man felt so good and pure. I'd certainly felt a fondness in the past, but this was so different. I couldn't stop thinking about him and I knew it was wrong and troubled because of what everyone says. If I had been a woman and he hadn't been.." He cleared his throat. "Nevermind. But if we had been a man and woman I think we could have been completely open about our feelings and there had been no troubles, not like this. But my feelings aren't allowed and I shouldn't have said a thing to him. It's better to keep my thoughts and feelings buried. I even made it worse.. I wanted to forget him so when someone fell into my arms who thought like me..."

He stared at his hands. "That was truly wrong.." He looked up slowly at the other man. "Is it God or the Devil who created loneliness?"

It was all too easy to return to the self-defeating lamentations of: if only I were a woman, or if he was a woman, if only we were wired right. A fine thing to ponder in itself for curiosity's sake, but it was not the case. Crane was a man. Whoever he held this fondness for (Father Richards, he assumed, but mentioned it not), he was a man as well. If it was not meant to be so, why would that fondness exist at all? Why would both of them have been made as men, if the right thing would have been for them to be different?

A low, thoughtful hum sounded from within Malachi's throat. God or the Devil, who was to blame for such loneliness?

He kept his counter-question to himself: is there any difference?

"Loneliness is but a side effect. A sign that whatever path you're on, it is not the right one."

Perhaps it was not the answer to the question Crane had asked, but it was the one he gave. Malachi leaned forward, sitting at the edge of the couch.

"I don't intend that in the way you're likely to take it, constable. I disagree with the notion that you are wrong for loving someone, and that you should be made to extinguish that part of yourself for the sake of those that use the word of God against you. If we are to believe that God makes no mistakes, how can we doubt the feelings he placed in us?"

This new priest certainly was different from Father Richards. He wasn't bad, he was calm and his words were interesting to say the least. Elijah kept his head down as he took in everything he said but it only cleared away some worry and filled it with confusion.

"I do not understand. There is no way to change things. I can't love him. I want to but it is.. " It wasn't impossible. It was simply not allowed. Richards was a priest who gave his body to the church, no matter where his heart strayed when it wasn't focused on God, it didn't matter.

His face fell and twisted as he felt pain rise up again at their last meeting and he covered his face. "Sorry... Please, I am open to your advice. I would love anything to not feel this way. I even put a foolish ad in the paper for a wife. Something to pretend some semblance of normalcy, to distract myself from thinking about this. I know it's wrong and lying. But I live here alone and when I can think of him... the only things that ever give me joy are pure fiction."