Reverend Stanley Merritt had merely asked where St. Hilda's was and had been helpfully pointed in the direction. For a supposed hellpit, the residents were quite friendly, once you got over the odor and heavy Yorkshire accent. He was not disappointed in what he found. An impressively solid stone building with an obvious dark heavy wooden door. Stanley tried the door, to his surprise it was open. Without a priest in residence, that was rarely done. For the collection plate was at risk as well as the parish silver.  He would have to speak to the verger about this practice at the earliest opportunity.

Stanley soaked in the design choices on the inside of the church too: white walls, arched stained glass windows, the ceiling was painted a pleasant blue colour.

Father Malachi Brennan had spent the early half of the morning in the sacristy, after having nabbed all of the melted-down candles from the altars. He'd replaced those, but kept the bits of melted wax in a little covered basket.

Something or other was on his mind, distracting enough to draw him into an organizational frenzy.

So he cleaned the sacristy. Mister Tully was usually around to clean these days, sure, but today it all felt wrong. Out of place. He took everything out of their designated spots and cleaned them, moved them, and then moved them back when he changed his mind.

The sound of the front door being opened and closed was what it took to pull his attention away from his unnecessary task.

Malachi dusted off his cassock at the knees, redid the few buttons near the top that he'd undone, and took a breath before he stepped out of the sacristy. And... almost immediately upon seeing his guest, his brows furrowed. He stepped farther into the light, towards the center aisle of the church.

"Hello," greeted Malachi, "is there something I can help you with?"

"Hello, I'm Father Merritt, the Bishop sent me to take over." Good Lord were the priests getting younger? The black cassock made the skinny lad look even younger and taller, like an ecclesiastical beanpole.

...What.

Malachi froze in place.

Already? He was already being replaced? God, the bishop hated him even more than he'd thought. Had Father Richards complained about him?

"...Pardon?"

He'd never even heard of a Father Merritt, but that didn't mean much. Malachi cleared his throat and took a few steps closer, so as not to leave such a grand space between himself and his apparent replacement.

"You're- are you sure? I took over only a few weeks ago."

"A few weeks?!! My word, what have you been doing here?" Stanley stepped forward and lowered his voice "Please tell me it's not a sexual problem."

Priests were ultimately sinful humans too, some were too fond of the communion wine, the coins in the collection plate, even the attractive widow in the pew. The Bishop hadn't told him exactly why he was taking over, Stanley had just assumed priestly retirement.

A sexual problem! Malachi did not even know what to say to that.

(Because it was true, to an extent.)

That was not the issue right now. The issue was that this Father Merritt was taking this place away from him.

"...No," was his reply. He took a step back. "There have been no problems, as far as I'm aware. The bishop has not mentioned that we would be getting a new priest, what did he... say to you?"

Nor had he mentioned where else he would be sending Malachi, if this man was to be taking over his position as head priest.

Stanley frowned. "If there are no problems, why did the bishop say to come urgently? Listen, between us, it's perfectly alright to admit that you can't handle the workload of a full parish. I'm shocked they assigned someone so youthful."

Well. Malachi was not a terribly expressive man. But when Father Merritt continued, his offense was displayed clearly on his face.

To be called youthful was not such a bad thing, but he was probably even older than him. And he wanted to undermine his authority by calling him too young?

"I'm thirty-seven," he deadpanned. "The bishop did not specify these issues?"

Stanley paused. The man was older than he. right then, abandon that line of questions.

"I'm sure the bishop was just being discreet. He's not bound by the strictures of the confessional, you know. Like those Roman Catholics, you know."

The bishop was just being discreet by failing to inform him that he was being replaced and sent to God knows where?

"What do you- wait."

Dark eyes suddenly narrowed on the figure before him. Malachi asked, "...you're not Catholic?"