Nisa watched the two carefully before looking at Aslan. "If you say so. You should rest when we return home then." She walked over and curtsied politely as she spoke to Helen and Nettie. "Thank you for a pleasant day, I look forward to next week. I do hope you feel free to visit us if you wish. I would be happy to welcome you." A smile as mysterious as the sea appeared on her face.

"I do apologize for my brother. He is rough around the edges, but perhaps a little rest will remind him of his manners." The brunette said with a soft apologetic smile. Nettie was quick to tell her it was alright, she hadn't been offended and she hoped he'd get some rest.

Out of all the more important things that Malachi should have been focused on, the arm around the young woman’s shoulders stole almost all of his attention. He only caught it in the corner of his eye, and didn’t dare chance a better look, lest he find himself subjected to another unknowing look.

Too knowing, was what it was. In front of Tully, he had at least acknowledged that they’d met. Part of him was aware of the many reasons why it would be a terrible idea to let any others know of their connection… but the other part of him still hurt and didn’t care why.

Malachi did glance over when the detective addressed him directly, but his laughter and accompanying judgement did little to help his situation. He chanced a smile, small and polite. The one he forced for his parishioners.

“Thank you for your concern,” was all he said to that.

Turning his attention as best as he could back to Nettie, he shook his head.

“Please, Nettie,” could a man not choke and die of humiliation in front of the object of his desires in peace?

“I’m alright. We can talk about it after. Do you have anywhere to be?”

He didn’t want to talk about it, but he hardly wished to worry her to death. He could just… spin some tale about getting mugged and tossed around a bit. It wouldn’t be a lie.

Malachi kept quiet as the other woman approached, stepping aside to allow her the space to speak with Helen and Nettie without his… looming. Was everyone in Whitby so small, or did discomfort just make him feel taller?

The brunette said ‘brother’ and his eyes darted to her, and her brother, and back again. Brother. Thank God for that. Not that he supposed it really mattered – if the detective had any desire to keep an older priest around, he wouldn’t have made himself so fucking hard to find. Malachi kept that in mind when he considered speaking up again, and kept his mouth shut instead.

If the brush-off bothered him, he didn’t show it.

Thanks to Nisa, Aslan had a lot of practice listening more than he looked. Every muscle ached to turn, to take in every detail between Nettie and Malachi’s quiet conversation, but instead he imagined Nisa’s rope.

He listened in as Nettie folded as readily as a card table. Right. If she was as effective as he was hoping, would Malachi be on such a precarious edge? Were there times it wasn’t like this, and how did she coax him back?

They lowered their voices, and Aslan kept his focus on his careful facade. Didn’t matter. (What were they saying?) Didn’t involve him. (He knew the church kitchen was stocked…)

“As you wish,” he said, pleasantly, agreeably.

Nothing crossed his face when she invited them over; a bland, marble statue in the face of all weather.

“That won’t work,” he contradicted, in that same practiced, calm tone. “I’m sorry, I forgot to mention – I have a contractor coming over next week.”

Her not-so-quiet comments on his roughness, however, he left unchallenged.

More chaperons had begun to arrive, and the divide between men and women in the room was becoming more pronounced. As Nisa had a few words with another unfamiliar woman … Aslan decided to do the proper thing and filter onto the ‘men’s side of the room.

Right next to Malachi. What a coincidence.

“Come on,” he urged nonchalantly, eyes still on Nisa. “You sound parched, Father. I insist.”

Nettie's brows raised and she looked down only briefly. "Ah, yes. I do have something I need to do. So as soon as you wish, we can go." She lied.

Something was wrong. He'd been in a bothered state before, sometimes it was just before he was transferred but this felt different and it had her on high alert. She liked this place and was sure he did to. As soon as she had him alone, she would get him talking. She always believed he'd been honest with her, and that the secrets he had, she knew of their existence even if she wasn't fully aware of their substance.

"I will say my goodbyes so we can.. depart soon." She attempted an encouraging smile and left with the others to speak to the gathering.

"Contractor?" Nisa arched a brow and curiosity came to her eyes but immediately disappeared. She smiled once more, as easily as always. "Well, then it can not be helped." She turned to speak to malachi only briefly.

"She said wonderful things about you. I am sorry I am not catholic, but I think everyone can do well with a spiritual guide now and again. Please feel welcome to visit me if you wish. I am sorry to say, my brother works all hours, but I have a very sensible maid who might like to listen as well."

She gave the tall priest a smile, something about it made her confidence seem overwhelming as if their height difference has been reversed, before she walked to talk with Nettie when the room filled. While not everything was audible, she did not hide her voice.

"Please do visit me. The sooner the better. I've enjoyed our conversation today, and the chance to speak more privately is quite welcoming. Besides, I would love for you to meet my new maid. I think you being there will present her with quite a challenge."

…There was something off about her. Malachi couldn’t avoid it to save his life, but he could tell when there was something wrong with someone. Couldn’t put his finger on what, seeing as this woman had said nothing particularly suspicious to him, but there was something there.

Perhaps it was simply a byproduct of the short-lived panic he’d experienced before she said the word ‘brother,’ but he’d spent enough of his life beneath someone’s thumb, waiting to be snuffed out.

With the reappearance of his polite smile, he replied, “thank you for the offer.”

It was a dismissal, and not an especially subtle one. Perhaps the detective had mentioned him to her, for some godawful reason, and she was just trying to make him squirm.

Malachi let the emergence of the other chaperons distance them, though he kept an eye on his niece in the crowd. Guilt plucked at his heart like strings for having worried her so. He hadn’t meant to rush her, either; if she had nowhere else to be after they left, he simply wanted to go for a walk with her, or take her to the shore, or… really anything that had even the slightest chance of taking his mind off of him.

He who evaded any name. Who, probably just to spite him, decided to plant himself right beside the tall priest.

“My, you do have manners, detective,” he returned in a much lower tone, eyes on Nettie in turn; toying with the name in the way that he had once twisted Father. Malachi flashed a smile each time someone looked his way, eyes glazed over with faux niceties.

Why did he want him to run off and grab some water so badly? So he and his sister could slink out without his notice? He wouldn’t stop them. But he’d want to. He didn’t care what he did.

Flatly, he said, “your sister’s quite insistent, isn’t she.”

Spiritual guide. Was that a new euphemism? Had this big-mouthed broad painted a target on the both of them?

That wasn’t fair. The only ‘crimes’ she had committed were knitting and talking about a relative … but what kind of fool talked about their relatives?!

Her endorsement of the new maid only served to make him suspicious of said new maid. He had given her a quick spiel about how, should she ever decide to marry or move or otherwise choose survival over breaking another sink that he would be happy to pay the train ticket with haste. She was still there.

Oh! Malachi was turning down both water and certain death. That shouldn’t have tickled him the way it did, but there was something about the adrenaline of juggling two lives that just made everything hysterical. His face remained impassive.

For the scantest of seconds, Aslan’s gaze broke from the active hunter to the father-slayer right next to him. Did he have any clue how improper, how absolutely tantalizing he could make one word sound? Of course he did: he was imitating his own damned bird call, after all; the way he all but fucked ‘Father’ off the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately for Aslan, ‘detective’ had two ‘t’s, and that sounded even saucier.

“She wants something,” he murmured back, eyes on her, with nothing but a faint tinge in his cheeks to suggest he caught anything improper from his the priest. “Let me show you where the kitchen is,” he continued, at a more pronounced volume.

So a sudden, accidental coughing fit was offensive, but an intentional show of just how little he cared about teasing him in a crowd of other people was fine. Brought the lightest tint of color to his cheeks, even. Not that Malachi was looking (but he was).

“Ah,” he nodded. Just once, in that slow, solemn way that priests did, like they might not actually believe a word out of your mouth but were polite enough not to say so. Of course, the sister wanted something.

“Don’t we all.”

What, though? Spiritual guidance from a Catholic? The company of his niece? He doubted she had any interest in him, given the distanced disregard she’d carried herself with when he arrived.

Malachi glanced back to his niece, though the horde of chaperons and their ladies stretched them farther apart. If he hadn’t stood above most of them, he would have lost sight of her by now.

He didn’t care where the kitchen was, but more importantly, he didn’t want to hear whatever the detective had to say. Didn’t want to be told to shove off, or to figure out some plan for the next club meeting so that they wouldn’t see each other, or whatever other dismissive shit he was probably hawking, but he turned and motioned for him to lead the way.

“Alright,” Malachi relented, “show me then. Sate my thirst.”

He kept his gaze ever ahead, even when Nisa was hidden from view by a gaggle of taller women, and a chaperon or two beginning to impatiently pace as they chatted. It wasn’t as though she could do much here, witnesses everywhere and none of her tools at hand. Not like she’d lure someone off to the kitchen and butcher them right in their host’s home.

That would be improper, after all.

Even with their line of sight broken, he was still wary of letting his gaze wander to Malachi.

Sate my thirst. Lovely. He hadn’t forgotten that full body pain of the last time they’d parted, but he’d managed an almost bearable distance from it. At least there was Nisa, lurking, to remind him of the way life was rather than the times he actually fancied it.

He led the way to the kitchen, which they probably weren’t supposed to be in (but he already suspected the host to be too polite to say anything if she caught them).

Following his pretense through, Aslan went to the cupboard full of glasses. Passed over the everyday ware for one of the fancy glass goblets, because why not? He paid good money.

“Will you miss Nettie?” he said, suddenly.

Aslan breezed nonchalantly past him and turned the water on.

For as much as he didn’t actually want to explore the host’s kitchen, there was at least one benefit: getting out of the restless group of mostly-strangers.

It was harder now to feign interest; his utter lack of desire to listen, and help, and care about everybody else right now prevented him from his usual easy encounters.

Well, “easy.” Easier than now.

Malachi followed into the kitchen, slipping his bruised hand back into the safety of his pocket.

No knives, this time. Not there at least.

While the detective went about finding a glass, Malachi ran his fingers across the counter. Lifted them to find but a speck of dust. His head lifted as the younger passed by, glass goblet in tow (what the fuck?).

“Pardon?”

Will he miss Nettie? What kind of question was that? Malachi furrowed his brow, shooting him a suspicious look.

“She’s… like a daughter to me,” was his answer. “What are you implying?”