"I have no home other than the brothel. It was left to me... I own it now. I do not wish to own it. It is a cursed place, and I am sure Magnus haunts it with his dark soul." She paused and then tilted her head back to look into the sky. She wasn't about to talk about the fact that it was so fucking messy. The fact that she was desperate enough to possibly marry a man like Zecheriah Meijer would say something, but Solomon probably knew nothing about that.

She leveled her gaze on him once again and sighed softly. "I need help to sell it." If she ended up selling it, that is.

Oh dear. Demon on the loose. Malachi refrained from telling her that her late husband’s soul was likely already burning in hell.

Following her gaze, his head tilted back to watch the sky. Clouds drifted lazily by, dotting the gray-blue expanse above them. Windy, but warm, with no promises of anything but the fact that it could rain.

“Are there none of your late husband’s contacts that could help you?” he inquired, lowering his gaze to meet hers. It was not something he could help with – he’d be better suited to exorcise the damned place than to sell it, and he didn’t want the weight of a bad deal on his hands.

“Or a lawyer to sort things out?”

"I am trying to convince someone to be my lawyer and he is trying to convince me to be his wife..." she muttered almost under her breath. Her eyes met his and she sighed, "It's a complicated mess and I shouldn't be talking about it with a complete stranger such as you. I have bothered you enough." She tilted her head, "Though I do appreciate that you have been talking to me like a normal person. It is nice."

She smoothed her hands down her skirts and bit her lower lip. "If you come back to town any time soon, please do send for me."

So her… lawyer, or potential lawyer, was trying to woo her? Marry her? Everything that came out of this woman’s mouth only served to confuse his understanding of the situation further.

If you come back to town any time soon…

Malachi clicked his tongue, lips parted. That was a dismissal if he’d ever heard one.

At a moment’s delay, he nodded and moved to stand. Swept sand from the legs of his trousers that the light breeze had blown his way.

“Of course,” he offered a smile, small and polite. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Sonia. I hope that things will all work out for you.”

He extended a hand in silent offering, in case she wished for any help in standing up.

She didn't want to keep him long. Though he was easy to talk to, too easy, she didn't want to bother him with her woes. Her eyes reflected upon that thought, it was written in her expression and in the way she could not look him in the eye much. "What I need is a priest," she said softly at one point, taking his hand and allowing him to help her up. Once she was on her feet, she did not start walking away, she turned toward the surf instead and watched the waves, wishing in that moment they would swallow her up and sweep her away from Whitby and the troubles that she had there. Somehow, though, she didn't think this stranger at her side would allow that to happen.

He had the wisdom to keep his curse in his throat.

What the hell did she need a priest for? Did she actually want the brothel cleansed of demons? Or… was it just advice she sought, and that of a traveling lanternist could not suffice?

If she had only met him sooner. While he still wore his robes everywhere he went, and some part of him believed he was still a worthy man of God at heart.

Malachi’s hold was firm, steady. He released her hand once he was sure she was balanced, but he did not walk away yet either.

“A priest?” he repeated, curiosity bleeding through his low voice. “Catholic?”

"Yes..." she said... "I need a catholic priest..." Her eyes closed and her head tilted down. Her lips trembled ever so slightly, but it would be hard to miss that she looked... defeated. Her chest started to rise and fall rapidly and she choked a little. Then she sobbed the kind of sob that would wrench somebody's heart out and curbstomp it brutally. Then she croaked out, "I am sorry," and started to stumble up toward the path that would take her to the top of the cliff, she was biting her knuckle on one hand while the other touched rock to help keep her stable.

She wheezed as she made her way up the hill, her hand dropping to her belly to rub at it. She stopped walking to breathe.

“Oh-…” and there she went. The sound of her sobs was met with a wince.

Had he spooked her off? Offended her?

Malachi watched her stumble away, finding himself at a sudden loss for words. She needed a priest, and… he was such a poor estimation of one that it would have felt like more of a lie to tell the truth. It would have felt wrong to hurry after her, to comfort her the way he wished he could, when she had already deemed him but a stranger.

“Please be careful, signora,” he called, and watched for a moment longer before he turned to head the other way.