Soup. He could manage soup. There was a short delay before Malachi dipped his head in a small nod. He knew how to cook just fine, after all. Plenty of his other churches hadn't had a Mrs. Higgins to care for him, and even before, he'd cooked plenty in his life before the seminary.

Glancing through the kitchen again, he searched until he'd located the cutlery, and pulled out two knives.

"I can cut the--"

His voice was clipped short with the sound of a knock. With a frown, Malachi excused himself and went to answer it, still holding the knives he'd found. It was a strange sight when he opened the door -- he was quite clearly a priest, but the apron and the blades looked rather strange. He was more concerned, of course, with why a man had come to the presbytery right now.

"Hello," greeted Malachi, easing the frown off of his face. "What can I do for you, sir?"