The church bells mourned the loss of another hour with a great chime. Then another. Then another. Eight, Finch noted absently. It was getting rather late. He was lighting the oil lamps outside the church's entrance dutifully when the footsteps came behind him. He didn't turn around - it was rather hard to sneak up on an angel, and few were daring enough to try to bring violence to the entrance of a church. Not that they could kill him if they tried.

His wings were safely hidden away, giving him the image of a perfectionist priest merely tending to the building he called home, in his flowing robes and modestly drawn up golden hair. But the footsteps were rapid, an unsteady thrum against the ground, like the person was frightened the church would close and allow no more visitors.

When they were close enough, Finch turned around, his startling blue eyes settling on the newcomer with a look of polite indifference. A multitude of sensations flooded his senses immediately - a deep rooted feeling in his gut that something wasn't quite right with this person. They had done something, perhaps multiple somethings, that had torn them away from the path of the light. Finch had to steel himself not to let out an audible hiss of discontent. Who was this sinner, and why were they on the doorstep of a church guarded by an angel, this late?

With a deep breath, he schooled his expression, instead offering the newcomer a light, watery smile that didn't quite reach his piercing gaze. "Greetings, friend," he began, his voice a careful neutral. Best not to give anything away about the misgivings of this person, when they were likely merely seeking a hot meal and place to rest for the night from the church. "My name is Finch, I've tended to this church for many years now, I am confident I can help with whatever it is that you need. Which is...?"