[The flustered holy man dropped on his rear in a small flurry of snow.]

Oof!

[He took to rubbing the numbness out and dusting this ice and filth off of himself. Ignoring the stranger's address he took to straightening himself up, fixing the buttons on his ankle-length cassock and ever so gingerly replacing the magnificently ornate stole upon his shoulders as if he were crowning himself King of the World.]

There..

[Maxwell then turned to Abel, eying him with scrutiny.]

Really? Is that so?

And here I just witnessed their lot level the cesspool of London.

[There was careful analysis of Abel's vestments. The metal arrows that lined his coat looked representative of the Lancea Longini.]

What a shame to wake up from that amorous dream, mm, Father?