Religious organizations put him automatically on the wrong foot - especially ones like this, so uncomfortably reminiscent of his own (good, healthy, fulfilling) early life - and though he covers it well, that's where the impulse to push a joke of quite that nature comes from. Go there first, defuse his own discomfort, hopefully keep it on an easy enough footing that it stays easy. Sometimes he misses his mark, a little. It happens to the best of us.

"I'll do that," he says, running a hand back over his hair before he collects up his satchel and, since decent tea shouldn't be wasted, finishes that quickly. "If you need anything through Hellsing, too, you've got my number."

He'll be lighting up again before he's all the way down the street away from the centre. Holy Smokes are easily one of the best ideas the guild has had.