He opened the back door and grabbed the two bottles of milk. While owning a milk cow had certainly had a number of advantages, he lacked the time and the will to maintain one these days. He turned to head inside, then stopped. Would he need to show the Inquisitor where the door was? That was a strange thought.
"Sorry if this comes across poorly, but do you live alone, and do you usually leave the door open?" The stranger's voice cut into Rich's thoughts. He looked at the man, startled. The Inquisitor wasn't even looking in that direction. He was fingering the hilt of the long, slim sword sheathed at his side. Even a monster hunter probably wouldn't be that paranoid about an open door, so he probably was on the run from something. Great. Though the door's open state was a little odd, it was nothing to worry about, especially for someone who hadn't been around when it was closed.
Rich was more alarmed by the blind Inquisitor than the apparent malfunction of the door. How did he know that door was open? Even a man with perfect sight shouldn't have been able to tell something like that through the strips of cloth that covered his eyes. "Latch is fifty years old. Probably oughta replace it, fix it, something like that," Rich said, walking over to the cellar entrance and closing the door. He set the milk down and fiddled around with the handle for a minute, making sure it was properly latched. He heard a faint squeak from inside, probably the departure of a startled rat. The rats could have the bloody cellar. Everything of any value in there was made of metal. He had heard rats liked to steal shiny things, but the only shiny things in there were inside a sealed box made from the wood of an oak cut down on the seventh day of spring and shaped on the twelfth. If demons couldn't get in, rats likely couldn't either.
The door secured, Rich bent down and picked up the two bottles again. He walked back over to the house, unlocked the door, and held it open, uncertain as to whether or not this was necessary. The Inquisitor was able to tell the cellar door was ajar, but he was blind. Better unnecessarily polite than downright rude.
"Come on in if you want, I guess." Maybe he'll be willing to say what he wants inside. The house's wards provided a safe zone. Inquisitors could probably detect that sort of thing somehow. Maybe once inside the stranger would tell Rich exactly what sort of help he thought he could provide, and explain what he was doing on the road when he... ran into him, as the Inquisitor had put it earlier.
Or, he thought, I could just use the broken stove as an excuse to ignore him. Sometimes if you ignored strange things for long enough they went away. Of course, this was Darkova. What you didn't know could, in fact, kill you.