[Oh he knew Gallagher was here. He'd seen him when he was coming around after arriving. There's more than one reason he hunkered down in this basement all while repeating endless prayers. All hoping to be heard and that he hasn't been completely abandoned...

But it seems like he has.

He grinds his teeth when he hears that drawling voice, mocking his prayers. His only source of comfort in this situation. Sunday brings his hands up higher, pressing his forehead to the locked together digits as he contemplates how to deal with this.

Ignore him... Simply continuing to recite more prayers. That's the smart thing to do. Don't engage with this. There's so many lessons that have been burned into his flesh. Turn the other cheek and things of that nature. To rise to this bait and any upcoming jeers will only sully him.

His feathers bristle and the wings at his waist tighten protectively around him.]

Speak your foul words and spout your jeers. And when they have left your system leave me be. I have nothing to say to your ilk. [His eyes squeeze shut and his fingers ache from clasping so hard. He has been damned and that Gallagher is here is proof of it.] Prayers, heard or not, are still worth reciting. And I will speak them until I can speak them no more.