There is very little that Gaige is reverental about. Her faith in her that way. Only felt it in awe the first time she stepped into a Vault. But that was about knowing she knew so little about the galaxy in which she lived, and that giddy rush of the violence that came before it.

Here, in this, she can't do much else but take his cues. Which she does, best as she understands. He's at least being earnest, so she does the same. Gently taking care of the chicken as she picks it up. Making sure not to crush it in her metal fingers by mistake. "Good chicken. Nice chicken." she mimics how he pets it, but there is signs of the life she lives, in a way, despite it all, she's wary of it. Never knew when even the smallest thing could spit acid at you.

"Uh, thanks, chicken, for uh, dying." Did that count as a prayer? Close enough. But it calms down eventually as she loosely pets it's head. Ruffled feathers settling long enough that she can get her blade under its throat, that for all her twitchy, she goes still in her precision. Then schlick goes the edge against a soft throat, one second still. Ripping straight through, and against her white shirt, her cheek, the blood splatters in a gush down that she quickly gets over the bowl. Trying her best to catch even when it stains her in streaks.

Then when it's mostly caught, she dips her fingers into the still wa blood, coating her fingers and - only knew Bandit war paint, rough as that was. So she places three fingers to her forehead and drags it down her nose and eyes in a line. Then with the extra, flicks it over the temple grounds. There.

"What's next?" she turns back, the chicken in her hand. Blood trickling around the curve of her chicken, and in the relief of actually doing something, all that bursting energ goes direct and slow. Focused in her limbs as she rocks on her heels.