Bermuda sat down on the church pews, his back straight, the purple mask of his firmly strapped onto his face, and his black hat resting ontop of his head of brown, scruffy and short hair. His overly-layered gloved hands rested on his lap as he looked straight.

He doesn't seem to be praying. Just seemed to be staring directly at the altar, his purple eyes glaring from under the mask.

You sat beside him quietly, trying to ignore his weird appearance and choice of clothing.