A ripple of indignance crossed through Abigail's chest and made it tighten. "Ain't afraid of no tetanus," she muttered under her breath - baseless posturing, trying to make herself out to be unfettered by this strange she-witch and her odd accent. It was the ordering that did it - the gesturing, the expectance. It rubbed Abi the wrong way and made her more acerbic and stubborn. She tossed the chunk of plywood aside and wriggled past the water butts, getting elbow-deep in the assorted old tools in an effort to find something that made their trip into this derelict shed worthwhile. "Relax," she drawled, "ain't like the house is going somewhere."

Some clattering and thumping and a lot of dust later, Abigail had found herself a battered toolbox and began rummaging through its contents. Her eyes lit upon an old box cutter and flickered to her left. The box was just behind a water butt, the gypsy couldn't have seen it yet but...how could she surreptitiously pocket the weapon without drawing attention? As she continued to aimlessly rummage, she found herself a roll of zip-ties. Perfect! She could use this as a distraction.

"Aw, sweet! Look what I found!" Abigail chirped with enthusiasm that definitely wasn't befitting of a bunch of dusty zip-ties. She triumphantly thrust her arm into the air, stuffing the box cutter into the pocket of her jeans as she stood...and had a very, very short time to react to what was coming. After holding in her magic for an extended amount of time, the upwards jab was strenuous enough to elicit a response through a familiar shooting feeling rushing up her elbow - Abigail quickly and hastily quelled the impulse - the flame hardly reached more than five inches height, thank goodness there were a roll of zip-ties in the way of her palm - a roll that bubbled and turned gluey as parts of it sank into her skin...

"Shit shit SHIT SHIT-" Abigail doubled over, grabbing her wrist, dropping the bubbling mess as she stamped on it. The smell of plastic fumes filled the shed. There was no smoke, thankfully, from such a small fire, but it was more than enough of a slip-up to bring a deep, horrible wave of humiliation thumping through her body. Whether it was the pain, the plastic or the sheer misery of it all that made tears smart behind her eyes, Abigail swore up and down the walls and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of the ethnic chick. Not on a mission.