“[color=f26522]This land is already chaos enough[/color]”, Abigail replied to Mary’s remark; “and godless”, Abigail wanted to add as well, but decided to hold up on such a commentary still. Even though she was not sure if God was still there, anywhere on this planet at all, as the feeling of being abandoned possessed her the first time her glance laid onto the victims of the Great War, and this feeling only kept growing inside of her into the control over her sensation and perception of the world ever since. God was grace and love, and certainly neither she could find around. She could only find an empty gaze in people around, one akin to the one she got used to witnessing before herself every time she was to stand in the front of the mirror. “[color=f26522]Oei? Miste’ Montag attracts the storms?[/color]”, Abigail said in response in a joke of sort to the ominous commentary, a glimpse of what she felt about him was to be said in words by somebody else, a clear remark one would out under the character’s line for the better implication - and so it was something behind him that made Abigail to recall some people holding guns in their hands and driven by various feelings towards the various edges - Civil War had plenty of examples of any kind; and there was something in this young detective which made her feel the connection - a deeply rooted, hidden behind his somewhat careless, somewhat determent glance of the eyes. Nevertheless, Abigail had no moment to be able to continue this thought as Mary after a short pause started a short speech. An explanation of why they were here. An explanation which left Abigail numb on her mind. What followed after the story she was often to hear amidst the common folk of the town was absurd. And not that kind of absurd she was taught of; it was not credo quia absurdum, it was a different kind of absurd - when each following word snaps the meaning of the previous one and in so they form a chain with no completeness - a sentence just crumbles and becomes a pile of useless garbage. Yet in this garbage of words something crept, and it was something Abigail felt was ready to look at her, through the words pronounced, in the gaps between the sounds there was something else, some other sound and some other meaning told to her, some other words in the unspoken language, some other in these gaps [i][b]looking and watching[/b][/i]. Abigail blinked a few times to allow her mind a bit of distraction in an attempt to process what was said - with a blink of her eye it felt like the whole world tensed up on her presence here: a sensation of her own existence being so heavy that it was about to create a massive hole in the being. It felt so much like if she was looked at not only by Mary, but by [i][b]everything.[/b][/i] She shook her head then. Of course. It is some sort of code. Blinking again she managed to clear her head and concentrate back on what Mary was telling them. She spoke in riddles, yes. It was a code - a code to hide the true intentions, the true contractor of hers and their possible enemies. She got caught there for a moment, but she was not stupid. “"Marie Arnault is fated to die during this exchange. A stray bullet will hit her heart, unintended” - of course, it was a hit. Miss Amault was to be assassinated - as Mary said herself, the usual mafia stuff. Sadly to herself Abigail was not surprised by this. Mafia often was to do dirty, and she saw some of it with her own eyes. Why to use this strange code was not clear to Abigail though, but Montag seemed to go with it naturally. “Fates”. Sounded like one of these occult circles, organized by the bohemian types dying of boredom after they’ve read the books of the kind.. Crowley was that name. She met the kinds like them seeking through slums, looking for people who would agree to come with them for money. Participating in some rituals. Godless this land is. “[color=f26522]So ye ask us to save that girl...”[/color], Abigail said, mostly to herself than to Mary, in order to assure herself of that thought. If anything it was something she would do everyday. Even though it was to come from some shady kind like Mary looked alike. She learnt and knew to not to judge those who ask for help. “[color=f26522]Wha’s that about choosing other to kill? Sounds like something mafias would do to hide their tracks. Miste’ Montag puts it well - sounds like some set up.[/color]”, Abigail finally asks. It is a question she asks, even though she has no intention in obliging this criteria.