Meropis. Really tacky. If there was humor in Mary’s words it certainly didn’t strike Abigail much - the place was quite known to her; especially the specification Mary then gave - near the Federal Shelter, a place for the homeless of the city to find themselves a place for a night. She knew the place quite well, more well than one would probably think and too well for somebody to actually confess ever being around this area. A few nights of sleep there, more than a couple of nights of work there, treating wounds of people lost to the turmoil of the life that swept lives here and there on its way. Drunks, vagabonds, hookers, unfortunate folks, some who just got into the wrong place at the wrong time, psychos, war veterans, bandits and thugs, robbed and beaten and tricked immigrants. She all treated them there. Healed them, cured them. Fixed their clothes, masked their bruises, cooked them food. Almost automatically attempted to read them passages from the Bible, even though she could not make her mind up about what she can do. 

She could not explain why, though. It had little to do with her devotion - or at least she thought so. How she felt was different, it was always that strange sensation of as if being stuck - a compassion she felt was somewhat stained and dirty, she didn’t like much of these people, they were miserable and they reminded herself of her own misery, and the misery itself seemed everlasting, yet she could not help but to pity them over where they ended up in their lives - quite often not by their own doing, just by a mere chance it seemed, or an evil doing of other people - and their inability to come back to where they were - and that if they even were somewhere in the first place. 
Sometimes she felt that God had left this place. 
Sometimes she felt that God is present here through her hands. 
Giving them another chance. 
She had little assurance in either. 

No matter. Abigail looked over the photos presented - a photo of the house didn’t tell her much except for the house looking fancy. She barely could make a distinction between houses which all breathed luxury in them - and not that she cared much. A picture of a girl however picked her interest better - the girl on the picture looked indeed coming out of a noble family, it was seen by an interesting contrast of her young looks and sharp and smart glance aimed at the camera’s lens - a trait usually dulled by either lack of manners or wits; this one was certainly not the case. Even though Abigail was not sure how much of a “noble” she could speak of this girl - she certainly looked so. Such a pity she ended up being amidst the hammer and an anvil, pulled into her father’s shady business. That pity rose again in Abigail - the pity over people being swallowed by this injustice and misery - even those like this girl, Marie, who looked like she belongs to being a movie star. Light details to her portrait added by Mary only made this impression more clear: a shy girl who likes to read and probably daydream. 

[color=f26522]“Thanks”[/color], Abigail replied and nodded to Mary as their contractor stood up and bid her farewell, coming to the exit from the bar, leaving Abigail alone with Montag - a person she agreed to work with, and a person she had to trust her -and this girl’s - life to. Same thought also was a truth for himself. 

[color=f26522]“We betta’ start it at least now[/color]”, Abigail replied to Montag after a moment of thinking, “[color=f26522]Ye look like a detective. And ye say ye are one. I’d say ye better with.. thinking over how to help people out in screwed situations. But I am just a doctor girl, I nee’ to know how to act meself, to not to screw things up on me end.[/color]”, she said. Even though she might’ve seen blood and what she referred towards as “screwed situations”, she could barely think of herself as somebody who would come with some master plan. She then continued after a brief pause with a shake of her head: “[color=f26522]Nay. We are in this togethe’ now. So we should keep so. Why comin’ up together in this place only to take separate paths after that?[/color]”, she asked with a sigh and looked around herself, more out of precaution than any actual suspicion. 

"[color=f26522]Do ye have any smokes by the way..?[/color]", she asked Montag then, with a tone in her voice sounding more tired than before. As if she allowed herself to relax a little after all this intense talking.