As Abigail turned her head towards the staircase, she suddenly heard the voice to appear behind her back, from somewhere she could not see. 

"[color=firebrick]Ah, hello, my friend![/color]" A loud, welcoming voice resonated from further down the maze of desks used as office space for the newspaper on the first floor. Abigal twitched on place, and turned around in a sharp and rather nervous move, to face whoever held ownership of the voice calling at her, addressing her as a "friend". 

Deniz was looking straight to Abigail with a large, warm smile, but with discerning eyes as well. After all, he wanted to make sure this was the person that Montag had told him about, even if she seemed to fit the brief description that he'd been given before. "You are here to meet Detective Montag, yes my friend?"

"[color=f26522]Aye.. I am to meet 'im 'ere. And ye are..?[/color]", Abigail asked rather bluntly, not that manners were of any of her traits.

"[color=firebrick]Ah, my apologies, I am Deniz! I am a friend of Monty's, and well...[/color]" He gestured to the mounds of paper around his desk, "[color=firebrick]I work here at the paper. But do not waste your time talking to me, he is up there waiting for you now.[/color]" 

"[color=f26522]Oi.. Pleasure to meet ye, mistah' Deniz[/color]", she replied in a still rather surprised tone. A friend of "Monty" and a paper worker. It made fair sense to Abigail that she was greeted like so - at this late hour given by how she looked to a person not knowing who she is exactly, she indeed looked suspicious, or generally like someone who one would not want to witness on the doorstep. She was not surprised by that; quite instead she got used to it already, quite some time ago. 

Deniz gestured with a hand to the door Abigail was already half making her way towards. He was satisfied now anyway. Strange accent though, perhaps she was as far away from home as he was.

"[color=f26522]Thank ye, mistah' Deniz.[/color]", Abigail replied and made her way up the stairs after that rather brief exchange. 

"[color=firebrick]Please, just call me Deniz.[/color]" Deniz called out to Abigail as she ascended the stairs, his voice tailing off as she got further up, before he put his attention back to working. Second person in a day asking her to drop the "mister" part. Abigail was not sure if people felt it was rude to be addressed like so - by her specifically, giving her rather poor looks? - or if they just wanted to make friends with her. In the end she was confused by the possibility of either option. 

Once finding herself in front of the door leading to the detective's office, Abigail knocked on it. "[color=f26522]Its'a Abigail.[/color]", she said as the knuckles of her fingers tapped at the door lightly.

After knocking at the door there was a few seconds of pause for Abigail to wait through, before the familiar voice of the detective responded from behind it, with the same, mostly flat, tone as before. "[color=goldenrod]It's unlocked, come in.[/color]"

Once after a short pause Abigail heard the familiar voice of the detective that the door was unlocked, she carefully pulled the knob and opened the door, stepping inside and closing the door right behind her.
The office inside was small, but it felt oddly cosy. A box-shaped room, there was a window with blinders looking out to currently dark roads and alleys, with patches of light strewn across them from street lights. On the left wall were various filing cabinets and boxes of files, some arranged neatly and others in a somewhat chaotic state. One the right wall stood an averagely sized closet, presumably for extra storage and as a container for extra clothes in the occasion of a need for a change. A corkboard was also hung next to it, but currently it remained bare, save for an array of pins stuck into it. With a coat hanger stood just by the door inside, all that was left to note now was the averagely sized desk in the centre of the room, if positioned slightly more towards the back. In front of it were a pair of chairs, both showing a slight bit of wear and tear, to the right of it was a small bin and behind it sat the detective himself, who was currently extinguishing a cigarette on a rather full ashtray. 

Upon entering, Abigail looked around the room - small, cramped, dimly lit with the boxes of papers laying around the place and the light of the street barely getting inside through the blinders. Smoked air - something the room would acquire if people smoke in it with little pause and of everyday, so the smell stained the walls in the series of invisible nicotine spots. She knew that smell well - often to encounter one. The office of the tense detective work as well as of the tense detective living - judging by the closet, the ashtray full to the edges and even over them and the condition of the room in general and the furniture in precise, the detective surely was not having a strike of fat payment checks as of late. Still it felt rather comfortable to be in here, at least at the hour like this - it was quiet, calm and warm; good enough in short. "[color=f26522]Good to see ye again, mist-; Montag[/color]", Abigail greeted the detective.

Montag ignored Abigail's small slip-up, giving her a small nod as she entered. "[color=goldenrod]Come in, take a seat, Miss...?[/color]" He knew her name, but it was always polite to check.

Passing towards the detective’s desk and the chair proposed to her to sit on, Abigail noticed the coat hanger right by the door, and decided to use it - taking her coat off and hanging it accordingly. "[color=f26522]Hope ye don't mind, but it is still soaked[/color]", she said, as she stepped towards the detective's desk, a very simple grey blouse remained on along with the long skirt. She sighed as she sat in front of the detective and looked over the place of his work, giving a light and rather sarcastic smile on being dressed to as a "miss" 

"[color=f26522]I think Montag, if we drop the "mistah" thing on ye, we should do same to me.[/color]", she said, giving herself a small pause. "[color=f26522]Abigail. McCarthy. Common name, ay?[/color]"

Montag didn't oppose at all to Abigail hanging her coat up on the hanger when she entered, simply letting his gaze wander along with her as she made her way towards him and took a seat. He seemed thoroughly relaxed, leaning back casually on his seat and extending his legs out. Yes, he was generally pretty serious, but he was far from uptight. He actually chuckled, if very slightly, in response to what Abigail said, a small smile remaining on his face for a moment before dissolving away back to his usual, more indifferent, expression. "[color=goldenrod]You're the first one to come into this office, that's for sure. But, as you wish, Abigail McCarthy. Hope you don't mind the small space. It does its job but sometimes it's not the most inviting for clients.[/color]"

Abigail shrugged a little and shook her head in response to Montag's claim over the condition of his office: "[color=f26522]I've bee' at worse places meself. Ye office looks rather.. cozy[/color]", she said taking a short pause in the sentence to find a word that could express her feeling towards this place. It indeed looked cozy, despite its rather messy state, or possibly because of it. Abigail relaxed a little herself too, allowing the warmth of the room to lay on her body. 

"[color=goldenrod]Mhm...[/color]" Montag hummed, nodding in agreement with her. It was generally the opinion that his office was either quite cosy and warm, or a disgusting and slobby mess. There wasn't usually any in-between. Though it was clear that the people that had the latter opinion were usually of a... higher class, to put it in simple and blunt terms.

A moment of silence rose after that, redhead woman getting into her thoughts over a moment, looking past Montag's face somewhere onto the wall, before she snapped out from this. Her distant gaze in that moment turned into a motionless hazy, and felt for anybody to look into it, as if into two wells of deep and hidden pits of memory, holding emotions to not to be disturbed. "[color=f26522]Forgive me. All tis... tis, what's we bee' asked to do. It's confusing. Some of what’s been said makes no sense at all. Tis’all cryptic and filled with half truths. Most intricate lies are tis’ half-truths.[/color]", she said finally.

Montag paused for a second after Abigail spoke again, tapping an index finger idly onto a relatively fresh pack of cigarettes. "[color=goldenrod]Yeah, I've heard whispers here and there of this kind of thing before, but I've never heard about it as closely as we did earlier. These Fates... well, the more you think about it, the more questions that come up. But, in any case, we should discuss how we're going to execute things tomorrow. You got any ideas?[/color]" Eduard looked over to Abigail, a curious glint in his eyes.

Abigail leaned back on the chair crossing her arms on her chest, the sleeves of her blouse lightly pulled up by the gesture exposing some scars on her right arm - short and mostly not deep, like a series of short dots and lines webbing over her skin. She cared to cover the arm again with the sleeve of the blouse, after that though. 

“[color=f26522]Ay.. I can’t help meself but to wonder what tis’ Fates are. But I also understand that it is not in my grasp. I’m a mere street doctor, not a crime fighte’.[/color]”, she said and after a short pause added: “[color=f26522]I’m only interested in saving tis’ innocent girl's life. If by.. any, real fate, I’m ‘ere - I do it to save.[/color]”, she finished and then looked a little away onto the wall, giving a deep sigh yet again. She at least tried to keep her thoughts and her will collected for that one simple goal - a goal simple enough to determine, but rather difficult to achieve. Such simplicity in forming the end objective helped her to stay on tracks though. 
Clear head and breath. And think. 

“[color=f26522]So, ye, I have some idea. The woman said that tis’ party of the riches going to have is happening in Meropis. I know the place meself, the shelter building too. I work ‘ere, treating sick. Miserable place, people are already left with only the remains of their dignity. So what if...[/color]”, she said to the detective, starting to explain the idea she had in mind.

***

And so the night went by as the plans were made, the calculations of time and distances, the possibilities and risks observed, chosen. It was no easy planning as the information they had was rather limited and the options to gather more of it were none due to as limited time frame they were given. Most of what they had in mind relied on improvisation, some on pure luck. But considering all the circumstances it was their best shot and shot they were willing to take.