Tensions build as Clancy and his police officers meet eye to eye with Abigail and her protestors. Morale for the mob was firm earlier, but continues to slip. The sight of batons, police dogs and revolvers at the hips of the officers was intense. It was easy to imagine how quickly this situation could deteriorate into them being used. 

Abigail’s speech is powerful, and reached out beyond the material danger presented to them and to the spiritual malaise they had all been suffering under. Though some still deserted, Abigail could quickly tell who she was left with. The young and jobless, with everything to gain and nothing to lose. No families behind them for the youths to worry about. Then there were the old and weary, veterans of similar protests. They were used to the danger, and perhaps even invigorated by it. They’d stay by Abigail’s side, even as her numbers dwindled to only a dozen now against the over twenty heads of policemen she spotted by eyeball.

The pleading for the suffering of the poor goes unheeded and ignored by the officers largely. Since the depression had begun, the everyday suffering of the impoverished had become so widespread that the common man felt no longer moved by their plight. They just saw more sunken faces and exposed ribs, more signs of the need for an order according to them. The police seem steadfast, and unmoved. 

“God’s mercy is not for one lone preacher to decide, miss. You’re putting at risk innocent bystanders for a very misguided crusade.” Clancy announced over his microphone, trying to drag down the heightened mood. 

With a blow of the whistle, the police began to march forward roughly in a battle line. Since there were more of them, they began to envelop the protestors and put the squeeze on them. Batons out and ready, it was clear a move would be made to disperse them.

“On my order, I am going to detain and arrest anyone who has not left this gathering. This is your last chance to leave peacefully.” The large man would finish, putting aside his megaphone. The time for talk was over, as he had decided.

Abigail had her last moment here for action. Disperse peacefully? Stand her ground? Was this all worth it for a mere distraction? People’s lives could be at risk.

--


Tensions are much quieter in Thomas’s situation. The roar of the band and the promise of free drinks gave new life to the party. It was just as Thomas had arranged. The confrontation outside was out of sight and out of mind, and the guests were distracted with leisure and luxury with loud music to blare out noise.

As the mayor of New Haven, he’s had to use this tactic a few odd times in his career.

The two relaxed staff members give Eduard a simple look over before returning to their cigarettes. They were young and just here for a paycheck, not looking to rock the boat. 

“Heh, buddy the bossman has new staff for each gathering he’s got about every new event. He don’t give anyone steady work but the secretaries who got cute faces.” A tall auburn haired boy who looked no older than 18 took another drag on his smoke.

“He says his uncle works for him. He must think he’s a big guy.” His companion, a black haired boy with an angular face jested. 

“If you’re such a big guy then where’s your waistcoat then, eh?” 

The association with Mr. Arnault did Montag more harm than good, as he didn’t seem very popular with the lower level staff. 

“Whatever man. I’ll take your fucking cigs if that’s what you’re offering. I don’t give a damn anymore. My dad lost his job yesterday and our family is good as dead at this point.”

With a cynical flair and pure apathy, Auburn slung his waistcloth right at Montag’s face, colliding with it. The pair douse their cigarettes into the ground and rub them out into the finely cut grass with their shoes. Uncaring of the damage done to the furbished lawn.

“C’mon let’s go check outside and see if there’s a scrap. I wanna see someone get their fuckin skull kicked in.” Black suggested with a laugh, and the two part off without even listening to a word Montag had to offer.