The silence felt endless. It was a moment of falling down through the time into a gaping hole of panic, terror, horror - right after Abigail said her words - her determined words; and this mouth of future to come got suspended in time and in so swallowed all her senses: a matter of watching the crowd of policemen reaching towards their batons and guns, slowly, too slowly. She knew that sensation all too well, she hoped though she would not ever encounter it again in her life. It was somewhat of a similar thing to look at a grenade suddenly appearing amidst the things around yourself: a countdown to inevitable things to come, and yet there was always a chance of things to go elsewhere, anywhere differently - this space between future sealed and future still possible to happen humans usually called hope. 

Abigail remembered that grenade now as she watched the police officers ready to snap at long last. But why? Who would use a gun in a situation like this? Anyone would, this was war, her bones remembered that ache of war crushing down on her with all the weight of blood and broken lives. 
It was the smell of flesh melting. She remembered it now. It was the smell coming out of this gaping maw of the time: where the past met the future and blended into the one insufferable image. It was too real. It too much looked like reality - and so it was a reality forged out of her fears and memories, intuition and suffering. There was no God in this swirling pithole of one’s mind: only endless terror. 

And yet. Somewhat awkward of a tone in a megaphone puts the violence on pause. And even furthermore into a reverse. It was somewhat of an amusing sight to see as Mayor himself finally showed up in a few seconds and managed to put all of the raised tension of the situation to none. It was weird, it was somewhat like acknowledging yourself in your own dream and now being able to process what was just a natural part of a dream, and yet looking at it was leaving an impact dazzling and confusing. Thomas did not look like a person to move fates by a command of his hand, and yet it was quite easy for him to just stop the situation from coming anywhere Abigail certainly did not want it to go. 

It was a relief as well. A glimpse of God’s light appeared yet again, pushing back this storm of terror Abigail experienced. She now could feel the sweat collected on her forehead dripping down her face - she was quick to wipe it off with a deep exhale to follow. And more the mayor spoke, the more it felt like divine intervention: the promises, amends and gentle speeches, careful approaches, a carrot to appear instead of a threat of a stick from mere moments before. Abigail felt conflicted about that - Thomas surely was not a divine creature and he was trying to soothe the situation as much as it was possible without getting dirty - in any possible meaning of the saying. On the other hand - he indeed stopped the worst things to come, like if it was nothing. Was it nothing or not for him though she did not know; and before she could even attempt to think this through and ask herself some questions about what to make out of his appearance, she was already isolated from her crowd by a quick motion of Mayor himself. 

She responded with a handshake as well. More of a reflex than anything, and in any way; no matter how she felt about the man, she did not think of him as being unworthy of some manners to be shown. 

“[color=f26522]Abigail. Abigail Mccarthy. I am .. e’ priest, both for body and soul of these poor folk[/color]”, she replied to the Mayor, as she was pulled aside and escorted away, “[color=f26522]Tis’ very hard to reach ye attention, mister Arnault. I do pray that ye words are true and ye not going to harm any of tis  folk who ‘ave come to ye seeking for help and aid[/color]”.