He had only visited the doctor shortly, and not even for medical advice. Gabriel was setting up a meeting with several experts and representatives in town to discuss some of the social problems, such as the living conditions of the poorest; the continued lack of education of some of the children, despite legislation; and the alcohol problem. Dr. Phillips was a bald man with a big moustache, who talked too much and was rather full of himself. But he was also one of the few doctors willing to attend his meeting, and for that, Gabriel was grateful. 

The priest had come by bike, and when he stepped outside he walked over to the railing against which he had parked it, only to find that it wasn't there. He looked around confused. "Excuse me..." he said to the nearest person. "Have you seen someone take a bike from here?"

Saoirse had decided to take a walk in the town, no doubt to rant about the injustices of the world to anyone who will listen, or just weep to herself about how difficult writing actually is. By now, she was pretty much ready to just get to the market, buy some necessities and then head home—but she didn't, and instead kept walking, absent-mindedly passing a building without care until she was stopped by someone asking for help.

As much as she was nice and relatively helpful, she was also a judgemental bastard. "You shouldn't be riding bikes, ser," Saoirse looked down at the man and crossed her arms. Did this man not know how those bikes were made? What the conditions of the workers making those bikes and collecting the materials for them were? The gall!

"Wh-what?" He looked around. "I need it, Miss, to get around town. Have you seen it, or not?" It was a straightforward question, wasn't it? He didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

...

Saoirse was judging him so much right now. Her grip on her bookbag tightened as she narrowed her eyes at him. No question is ever straightforward with Saoirse. 

"Why don't you just walk like the rest of us, ser?" she asked. She wasn't the one who stole this guy's bike, but now she kinda wishes she was.

By now Gabriel was kind of used to the fact that this town was full of nutters. It was still annoying. "With all due respect, Miss. I don't really see what the problem is." He looked around again, but knew that the thief was long gone.

Did Gabriel really expect a person living in Whitby to be sane? So naive! "Ser, I don't think you quite understand the problem," she started off, her voice taking on quite an accusatory tone as she spoke. "do you know just how many folks have slaved away and suffered and died so that you could have your bikes?" That was a rhetorical question, of course—Saoirse didn't want an answer, really.

Gabriel scratched the back of his head. "What?" Nutter. Definitely a nutter.

Saoirse frowned. This was obviously a deliberate insult towards her and the cause she stands for, and she must take a stand against it. "What do you mean, what?" she asked, because obviously the best way to get people to support your cause is by being rude and mocking them. "Ser, are you for real confused or are you another one of them who thinks that the exploitation and torture of workers and supporting the system that allows that is fine and good?" She crossed her arms and looked down at Gabriel.

Gabriel started feeling really uncomfortable now. He frowned deep. "I don't want workers to be exploited, Miss. But I doubt that those who make bicycles are treated worse than others... I have a bicycle to find. Good day." He really didn't have the patience for this and began to walk away.

Whereas she would have usually accepted a minor defeat and just moved on, she was in an arguing kind of mood and so she couldn't just leave. "I never said that, ser, and it's pretty rude to just leave a moment after misinterpreting my words," Saoirse retorted, easily keeping up with him. "I never said that...people who make bicycles are extra-oppressed, I said that we should support the workers of the world and tear down the system that allows the exploitation and torturing of said workers. And that is hindered by people sticking to their material possessions without caring for what the people who made those possessions are feeling and living like."

...

"If yer bike was stolen, though, you should just talk to the constable."

Gabriel stopped and turned. He really just wanted to find his bike and go home. He put a hand over his eyes and frowned. Then he looked at her. "Look miss, I'm all for better working conditions. I just don't see what difference me not riding a bike is going to make. And I was heading for the constable." As if he would miss an opportunity to see the constable.

Does Saoirse find joy in making this man uncomfortable? Absolutely. That's part of the reason as to why she hasn't just left by now. "If a thousand people have the same attitude as you, no wonder there's been little progress regarding workers' rights and capitalism in general," that was incredibly false, of course. There has been progress. But what there hasn't been is a coup d'etat—and that's what she was aiming for, really. "because, really, thoughts and prayers and the like do absolutely nothing to help the state of the workers and, honestly, such an apathetic attitude is extremely counterproductive, even if you think it isn't. I'm glad you chose to look for your bike instead of just buying a new one and causing even more harm with that, but, like, not really." Yes, she will keep ranting. No, she will not leave.

What had he done to deserve his, Gabriel wondered. "Look, if nobody buys bicycles, those workers would be out of work." He began to walk again. A little faster this time.

Saoirse can follow this little man with ease. And she does. "That's the point. Have you never heard of strikes or boycotting or anything like that?" she tried not to sound angry but she was kind of angry. "The point is to create a society where people aren't bound by the shackles of capitalism and can actually enjoy being people. And the only way we can do that is by either not supporting that system at all, or a violent overthrowing of authority, a la France a hundred years ago. And I don't think anyone would want another Robespierre running around." She would.

Oh dear... How had he actually ended up into this nightmare? "Or we can talk, and vote well, and use other peaceful means." Gabriel said. Why was she following him. More importantly: How was he supposed to get rid of her?

You can never get rid of her. This is your life now, Gabriel. "We have talked and negotiated for centuries, and while, yes, some changes have been made, they are miniscule compared to those made because of violent protests—hell, not even violent protests. Protests where people aren't pushovers," she ranted again. Though she won't admit it, she was enjoying this one-sided debate. "liberation of the working classes won't happen by...being nice and timid and polite, ser."

Why him? Gabriel picked up the pace once more. "The end doesn't justify the means," he quickly said. He had a headache.

Saoirse's legs are made of steel. She has no trouble with picking up the pace as well. "Yes, it does," she said. "if a hundred people have to suffer so that millions can live in peace....that's not ideal, but it's still good. Sure, everyone loves to push their nonviolent agendas on everyone but that doesn't get us anywhere. Noone is freed from their oppression by simply negotiating with their oppressors. If life worked like that, don't you think we'd be living in a paradise by now?"

"Look..." He sighed. "I just want to find my bike." He had no energy to discuss with her, and he doubted it would make a difference. He entered the police station, silently praying Elijah would be there.

He gave up, which means that she had won. "This is exactly what I'm talking about," Saoirse said rather begrudgingly. His....apathetic attitude and his attitude in general, and...ugh, this is why there hasn't been a revolution already. Though she was very bitter and more than a little bit angry, she didn't make any effort to stop the man or even further speak to him. If he just wants to find his bike in peace, she'll let him. No point in causing even more drama.

"Look... I have enough on my mind right now, alright?" Gabriel said. "Just leave me alone."

"I......did. I'm not following you inside the police station, I'm not debating you anymore, I wouldn't have even said this if you had just shut your mouth and left," Saoirse shrugged. To be honest, she was ready to just exit the scene and leave the guy be but now she's kinda mad again. "but, I mean, whatever." Ugh, this guy is annoying. This is why she doesn't talk to men.

When the door opened, Elijah looked up from his desk work. He looked delighted to see Father Richards, but then he recalled why he had avoided going to confession. He looked shameful because he was certain he made the good priest fill with disappointment the moment he told him what he'd done. His eyes glanced away and he cleared his throat. "A-ah.. Father Richards.. so good to see you. W-what brings you to my station?"

Gabe decided the best course of action was not to respond. He turned to the constable instead, almost blushing at the other man's kindness. "Mr. Crane. My bike was stolen outside of dr. Phillips practice."

Elijah was clearly surprised. "That's awful! I suppose you asked around and no one had noticed the thief." He brushed aside a few papers and found his handy dandy notebook and stood, approaching him. It was only when he became close, did he become nervous again. A worried smile and he produced his pen. "Describe your bike, and I'll keep an eye out and make sure others do. Anything that can help identify it would be useful." He couldn't even look him in the eye.