For the moment, Fidjit's inactivity overpowers her name. The Gnome, easily mistaken for a young girl, is simply overwhelmed. The torrent of questions warring for some sort of dominance over her consciousness ebb and flow, none quite making it to the surface, has her eyes scan over the gathered accoutrements with a glazed expression. She failed to notice Tommy's wandering glances, and so sat without plate nor cup.

A stunned silence, led by the paralyzing effects of choice beyond comprehension affirms its grip on the young woman. Thoughts flit by beneath the surface, but nothing of her awareness rises to interact with reality until the mayor's voice startles her from her reverie.