Thomas fought. The only sign of the fun, flirty, party Thomas from before was in his ridiculous outfit, but if one were to look past that, they'd likely only see a feral creature, pouncing on and attacking on any of Raymond's followers that tried to emerge. While he might be more of a lover than a fighter, his supernatural lent him an unnatural grace, and the tension from spending the night ignoring his urges had left him frustrated, and now he had something to pour his frustration into.

By the end of it all, he was breathing heavily, the wings of his costume were torn, and he (as well as the sword he loosely gripped in one hand) was covered in blood. Thomas looked around, surveying the damage, and looking to see who still stood. The silver witch's amulet he'd wrapped around his very heavily gloved hand still dangled there, though he suddenly seemed to notice and started to pack it away in it's pouch, where it would sit until he took it home where he could stash it and ignore the fact that it existed once more.