She knows she shouldn't scold this one, but it is awfully tempting. Greta has to grit her teeth to stop herself from saying anything foolish. Still, something has to be done; this is escalating more quickly than the argument with Guiteau, and Booth doesn't sound lost or confused, he sounds as if he's building up to something deliberate and unpleasant. She looks down at his currently weaponless hands, wondering how long it will be before that changes and what they'll do when it does.
And then the Balladeer takes her hand, and she glances up at him in surprise, not knowing what to make of it. Is it meant to be a show of solidarity? Is he just trying to reassure her? No - he says they're leaving, and she squeezes his hand in return, readying herself to run.
But that isn't what happens.
The Balladeer gives her a good tug to the side, and for a moment she's certain they've fallen into some kind of pit (falling again; why does this keep happening to her?). The sensation only lasts for a moment, though, followed by what feels like a brief envelopment in heavy cloth. Then they're standing in the warm light of a completely different place, a richly decorated (by her standards) room, whose inhabitants ignore them as fully as the crowd at the scaffold had.
"... Oh," Greta breathes, still clinging to his hand unthinkingly. It's like the Rift all over again. "Was that..." she glances around the room, confirming that there's no sign of Booth anywhere, then looks up at the Balladeer in astonishment. "Did we just travel through time?" She's not sure what else it could have been. Unless the Lincoln Memorial has a secret trapdoor that drops people into fancy rooms. She checks the ceiling just to be certain, but sees only smooth, unbroken plaster.
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And then the Balladeer takes her hand, and she glances up at him in surprise, not knowing what to make of it. Is it meant to be a show of solidarity? Is he just trying to reassure her? No - he says they're leaving, and she squeezes his hand in return, readying herself to run.
But that isn't what happens.
The Balladeer gives her a good tug to the side, and for a moment she's certain they've fallen into some kind of pit (falling again; why does this keep happening to her?). The sensation only lasts for a moment, though, followed by what feels like a brief envelopment in heavy cloth. Then they're standing in the warm light of a completely different place, a richly decorated (by her standards) room, whose inhabitants ignore them as fully as the crowd at the scaffold had.
"... Oh," Greta breathes, still clinging to his hand unthinkingly. It's like the Rift all over again. "Was that..." she glances around the room, confirming that there's no sign of Booth anywhere, then looks up at the Balladeer in astonishment. "Did we just travel through time?" She's not sure what else it could have been. Unless the Lincoln Memorial has a secret trapdoor that drops people into fancy rooms. She checks the ceiling just to be certain, but sees only smooth, unbroken plaster.