And now the Balladeer is here. She's not sure if she ought to be pleased by the familiar face, grateful for the assistance, or mortified that he's witnessed this. He even seems to understand what's going on, which only serves to make her feel more foolish. She tears her eyes away from the Balladeer to look back where he came from, but all there is to see is more darkness - and someone with a clipboard making emphatic but indecipherable gestures at her.
Greta gives her head a little shake of incomprehension, then steps up to the Balladeer and takes his arm. "I don't know what's happening," she says in a nervous undertone, "and I--I don't know where Lilly's got to." And she really wishes that would stop happening. Aziraphale's going to think her incompetent and take the child back for her own safety at the rate things are going. "And--"
And then everything changes.
The audience is gone. She's in a dress again, though not the sort she's used to, and the Balladeer's outfit has changed as well. A short distance away, there's a table with five men huddled around it. One of them, she realizes with a little jolt, looks familiar.
A slurred, female voice is earnestly saying, "... so he's, like--at first he and his confederate buddies are like, let's kidnap the president." One of the men - the familiar-looking one - mouths the words along with the woman, though Greta can't actually see the speaker anywhere. "But then they were like, no," the mystery woman continues, and the man lifts his hand, as if struck with a brilliant idea, "let's kill the president."
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Greta gives her head a little shake of incomprehension, then steps up to the Balladeer and takes his arm. "I don't know what's happening," she says in a nervous undertone, "and I--I don't know where Lilly's got to." And she really wishes that would stop happening. Aziraphale's going to think her incompetent and take the child back for her own safety at the rate things are going. "And--"
And then everything changes.
The audience is gone. She's in a dress again, though not the sort she's used to, and the Balladeer's outfit has changed as well. A short distance away, there's a table with five men huddled around it. One of them, she realizes with a little jolt, looks familiar.
A slurred, female voice is earnestly saying, "... so he's, like--at first he and his confederate buddies are like, let's kidnap the president." One of the men - the familiar-looking one - mouths the words along with the woman, though Greta can't actually see the speaker anywhere. "But then they were like, no," the mystery woman continues, and the man lifts his hand, as if struck with a brilliant idea, "let's kill the president."