A dream, of course. Greta relaxes a little. Not that it being a dream is any guarantee that it won't be completely terrible, of course, but at least it isn't real. Lilly's probably fine.

The Balladeer, meanwhile, seems delighted by this turn of events - so much so that after a moment, Greta manages to place the vaguely familiar looking one. It's Booth. Not the one she met in his dreams, but a sort of... mocking, play-acted version of the man.

"It got, like, so bad," the narrator continues with what Greta can only imagine is wide-eyed engagement, "that--I mean, like, all of Booth's 'blah blah I hate the president' talk got so bad that even, even his own brother--" the scene shifts again, and now it's just the mock Booth some some other man, presumably his brother, nose to nose in exaggerated disagreement, "--was like, you need... to cool it. Just. Stop. With your anti-Lincoln... sen. Semmi... no. Sentiments. Or you can't even be here." Booth's brother walks away in an overblown huff, leaving Booth seething.

"Is..." Greta hazards, brow furrowed, "is she drunk? The person telling the story, I mean." Then, looking up at the Balladeer, "Has this happened to you before?"