The Balladeer looks completely unconcerned about the impending violence. Ford's is actually a familiar environment, and he steps past the fake Lincoln and company to peer excitedly over the railing. "We've got some lines left! Ah - " He turns, raking his gaze over Greta and the rest of the box speculatively before gesturing to one side. "Just stand there. That should - "

Then the world shifts again.

He immediately notices the cool air against his bare torso, and looks down to find that he's wearing a white cotton shirt, flowy and unbuttoned. "Oh. Okay, nevermind." Let's just get that closed then. Why does he feel like his hair is coated in gel? "This one seems a lot more unstable than usual, doesn't it?"

That's when the door slams open, and a dark-haired woman storms in. She looks open-mouthed between the two of them - Greta in her slinky dress, the Balladeer with his shirt only half-buttoned - and then stalks forward to slap the Balladeer across the face.