Fitz does nothing to interfere with the other two, but tucks his hands in his pockets and follows along with the other two, casting a quick look back at the office.<br/><br/>"They're on the almighty US dollar here, but I'm sure someone at Swaps will be more than happy to change pounds to bucks.  Still, that's not a bad way to keep someone from knicking your bankroll!  I mean, unless they steal your passport and can fake the accent."<br/><br/>He laughs when Alexi mentions the lack of staff.<br/><br/>"This isn't that sort of fine establishment!  Guests pack their own stuff in and out, which cuts down on the amount of casual observation they're under.  Which is what Yazkov had in mind when he dumped you two lovebirds here."<br/><br/>He suddenly halts and turns, facing in Ysabel's general direction.<br/><br/>"Hey, do you guys hear something?  Like a long, low down-note from Zeus's cello..."<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">No, you don't.  I'm setting up our replacement's unorthodox entry!</div></div><br/>That is all the warning you get as the world seems to jump sideways about six feet and shimmy for a moment.  When it stops and your stomachs stop trying to crawl out through your spines, the world has changed a little.<br/><br/>Not very much. Not so that you can really put a finger on it, like all the street signs suddenly being in thirty-six point Albertus font or the streets being paved with lime green cobblestones, but you know in your gut that something very strange just happened.<br/><br/>Fitz, for the record, looks like he's about to toss his cookies.<br/><br/>Out in the street, the young woman with the boom box and the hippie tunic and the stoned-out smile is talking to someone completely different.<br/><br/>+++<br/><br/>This is not Jennifer's day.<br/><br/>She knows,<em>knows</em>, that she was enjoying a nightcap with a similarly minded young intern back in Quantico after one of those overly-long holiday get-togethers where too much alcohol was served.  She knows, absolutely, with every core of her being, that the last thing she should be doing right now is standing somewhere very warm and kind of humid, dressed like Lara Croft, and face to face with some blissed out hippie chick who is in mid-spiel about someone named Karla.<br/><br/>And some guy who looks damnably familiar, although she<em>knows</em>she's never seen him before, is giving her the evil eye from the motel parking lot just next to where she's standing.  He looks a lot like a movie star whose name she can't quite place...and also like he's about to throw up all over his shoes.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>