Fancy Fez is all, I'm but a humble shepherd. What? Sloane's all, yeah, if by "humble" you mean "controls the largest, most lucrative opium trade along the Silk Road." Fancy Fez is all, right, so, why should I hook up with you? Sloane's all, that's a long story. But first, I brought you a present! Huh? The gift turns out to be some ancient fountain pen that belonged to Khushal Khan Khattak, the seventeenth-century poet who united Fancy Fez's lands. And before you can even ask, yes, I looked him up on Google. Seriously? I don't know what I'd do without Google. I Google everything. It's almost like a disease. But one that tends to come with annoying pop-up ads.
I guess the gift's pretty damn nice, because all of a sudden, Fancy Fez is very interested in Sloane's little world domination vision. We switch quickly to Hell-Lay at night, and we're treated to an extended shot of Syd doing a series of terrifying stomach crunches on her bedroom floor as Duncan Sheik warbles about being on a high. Oh, and Francinator's just standing in the doorway with a glass of wine, watching her. Ew! The sight of Jennifer Garner's awe-inspiring abdominal muscles is a scary enough, dude! Stop with the Stepford Spy! She's creepy! Syd doesn't really notice, though, and just asks Francinator what's up with Will. Francinator, sporting our favorite pigtails, doesn't really react or respond, and just takes a seat on the edge of Syd's bed. Syd's all, did ya screw him yet? Francinator smiles tightly and says, "Not yet." Damn. She sounds like Will's the LAST person she'd ever want to sleep with. Come on, Francinator! It's not going to be that bad! Will has a nice ass! Grab it! GRAB IT.
Er. Excuse me. Shut up, Owen.
Syd gets up off the floor and walks over to the corner. She pulls off her shorts, and I'm not really sure why we got a shot of that. I mean, other than to show Francinator openly ogling her kickin' bod so that all of the posters can go, "Ho? Yay? HOYAY!" Francinator, obviously playing the "on the offensive" card, accuses Syd of acting weird lately. Syd's all, I've been acting weird? You're a CLONE, dude. I think we can safely say that you've cornered the market on weird here. Francinator looks at Syd with a semblance of human feeling and whines that Syd never talks to her anymore. Syd, sitting thisclose to Francinator on the bed (Ho!Yay!), just apologizes and blames her weirdness on work. Francinator reaches out and does this kind of unnecessary "brush the hair away from Syd's face" gesture as she tells Syd not to forget that they used to be good friends. Can I get a Ho? How 'bout a Yay?
The phone rings, saving Syd from her first girl-on-girl makeout session. It's Vaughn, and he tersely tells Syd to get to Oops Center, like, now. Syd makes some lame client excuse to Francinator and jumps in the shower. Luckily, Francinator doesn't follow her in there and offer to loofah Syd's rock-hard ass. Instead, she walks out into the living room, dials her cell phone, and Sark answers. "They found the bugs," she says, "how shall I proceed?" Who IS this person? Seriously. "Shall"? Who the fuck says "shall" anymore? I mean, other than the Queen of bloody England? Sark's all, well, they'll probably be looking for our L.A. asset. "Give them one," he states in his lustrous Brit bad-boy tones. "I'll take care of it," sneers Francinator.