Ferret, in pleather and pigtails, walks listlessly down the street toward the Habitrail Hideout. Her smarmy agent leaps out of a cab and strides toward her. "Wait, I'm not ready," she says. "There are two possibilities: A, I didn't get the part and you came all the way over cause you wanted to let me down in person, or B, I did get the part and you wanted to come all the way over cause you wanted to see the look on my face when you told me." Smarmy Agent Man gives his best cryptic expression and Ferret says, "Oh God." She pinches her needle nose, her face extra-pointy with dismay. "It's B," he says. Ferret leaps into Smarmy's arms. "Oh my God I really got it? I got the part?" she shrieks. Smarm launches into his limited litany of agentisms: "You got it, gorgeous! I knew you would. And this is just the beginning." Ferret sits on her stoop, her pants hiking up to reveal the fact that she's wearing unbecoming Beatle boots with no socks. "Trust me," El Smarmo adds, gripping her spindly leg with his big, hammy paw. Ferret looks at his hand, then up at him. "I gotta go find Barto, because he's not gonna believe this," she says haltingly. "Thank you," she says, bonking him in the head with her bag as she brushes past him into Twenty-something Towers. "Dan" rolls his eyes as he remembers the first principle of Smarmy Agentism: Casting Couch before casting. D'oh!
Jill opens the door to find Jack, in a scoop-necked Navajo blanket sewn into a heinous pleated sweater-shirt. She holds up his key and says, "I don't deserve this." "What?" Jill snorts, taking the key. "I never should have snooped around in your stuff," she drones. "And even though I tried to make up for it by giving you my stuff --" "It wasn't exactly the same thing," Jill concludes. "So I don't deserve your key -- not yet, anyway," she says, "and I want to earn your trust back." This exchange is fraught with all kinds of enchanted expressions on Jill's part and ghastly smiles, whimsical pauses and eyebrow-jittering earnestness on Jack's part. "And maybe, when you're comfortable or if you're comfortable, you'll give it to me again," she says. Jill walks past in a blue oxford shirt the size of a topsail. He scrapes the key on the wall as if pondering her insipid speech, then gives it back to her. Eliciting the expected gum-baring grin and a cloying, "Reeeally?" Jill shrugs and says he packed all his personal stuff in storage. Jack giggles toothsomely and, in some perverse manifestation of puppy love, starts sniffing Jill's hand. Thankfully, Ferret stumbles in before we're subjected to a lengthy display of hand fetishism. "See that, you don't even need a key to get in here," Jill says -- and if that isn't a shout-out to our forums, then Stoosh isn't the only one in them. Ferret asks where Barto is and Jill says he went to the @Bar. Ferret runs out and suddenly Jill's on Jack like back hair on Barto. The door opens again and Ferret clears her throat and whispers, "I got the part." Jack emits a dog whistle shriek, causing Jill to double over in pain. "That's okay, I got another eardrum," he says. Amanda Peet flaps her gaping maw about, baring the billboard of teeth that is her calling card as a thespian. "She got it!" she squeals, to which Jill answers, "Wha?"