She sits down on the toilet. Directly across from her is a webcam. Katia unwinds the towel from her hair and tosses it over the camera. The older lady knocks on the door. How did she get up the stairs so fast? "What I tell you?" she asks. "Why some pervert want to watch me piss anyways?" Katia asks back. She's kind of naïve for a hooker, isn't she? Nonetheless, she takes down the towel and lets her peeping toms get a free peep. "You have 10 minutes to get ready," the house mother reminds her.
In this short span of time, she has managed to finish her business, dry and expertly style her hair and put on a full palette of makeup. She even straightens out her sheets before turning on the computer at the foot of her bed. The website is called Loretta's Lair and it looks like someone spent considerably less time designing it than Katia did styling her hair. Perhaps people who tune in to see ladies on the toilet don't really care about design elements. She strips down to her bra and poses for her private chat partner. "Hi, there, I'm Sasha," she says. "What's your name, sweetie?" The username on the screen says "Alpha2468," but it's Frank who responds. Katia clicks a button so she can see him courtesy of his own webcam. "Hi," she says weakly. "I've looked all over for you," he says. And all I found was someone to bathe my genitals! Katia sits there in silence, too stunned to react. Frank prompts her to say something, but she makes like she's having computer problems and can't hear him. She drops the connection. Her roommate gives her an inquisitive look. "Creepy stalker guy," Katia explains and it's totally the truth.
Cut to Frank, staring at the dead screen. He scowls. He gets up and paces. He walks by a painting of a lone figure standing on the shore of an endless and empty sea. The camera focuses on this so that we're sure to get the symbolic importance, before finally cutting to the opening credits.
It's been a long night for Damon, who is just now getting around to washing the blood off his hands. Most of the International doesn't look like much, but the restroom has weirdly nice glass tiling. Damon scrubs and he scrubs, but the blood… it don't come off easy. He looks like he's going to break down crying at any moment, but manages to pull himself together to talk to what's left of his crew. He gives his bloody clothes to Maya to throw away. Throw your own clothes away, assface! "What do we do now?" Steven asks with panic in his voice. "We open at noon," Damon says, like duh. "Who gives a camel's ass about the bar right now?" Steven asks. "We all do," Maya says, which, no, apparently not all of you do.