Veronica and Kev have decided to get a foster child, starting next week, because they're thinking about kids and also because it's $384 a month. Fiona complains about the credit wreckage of this latest Frank thing and finally Veronica is like, "Steve is not wrong that you are about to blow your stack. Go to the hotel." Fiona heads into her usual speech and Veronica finally just shakes her head: "You are being stupid. You do actually have choices. You are choosing the wrong choice, right now, by saying you have no choices." And if it were anybody but V, that would probably make it worse, but you actually do have to consider it when she says stuff.
Bumfights. Before his match, Frank talks to a hobo who was around the corner getting a smoothie when a man flew a plane into his office building, and he was presumed dead, so he vanished into the streets and became homeless. Which, I live in Austin and it's a little soon to be joking around about that, but whatever, the point is that the man advises Frank to fake his own death so the goons will go back to Bavmorda's castle or whatever the fuck they're supposed to be from and leave him alone.
Sheila takes a fair amount of time to figure out that she and Liam are not playing hide and seek, but that's to be expected: Her world is the house, it's going to take a minute to think past that to the outside... Which is where he is.
"Wedding was called off, but the room was already charged to their credit card. Apparently the bride saw her fiancé on To Catch a Predator."
Fiona takes a fair amount of time to accept the fact that she and Steve are about to infiltrate the Honeymoon Suite of this hotel, that nothing's going to go wrong, that she doesn't need to call every five seconds, but that's to be expected: Her world is the house, it's going to take a minute to think past that to the outside. Which is where she is.
Outside, her yard is a cacophony of screaming, panting, sirens and monsters; the only surprising part is that she eventually gives up, slamming the door behind her and holding onto the banister post, crying with self-hatred, eyes rolling in fear. She stares out toward the house, wondering if Carl's burned it to the ground yet, and Steve produces his special room service: A roast beef sandwich from her favorite place, and fries, which she picks up, grinning, "I won't look like a lady," and she eases out onto the porch, tied to the banister with every sheet and blanket, toward the edge, with a dog barking at her.