All Frank knew about the things that went on here during Valentine's was that apparently some flying robots made people fall in love with eachother for a day or some crap like that. Sounded good to him; impulsive lovey-dovey couples would be sure to stop into his room for keepsake photos. What they did after the robot thing wore off didn't matter to him as long as the money was already in his pockets. Although it was a little depressing to think that his precious photography would be burned or thrown out tomorrow.

Now if only he could get this stupid backdrop to cooperate, he'd be in business. For some reason it kept rolling right back up every time he thought he had it. This was more than a one-man job. What a coincidence that the moment he left his room to get some help, Slippy was rushing down the halls, ducking and rolling like some kind of really poor spy imitation.

"Hey, kid," Frank called out. "Lend me a hand in here, would ya?"