River doesn't react to the idea of carrying around hinge oil on a routine layover. It's as if she hangs out with people of dubious legality, or something!

She just slips through the door, silent in her stompy boots -- they're better for that purpose than you'd think, when they're rubber-soled and well broken in -- and flicks a scanning glance across the room beyond.

And the room below. They're on a balcony.