It was winter.

[ Which, now that he thinks about it, wasn't the first thing he thought about when he shed his long, heavy jacket, but it probably should have been. Being in a location entirely unlike the city he grew up — the reality he grew up with — certainly has done its job in making him feel askew, unobservant, cut off.

But at least there's some more tangible information being gained here. It's been quite the struggle elsewhere, particularly to not get hung up on all the stuff around them that doesn't quite make sense to John Blake. ]

So, everyone's just livin' here? What d'you do for work? How's everyone gettin' fed? There's gotta be a grocery store an' a road outta this place.

[ Surely they don't live in a world undiscovered even if this resembles a storybook setting. But, of course, that's making the assumption that everyone is from the same place, isn't it? That magic doesn't exist, that there's no such thing as a talking raccoon or an alien space princess.

As much as the suggestion of fantasy seems to be gently nudged in his direction, he seems to watch to nudge it right back until it goes away. ]