Alabaster angled his head slightly, fixing the girl with his gaze over the circular rims of his glasses. She was obviously a native of this place, if her odd clothing and accent were any indication - American, he noted. Interesting.

He must look a sight, having stepped right out of Victorian England to... well, to wherever he was. Black jacket, longer than the usual fare, buttoned all the way up to his throat; black bowler, slightly askew atop his dark waves; dark glasses perched on a soot-marked face that seemed to bear a permanent five o'clock shadow. All he needed now, he mused, was a cane or an umbrella to really look like a stereotypical Englishman - albeit a slightly dirty one.

Returning his watch to its proper place, he regarded her flatly. He wasn't easy to read on the best of days, and being somewhere strange, under equally strange circumstances, made him reluctant to show more than he had to.

"That depends," he remarked, tone as flat as his gaze. "I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere."