[The requisite learning-how-technology-works period has passed. Now that this Victorian gentleman has gotten adjusted, he's relishing in it all: hot food anytime he likes! Electric lights everywhere! Television and radio programs at his fingertips! And, best of all, he's free to move about as he pleases without question. It's like a breath of the fresh spring breeze after years of stale air alone.

Every day he's out and about-- a slightly-graying man of 40 reading or people watching at cafes, window shopping downtown, mingling at bars with a cigarette between his fingers. It's pretty great. Much as he misses his loved ones back home, he's been away from home before-- he could really get used to this.]

Good afternoon, everyone. I can't help but notice there's a distinct lack of a specialty store for tobacco. [Yes, he's found a liquor store or two that carries cigars, but he's PICKY about this, so sue him.] As it seems like we'll be here for quite some time, I'm looking into opening one myself. Would that be of interest to you all here? And is there anything in particular you'd be interested in seeing the shop carry?

[BUT OF COURSE THIS IS A JAMJAR LMAO, so his good times don't last!!]

A. natural disaster;
[With his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Douglas is hoisting your character off the ground and brushing the dirt off them. There's been an earthquake-- or fire, or flood, or explosion-what-have-you-- and he's checking this poor person over for injuries with a brow knit tightly together.] Are you wounded? Quickly, now-- we need to find somewhere safe. [His tone isn't unkind, but it's firm: a man who knows they've got to get going all of five minutes ago.]

B. horror;
[Douglas was never raised to believe in ghost stories. He's not a suspicious man-- least of all after that whole douen hoax that'd brought him back to Trinidad-- and now is no exception. However, when there's strange, shambling creatures skulking about the town? It becomes much, much harder to try to rationalize the monsters away. He turns to the companion who's taken this same abandoned shop as shelter.] What do we do now? [He's armed-- a pistol weighty in his pocket-- but what good will that do against whatever's outside?]

C. mystery;
[This is Mycroft's purview, not his. Even so, he knows how this goes: with another person in tow, he's breaking into some official's office for some valuable answers. As the two of them lurk around a corner, footsteps echo in the distance, slowly drawing nearer-- but that offending door is still locked up tight. Douglas turns to his companion, looking harried.] Please tell me you know how to pick a lock?