The 'larper' question passed Westley by initially. He grabbed his clothes and Jo pushed the door to and left the bathroom.
"Wait..." Westley called though the doorway. "Two-thousand-and-nine? Anno domini?"
A nod, a shrug, "Yes. About then." Westley joined her, dressed, and threw his rapier and pouch onto the couch.
"If a larper is someone who was born five-hundred years ago, then yes. And I think my strength of character is being tested to breaking enough today." Westley walked to the window and gestured at the vista. "This 'Las Vegas' seems to be very much like a place on... Earth."
"Well, it is... in North America. You were born in the 1500s?"
Westley nodded, and sat down on the couch, moving his sword to one side. "Yes, 1525. When you say 'North America' do you mean... Parias? Or New Spain? Or New Florin? I think the Spanish call it La Florida."
She looked at him blankly for a moment, then recovered a pen and pad of paper from beside the room telephone. She sat beside him on the couch, put the pad on her knee and talked through her sketching od a square North America, a triangle South America below it, a tail for Florida, then a very scribbly Europe with the British Isles, and a roughly Africa shaped blob below it.
"Well," Westley exhaled, "I suppose in 1000AD, we didn't even know the New World existed, so... I shouldn't be surprised... but... it's just maddening. Are you sure we're not dead? Is this some form of Heaven, or Valhalla?"
"I couldn't tell you. But we are seemingly trapped here."
Westley put his elbows onto his knees and caressed his closed eyes with the heels of his palms. "Do you know who Johnnie Walker is? Because - and I don't mean to offend, dear lady - he seems to be a better friend that many might be in this place."