Peter barely registered the excited young man who helped him up at first, still too entranced by all the what the fuck running through his head. Car horns were still blaring, and oh, that wasn’t good - he could see more than a few of the drivers casting rather ferocious glares in his direction. As if he could help suddenly finding himself in the middle of the fucking street. Still, it may be a good idea to hightail it before they decided to take their insurance bills out on Peter’s hide. As soon as the shock wore off, that is.
He glanced over the kid - Troy? - distractedly, really only noting the awed expression on his face before he found himself staring around at the strange street again. This was definitely not Las Vegas. “How the fuck… I don’t… fucking… fuck.” Peter closed his eyes, trying to shut out the glare of sunlight and wrong!buildings and wrong!sidewalks (and fucking where was the fucking hotel???), but the sounds of the foreign city still pounded against his ears. Gritting his teeth, he took another look at the kid who had helped him back up.
He was perhaps a few years older than Charley and Amy, gripping a grocery bag in one hand and grinning broadly at Peter. “Troy, was it? Don’t suppose you could tell me the date?” Peter’s London accent was stronger than usual, and he could have kicked himself for letting how unnerved he was leak into his voice. “Only, I’m apparently missing some time, cos I should be in Vegas and clearly I’m not, but I don’t recall deciding to go anywhere… then again, I may have been a bit drunk at the time, soooo…” he realized he was babbling and let the sentence taper off. Peter looked at Troy sheepishly. “Help a mate out? Just how lost am I?”