"As I was trying to say," the shopkeeper said, after a trip to the bathroom to rinse out his eyes. "Is that your son is back in Victorian England, and is soon adapt to fit his environment. Judging by the parasol he touched, he's likely to turn into an noblewoman or other upper class lady."
"And how do I stop it?"
"I told you, we can't. It's a one way trip, and the change is ingrained with the setting."
"Not good enough!" Mary shouted, holding up the pepper spray.
"Whoa, easy there. We can't help your son the same way he got into this situation, but there might be another way..." the shopkeeper offered.
Meanwhile the woman answered Brandon's question. "Why, we're in London, of course. 1882."
"Oh. Yes... of course," Brandon said, not quite sure if that made any sense. Part of him said that wasn't right at all, but if everyone else said so, maybe he was mistaken.
"Where are you parents, little boy? And why are you dressed like that?" The woman asked.
"Oh, like this? Well my name is Brendon Thomase,you see, and..." Brandon began, not noticing that he had slightly flubbed his own name.
