It does rather feel like a dream, or another world, Louis thinks. He was in New Orleans for so long, travel limited by his particular diet and constitution.

"Not fire, Lord no..." he huffs, almost laughing. "Used to be gas. And yeah, oil lamps and candles where there wasn't gas. Always kept some lanterns and oil by in case of a storm. Don't know how they do things this far north."

He assumes it's north. Not much land south enough to be cold that isn't even stranger than all this. They pass the outskirts without incident, and Louis almost allows himself to believe he's arrived in just an ordinary little town. Except:

"Lotta empty houses," he murmurs.