This device of yours is not nearly as fancy as an iPhone 6, [ why yes, that accent is as thick and smooth as butter, having been churned in the heart of georgia ] but I'll take it.

[ ...nevermind that he's very recently acquainted with the uncharged iphone in his pocket, let alone apple products and cell phones in general. it's not his fault nobody told him he needs to charge it or taught him how to check his voicemail. answering calls and doing this here facetime-esque thing is about the extent of his tech savvy abilities.

thankfully, he bullshits well. (a little too well, in some cases.) ]

Now, tell me. How do you keep yourselves entertained in a vast, luxurious residence such as this?

Give me your finest. Preferably your hardest finest. [ though he's not completely opposed to downing a few glasses of rotgut if that's all they've got on tap. lord knows it probably won't kill him, given the nature of his ageless existence. if a century plus at the bottom of a well didn't kill him, then watered down, rough cut whiskey sure as hell ain't gonna do him in.

alcoholic necessity acquired (whatever it may be), doc selects a spot at the back of the bar. a spot where he can kick back with his boots up on the table, hat pulled down over his eyes just enough to give the illusion of sleep without obstructing his own view, allowing his eyes to keep a constant watch on the comings and goings from this establishment.

once he grows bored with the faux napping routine, he'll pull the afore mentioned iphone from his pocket and feign... doing something on it. he hasn't quite figured out just what it is people do — beyond checking/sending text messages, of course — when they stare at these screens, but he does a damn good job of mimicking it. a decent rouse, except the phone is dead and lost its charge long before he found himself in wonderland. that, and his clothes and the twin pistols holstered to either side of his hip make him look like the last person to be handling a piece of 21st century technology. ]