The gait's in large part just down to being a teenage boy, to be fair about it. The pallor, though, he doesn't have an excuse for. Back home he paints his face to a tanned shade he never quite achieved in life, and wears brown contacts which irritate his eyes. It's worth it because he passes, at least until someone brushes his hand and finds it cold. He passes.

So being here's already a little bit like a nightmare, and that's before shadowy figures drop down in front of him out of nowhere. The sound he makes and the stumble backward are just a little bit embarrassing.

Too late to hide, obviously, but he ducks his head enough to try and keep his face in the shadows. "Medicine. I'm -- I'm not stealing it. If anyone else needs it, I mean."

Unlikely, unless anyone else turns rabid without a regular dose, but you never know.