( he bumps rafa. accidentally, of course, too distracted by a thorn pricking the underside of his foot, which is the apparent downside of not owning any shoes. unlike rafa, ari hadn't bothered to change the clothes he arrived in -- the scent of seasalt embedded into him, cooking him like popped popcorn. he probably doesn't smell great. or look great. )

Sorry, sorry, Sir. I was just. I'm sorry.

( or anything great. his foot is bleeding a little bit, but he still settles it back on the floor without cringing at all, rubbing the back of his head in apology. dirt is caked into his pores and the lines of sweat that track down his cheeks, like some actual born forest child, raised by wolves. he moves his hand so he can bite at a dirty thumb nail briefly, eyes glancing from side to side. why does he feel so anxious? )

I thought. I thought the city might mean I'd find someone I knew. I thought -- my pack.

( pack. hm. the scent of morbidity catches in his nostrils, blood and musk, and his eyes fall into slits as he looks at rafa, tilting his head.

he's a vampire, isn't he? )

Er. Family. I should say. My friends ...

( he looks around some more. he might hate vampires, but he isn't a very rude boy. )