"No," Ghent agreed through grit teeth, "but you[i] are [/i]the one who gave me the longest pants in Wonderland..." he kicked at a stray pebble as he walked, frowning all the while. He missed taking his frustration out on the various cans and bottles left around the city. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not Slenderman!"
	Ghent came to a stop after Elayra did. He eyed the pack, wary of its contents.
	"Hey. Those didn't come from a dead person, right?" Ghent wrinkled his nose at his own suggestion. The thought of wearing a dead person's clothes felt like a bad omen, and the last thing he wanted was to attract bad luck. Or, worse luck, as he felt his luck had been nothing but bad since stepping foot into Wonderland.
	Before Ghent could inquire -- or complain -- further, the pack in question was tossed at him. He didn't expect this, so the brunt of it hit him in the chest while scrambled to catch the lopsided bundle. 
	Bristling, Ghent steadied himself, irked by the entirety of the exchange. He opened the top of the pack wider, bringing his face down to sniff at its contents. The clothes smelled musty, but his tolerance to bad smells had risen after being subjected to Miles' vehicle. Now that the clothing had passed the sniff test, he reached inside, making a mental note to check for traces of blood. 
	"Huh?" Ghent lifted his head, Elayra's words almost going unmissed. "What are you..." he stopped. Heat crept over his face. In the chaos, he had forgotten that he was still in his boxers.
	"Y'know, on Earth, we value a little thing called privacy," Ghent quickly yanked a pair of trousers out of the bag, his cheeks flushed. He grabbed what he assumed was a shirt next, his misgivings about the clothing now behind him. "So, uh. Turn around, will you?!"