His smile is indulgent. It's ... easy, somehow, to want to explain his own weirdness to this man he only just met. What passes for genuine interest is a novelty to Jack almost as much as it is a coveted rarity.

"No, I'm from Pennsylvania. Originally, anyway." Rubbing the back of his neck again, a nervous tic, he drags his hand around his neck with a mild groan. "It might get even weirder if I explain why or how. And it might be genetic, I don't know."

A hand pats his sleeve, absently rubbing there. How does the Moon's magic work, anyway? It isn't as if he ever got an answer on that score.

"I do bleed but it's ... It isn't like what happens to a normal person," he adds, blurting out, "I'm pretty sure anything genetic to do with me would come up nothing but dead cells. Not very helpful."