He himself isn't much to look at pale, forgettable, eyes dark and a little hollow, dressed in a hoodie, leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers. Maybe fifteen, young in an old way or maybe old in a young way, the difference is negligible.
For those with senses keen enough for it, he doesn't have much of a scent. Definitely alive, yet the whiff of death is significant, though there's no decay, no rot. He isn't dead. Just something about him is.
The gun tucked in his jacket is well-hidden, as is the battered silver flask. He's been chewing mint gum.]