[... You know, coming from a fairly desolate world anyway, Rhys thinks this place isn't too bad. Sure, that sign is too much reading for his nigh illiterate mind, but hey, he can ignore it. At least he made an attempt to read it, before figuring that whatever it's saying, it's not important.

He's not bothered by the rat, instead piercing a dagger through its body the moment it's off his foot as he looks down with it, snapping his fingers.]

... Too bad you're probably infected with some kinda disease, or I could've used you for dinner...

[He has absolutely no idea what's going on, but food is always a good priority, okay.]

[You know what's also a good priority? Surviving. And in a new, unfamiliar place, Rhys is, for all of his carefreeness, feeling a little jumpy.

And so, the moment he detects a presence getting relatively close to him from the back, he whirls around and whips the glass bottle he'd been inspecting in the direction of the noise with perhaps startling accuracy.

That is, it'll hit roughly around the feet of whoever it was that approached, directly in front of them—far enough to not hurt them via the shattering glass, but close enough to indicate that he likely wasn't throwing it at random. He pauses for a moment, before tilting his head to the side.]

Sorry 'bout that! You scared me. Or would you believe me that that's how we greet people where I come from?

... Unless you're here to stab me or something, in which case I'm not sorry at all and that was totally a warning. Fear me.

[Honestly, Rhys was content to stay down here for a while, which is why he has yet to bother with an escape attempt, because there's! So! Much! Junk! And he's actually pretty fascinated by it.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Once the trash starts moving towards the incinerator (and once Rhys realizes that's what's happening), he doesn't waste any time in ensuring that that's not his fate. To the naked eye, it looks as if Rhys held his gloved hand up to the air, and after a whizzing noise for anyone listening carefully, he suddenly shoots up as if being pulled by something before stopping, leaving him to hang in the air.

For a while, he stares down at the halting trash below, clicking his tongue before he calls out:]

Yo, anyone down there?

[Because really, he can't tell.]

[All right, so he has some kind of ragged, torn plush toy stuck to his hand and he's not sure why, but you know what? With his free hand, he's grabbing that half-eaten burger, inspecting it, and then... yeah. He takes a bite out of it, looking thoughtful as he chews.

This is perfectly normal, isn't it??]