Ian's eyes narrowed and looked at the hand.  They made it seem like he was some pet, a little dog that needed a bath.  He hated that so much.  He was just like them, he could speak, eat food, cook, watch tv, hell he could even read.  But no, he was out on the streets and that made him a target for slavers.  He wasn't going to let himself be treated like a pet, he still had dignity.  Ian brushed aside the hand and glared.  "I can walk on my own," He said quietly but with a serious tone as he got out of the box, brushing himself off.  Ian knew that if he didnt make it clear now, he would /always/ be treated like a pet.  He was a slave.  There was a difference.