Jinn sits up a bit, dusting his hands ineffectually. He could've worn gloves, but he didn't bother. He likes the feel of dirt beneath his fingers, the living, crawling things within it, the occasional prick of a thorn. "Do what? Ah. This."
Plucking the sunglasses off would be too much. He gestures to them instead, faintly. "I'm not human. My ability to blend in is... imperfect." He studies Malcolm, whose reaction seems to veer more towards surprise and curiosity than fright. "Are you concerned?"