Alfons made his way up the stairs and into his room with ease, entering the home that had only the essentials; a kitchen, a bed room, a small living room, and a bath room. It wasn't much, which was his intentions in hopes to blend in with the locals in his area. Upon entering his home and closing the door, the old man went straight to the bed room where a satchel was sitting on a dresser, and the handle of a sheathed blade was sticking out from under the bed. It wasn't long before Al' himself was setting the bag he brought with him down on the floor and began pacing around the home, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Over time, though, he could feel the faint feeling of fatigue and pain rising up from the infection he had sustained long ago. Before he could could ensure everything was in order, the lycan found himself sitting on the floor, taking a long moment to keep himself in check. "One day I have to find a cure... This silver is going to be my end if I am not careful." He muttered, his eyes drifting around the bed room he sat in.