Jack is still too discombobulated to really care about the lack of pants. He pushes himself up to his own knees, hands on his thighs, looking worriedly over John while John does his own inspection.

"Er?" He twists to try and follow John's gaze, assuming there's a monster behind him and he'll have to move quick, but-- no.

No, he doesn't even have to twist very far, because the soft gray fox tails are spread out behind him and curling and flopping restlessly, without his conscious thought controlling them. He can, he realizes quickly, when he flicks one around onto his knees so he can grab it and feel it-- he can feel the touch, too, like it's touching his arm or his knee.

"That's. That's new," he says, sounding a little strangled.