[It giggles, and the sound is… disturbing, almost distorted.]
This one would call him an alien.
His kind calls him a mutation.
[It doesn’t move; it stands there and waits. Waiting and watching is its forte. Always the ancient amateur, even now.]
[It’s laughs makes the hair on the back of his neck stand straight and sends a shiver down his spine. Evan continues to walk away, doing his best not to actually break out into a run like he wants to] Aliens? Great…That’s fuckin’ great. Leave it to her to…[He laughs mirthlessly as he considers this] She would make friends with aliens. Doesn’t know how to show restraint, does she?
[It decides to leave the man with something to remember him by, other than the now-purpling bruise all the way around his neck. A tendril, long, black and cold, slams into his shoulder from behind, piercing his skin and scraping against his bones as it eventually protrudes through the other side, wriggling serenely before withdrawing.]