[The bald confidence with which Flat proclaims their friendship makes Demeisen bark another sharp laugh. He can’t help it—or, he can help it, but he doesn’t want to; humans are just such funny little guys, and he’s found an especially cracked one.

Obligingly, he reaches out to clasp the hand that Flat extends his way. Demeisen’s hand feels completely lifelike, his skin warm and dry like paper.]

Demeisen.

[He doesn’t bother refuting Flat’s claim that the two of them are friends; if he already came to that conclusion after one not-particularly-friendly conversation, he’s obviously not going to be swayed by a simple objection. And anyway, he’s welcome to his own misguided opinions.]

An alien here, much like yourself. Though less squishy and vulnerable to the depredations of nighttime monsters.