"Really? 'S not.............an accent mos'people can...can place," Tom slurs, swaying a little where he sits. His bruised ribs sting, but they feel far away.

Besides, what this man has just said is plenty distraction on its own.

"Your name is...Darling? I just meant - I meant it like. Like people...callll people darling. I think. I - wait. Wait, did I...? Did I know that...?"

Expression screwing tight with the effort of trying to recall, the artist reaches out towards the other man, oblivious to the fact that the parasite is writhing vaguely against his arm....