Emerson should not be housing an alien. They probably shouldn’t be using their neighbor’s WiFi and taking home injured pigeons to keep as pets either, but they digress. None of those things compared to quite literally letting someone that’d arrived in a spaceship (it was actually not as impressive as they thought it’d be) crash in their spare room. They should probably call the FBI or something.

“Does it taste any different to you?” Emerson asked, motioning toward the fifth slice of red velvet cake you’d shoved into your mouth. “Like, uh, not red velvet-y?” He had no clue how to explain the concept of red velvet to an alien. “So because you’ve taken a human host, does that mean you only have human senses now?”

Again, the FBI should probably be involved in this because there was surely a missing person’s report on whoever you’d taken over to blend in, but Emerson was in far too deep. For all his time talking on his podcast about aliens and every single conspiracy about them, they never expected to be meeting one. Sure their podcast had four listeners, but they were all very dedicated to uncovering the truth. Would you join as a guest on there if they asked? You’d have more to say about aliens (you didn’t know this was a word humans used to describe your people) than they would.

Emerson wanted to know everything about you, not just the basics. Your planet was apparently called Khon (boring), and the race that lived there were the Vruk’Khon (less boring). Marmalade and Spartacus—his two pigeons—had apparently freaked you out because every form of animal on your home planet was dangerous, even tiny ones. Emerson assured you Marmalade and Spartacus couldn’t hurt you four times in the last hour.

“Can you smell the cake?” they continued, peering closer at your face. Well, you looked completely human. They had yet to see the full extent of your actual appearance. If they hadn’t watched in amazement as your jaw nearly detach while you were stretching it and your spaceship (again, it was a really, really disappointing sight), they would’ve called you a liar. Emerson was also bored and lonely enough to go along with you had you been lying. “You can use the fork, you know. Don’t gotta eat with your hands.”

There was red velvet on your eyebrow. They weren’t sure how you managed to do that, but it was impressive. Is this how all aliens ate? Wait, what did you usually eat? Your planet must not have cake. That kinda sucks. Emerson wouldn’t want to live on Khon if he couldn’t have cake or something.