Questions came at him faster than he could sort them out, and Anton tried to answer, a little taken aback by Whip's sheer energy that went beyond what could simply be described as enthusiasm.
"I'm not an alien. I'm Hungarian. Or, well, my mother is," Anton replied with some confusion. He'd been asked where he came from before, but never if he was from another planet, and Whip seemed entirely sincere, asking as if he really thought it might be a possibility. But he said he from Ireland, so at least he didn't think he was an alien, whatever he had to say about Anton being "more than human".
It was an uncomfortable reminder of his mother, and Anton was dwelling on that so that he had no warning when Whip threw his arms around him. Anton tried to say, "Wait!" but it was too late. What came out was an inarticulate shout as his entire body went rigid in Whip's embrace. His eyes rolled back and everything went white for a blinding second, and then the pictures started: horrible nightmare pictures - a pigish face with leathery grey skin and a stinking maw full of jagged broken teeth; the sound of wings tearing, a wailing scream too high-pitched to be human, piercing right through his skull; a spurt of blood that washed his vision in red.
Anton snapped back to reality with a choking gasp for air. He sagged and stumbled sideways a few steps, breaking the contact. "D-don't... touch me," he slurred, holding out an arm to keep Whip at bay.