Thank fuck his shoulders are narrow and the rest of him equally so, which makes the entire process of easing the taut loops trapping his right arm to his hip a marginally less aggravating trial than it would, Rush suspects, normally. He has placed a higher priority in unthreading the coils that have wound their way around his neck as he has no great desire to die gasping, but his arm has begun to go unpleasantly numb and has become, unsurprisingly, his secondary target.

"Sorry," he mutters without exhibiting the slightest effort to convey any sense of apology whatsoever, narrowed focus entirely devoted to extracting his neck from any imminent danger of strangulation, "but I've found things tend to progress much quicker without external -"

That particular line of thought unexpectedly shatters in contact with the apparent knowledge that this organism is capable of shifting its appearance.

" - interference, what the fuck," Rush finishes flatly, taking great care to enunciate each consonant with crisp, arid disbelief. "Did you just alter species?"