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Ever himself could potentially have been the source of some of these macabre gatherings: the byproducts and leftovers of EMs in which Hunters had been giving non-specific instructions to bring back specimens of whatever they found. The result was mountains of plastic bags, folders, tupperware containers, test tubes, and anything else that had served as a temporary but tidy way of storing odds and ends.

Fetal mice. Dead moths. String permeated through with something black but, thankfully, no longer sticky.

He couldn't help but stare down at it in a disgusted, frustrated sort of way. This was probably, in its way, a gift -- better than burying himself in a stack of books only to learn nothing new, perhaps -- but it felt like something else entirely. There was little Ever wanted to do less this afternoon than match the specimens with their mission reports.

Being addressed as help should, perhaps, have rankled a bit -- after all, Ever'd been here long enough by now to advance to intermediate, had almost died, had spent the last week bones-rattlingly cold in Antarctica. In a place like Deus, where big egos seemed to be the norm, an indignant snort or affronted draw of air inward might have filled the air.

Instead, he just grinned: the expression starting slow and then kicking hard across his face, easy and comfortable as he dropped down into a chain and spread long legs out in front of him.

"I do strive to be helpful," he offered, diligently, though his tone said exactly the opposite. "Have you done this before?"

"Not a word." Ever's eyes went wide as he said it, mock innocence, both of his eyebrows shooting up toward his hair line. It had been a bad question, because if Ever couldn't read, that meant that he didn't have to work -- he couldn't go through the labels on various samples, couldn't sort them into a fresh order, couldn't take any kind of notes.

He looked down at a baggy in front of him and squinted at the label, as if the writing there was a mystery.

"There's a procedure that makes it more tolerable." Ever offered it breezily, leaning one elbow in against the table and settling his chin into it to watch Cain -- curious, maybe, or amused, not entirely unfriendly. He flashed a smile, flicking the little bag thoughtfully between his fingers. He wasn't terribly productive, but it was what it was.

"I mean, a simple stick removal, and life is generally more fun." Briefly, his expression went wide-eyed, innocent.

Was it, perhaps, more infuriating that Ever just grinned back at him, sudden and sharp and utterly shameless. He did, carefully, write a couple notes down, sorted this into that, but he was practically vibrating with Things Unsaid, and eventually flicked his eyes up at Cain again.

"I can do both, you know. They're not mutually exclusive." To make his point, he pinned a baggy to a careful note, even as he said it.

And made wide, faux-innocent eyes.

He was adorably pissy, in a way that made Ever somewhat distracted, smiling lopsidedly as he sorted his own pile. He didn't fumble, at least, but maybe that was because he went for the easier bits instead of the hard ones -- which was, in its way, a sign that he really did know what he was doing. It wasn't his first time.

"....trust me, sugar, if I were trying to make friends with you, you wouldn't still have all your clothes on." There wasn't a lick of anything hurt or upset in his voice, just lowly teasing. Or flirting. Or a bit of both. Ever licked his own thumb, pointedly, to make it easier to open a little baggy. Or maybe just to be a pain in the a**.

"I prefer experienced to old." He lowered his eyelashes as he said it, still grinning helplessly to himself. It was an easy kind of flirting from Ever, almost more instinct than intention, familiar and comfortable ground, especially since it seemed to throw Cain off his game. Slowly, he set down what he was working on to just watch the other man.

"How old are you?" The question sprung from him thoughtlessly -- not good manners, but he couldn't quite help himself.

"Nineteen's legal." He offered it smoothly enough, looking up at Cain again with his eyebrows raised -- and a smile most certainly playing around the edges of his mouth. Ever's look turned assessing, critical, like he was trying to decide if Cain was telling the truth or not.

"What, are you done working?"