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Ever didn't want to be here, right now, but he had to return the books: two general histories on the second world war, and one in particular about the US's involvement. They'd definitely been in his bag for more than two weeks, and he was now coming dangerously close to owing late fines that he would never be able to pay off with his low wages [read: nothing].

If he'd understood the internet a bit better, he could potentially have renewed online, and not faced the ever-charming librarian while he looked like such utter s**t. As it was, he had to come in, even with the left side of his face still a purple mess of bruises, his eye darkly black. The hat tugged low over his ears, mashing hair down against his head and cutting bangs crookedly across his forehead, didn't help as much as he wanted to pretend.

He hesitated outside, fumbling with ratty gloves and double checking for the third time just how close to the deadline his books were. Too close.

The creeping smell of cigarette smoke drew his attention before he could go in, someone lighting up just away from the entrance, and he twisted to hunt down the source. At the very least maybe he could bum a smoke before he faced his torture.

Ever's eyes only flashed briefly to the picture before deciding he was entirely uninterested in it. Unlikely that anything there would push his buttons, but the cigarette hanging from Nate's fingers -- well, that was an entirely different story.

"I would do anything for one of those." Not a hello, not a 'what are you doing?', no introduction or comment on illicit behavior or crude artwork. It was all about the cigarette. He hadn't had one in a day or two, and the last one he'd gotten his hands from had been plucked away barely-touched by that damned demon.

Ever shuffled the books under his arm and eased in a step closer, into the alley, surprisingly unconcerned. His comfortable posture combined with the bruising -- sure signs of a fight -- might have given the wholly-undeserved impression that he could hold his own.

"Seriously."

...well that was a tricky one, then. Ever made a crude gesture at Nate, quick, and shot a considering look back over his shoulder, mentally inventorying the things he had in his bag and coming to the conclusion that he had nothing worth offering. He had library books. Changes of clothing. His freshly-stolen hat.

"Paper-writing?" It was a good guess and an old standby that had served him well before. He flashed a grin, tugged on the back of his hat to pull it down tighter and rolled his shoulders in a quick shrug.

"Man, you've sapped away half of my offers already, and it looks like you can afford to toss me one damned cigarette." And he held up a hand, as if preparing to catch the thing.

"They cost less than spray paint, and you're wasting the hell out of that.."

"Oh, not just in alleys." It was sarcastic, but his expression lit up immediately at the potential offer. Ever should have regarded it with an edge of hesitation, should have considered the fact that this was too easy and possibly too good to be true but -- well, in his own way, he could be rather naive.

Just a moment's hesitation, and then he stepped forward to reach for it, shoulders rolling in a shrug and eyes flashing back onto Nat's face as he offered another sharp smile.

That got a quick roll of Ever's eyes, a squaring of his shoulders as he shifted the books in his hands.

"That's stupid. The cost of replacing a book's as much as buying cigarettes." He twitched fingers at Nate somewhat dismissively, looking back toward the mouth of the alley again as if in consideration, his eyes narrowed, and then stepped in abruptly too-close.

He didn't reach, just held out a hand palm-up for the cigarette and smiled again: hopefully the proximity and the raised eyebrow were enough to make Nate uncomfortable.

"Gimme the cigarette and five bucks and I'll buy you beer."

Ever almost immediately stuck the end of the cigarette into his mouth and stepped back to root through his pockets in search of a lighter.

"You might, but possession is nine tenths of ownership." And there it was: cheap plastic dollar-store thing that it was, added to the fact that it had been dropped a dozen or more times, and it was going to take him a while to get the thing to light. But he'd try. Valiantly.

"Which means you don't have anything to barter with. As for the books: I'm not done with them yet." His words were only a little muffled around the thing. His lighter caught, finally, and it brightened his eyes. He drew in one long, deep, satisfying drag.

"Besides, the librarian's hot."

"You're kidding." Ever blinked at that, tapping off the cigarette with a practiced gesture, and shot Nate a look. But now that the kid had said it, he could easily see the resemblance: the shape of his face, the color of his hair, even the height were familiar, in a vague and distant sort of way, like Tony not-quite finished.

"Holy s**t you're not kidding." But this came out with a touch of a laugh, his shoulders squaring against the wall and books disappearing back into his bag. And like that, Ever might have acquired even more of the upper hand.

"Damn. That means he's straight." His eyes were still too bright, definitely teasing.

"Mmm." Ever looked hopelessly amused, digging through Nate's words and attempting to pick fact from fiction. Eventually he decided to assume everything was a lie but go along with it anyway. He shifted, blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Does he know you're out here painting elephants in berets on the walls?" A gesture with his procured cigarette at the wall. 'Elephant in beret' probably wasn't what Nate had been going for, and Ever almost certainly knew it.

"I could bring him out to get a good look at your work..."