[center][b][u]Paranatural Conglomerate Countermeasures Headquarters — Forensics Labs[/u][/b][/center]

"Do you know what on-site Liberty means?" a man of relatively short height and graying hair spoke just as he entered the sealed off room, an attentive eye on the lone figure hunched over a table.

"It means I can eat my lunch while I work. I hope that's not an issue, Sam," Sybil Royce Ahlers, or rather Sean Adams to most, responded with his monotone, English inflection echoing through the ominously lit laboratory. This was exactly how he spent his free-time and, despite the various looks it garnered, he quite enjoyed the work he did; it was a childhood dream come true. It was a dream in the most fitting sense—fighting fantastical monsters and warding off demons had its downside, but if one looked at it from a different point of view, it was truly an extraordinary job. And a wonderful one, at that, even if 'free-time' was either misused to work more or wander frustrated and itching for something to do.

Finally standing to look the scientist, Sean set the petri-dish he'd been examining to the side and promptly grabbed the brown paper bag in front. Raising it, he made a small gesture toward Sam and gave him his best smile. The other man, someone who'd built their profession on various scientific studies—astrophysics, chemistry, engineering, all of it—could only be mildly amused at Sean's attempt to be cheeky. His voice was high pitched, peppered with a slight Irish accent and it fit his stocky build, bordering a built lithe form and averagely scrawny.

Samuel sighed, turning to grab a spare lab coat before giving Sean the most exasperated look he could manage. "What are you looking at?"

"It's demon blood; I'm just determining the type of creature so the higher-ups can label the threat level and determine a course of action."

"Any luck?"

"Not yet," Sean uttered with a slight upheaval in his tone to denote his frustrations.

"Have you tried throwing holy water on it?" Sam joked, pushing his tongue into his cheek to stop his smirk. The laugh gave it away.

Sean merely inhaled sharply and turned around to properly retrieve his food. "Make yourself useful and grab me some coffee," he said, throwing the Starbucks packet from his bag behind him. Samuel lunged forward to snatch it, avoiding the mishap it would have made were it to land in any of the chemicals.

"Excuse me?"

"If you're going to make jokes, you might as well do the same with your job."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"Who likes his coffee with [i]a lot[/i] of sugar and milk." Sean called out, while he neatly assorted his lunch. About the time he'd find something to eat or snack on until later, along with many others—he'd often make his own food in order to avoid mingling with others in the cafeteria. Seeing as it was his allotted free time, Sean could very well sit down wherever he pleased to munch on a wonderfully made sandwich and salad. Of course, he would find it best to also perform a task he'd been assigned to prior, which was relatively small in scope. He'd keenly lied to Sam prior; in fact, a mission was already being conducted after he'd sent in the test results earlier that morning. He was just biding his time now with menial work because he had nothing better to do, and primarily felt more at home within the confines of a dimly lit lab than anywhere else in the HQ. Though, when Sam returned moments later with his cup of coffee, Sean had already finished and cleaned up, finding nothing worth looking at that he didn't already know about. Bidding the man farewell, he retrieved the coffee and left him with a smile, prompting the most bewildered look from the Irish.

"No thank you? Okay. Whatever."

With nothing to waste away the time before PCMC decided to further brief him on something, Sean had absolutely no idea what to do past wander the halls. It always made him itch incredibly and the lack of something important to busy him, made Sean into one of the most unapproachable people in the underground lair. People made quite a show in avoiding him during his off-hours; if he didn't have a pen in hand and the usual blase look on his face, then it was best not to get within ten yards of the man. Which he preferred, to be brutally honest, though he didn't quite like not having anything to do.

So, making a beeline to the locker rooms near the gym, he threw on a fresh, but old t-shirt and a pair of pants before forcing himself to exercise the time away.