After having been assured that someone would be along to help him soon, Sinclair was ushered by a high-spirited Professor Slughorn into the store cupboards. Now more well-informed on what made a spoiled slug different from a fresh one than he had ever hoped to be, he was set about to the task of throwing away the ones that were no longer good. Rather more than resenting this disgusting task but having little choice but to put his head down and say yes sir, if only because Slughorn was one professor who actually favored him, he was looking exceedingly moody by the time he'd returned to the desk with his large jar.

Stomach churning before he'd even opened it, wishing the task would have been such that it'd allow him to wear gloves, he didn't quite make any move to touch them yet. Though not quite a coward, or even terribly fussy by nature, Sinclair Avery was definitely not used to tasks such as this. While he had served detentions in the past (more than was particularly encouraged, in fact), they had normally been to do with paperwork or with helping a professor reorganize their classroom. It was only recently that professors seemed to have found what really worked with the impulsive Slytherin - having to clean, more than any other punishment, was likely to keep his head down longer.

Though not quite cleaning, this was certainly disgusting enough to pass. Face screwed up as he only stood there, debating whether arguing with Slughorn would get him anywhere, he felt his frustrations shift focus. If someone else was meant to be serving this detention with him, where in the hell were they? Not seeming to recall that he'd been uncharacteristically early to this appointment, he turned an impatient and rather green-tinged face toward the doorway; overall, he was rather more indignant about the perceived lack of punctuality than even Slughorn might have been. Still, quite predictably, he had not even unscrewed the lid on the jar or even spared it a second glance.

Eileen was apparently more prone than usual to detentions this year - a fact which surprised her but did not terribly alarm her. She wasn't used to surprises, normally, but truthfully it had been a surprising year all around, and Eileen had yet to object. It wasn't of course that she enjoyed detentions, but she didn't find them extremely inconveniencing; it wasn't usually like she had huge other demands on her time, as long as it didn't interfere with her club meetings.

It wasn't usual for Eileen to pass notes, but her duties as president, along with her slightly expanded social circle, made her at least slightly more susceptible. The note itself had been innocent enough - simply a reminder of the upcoming Gobstones Tournament - but passing notes to pranksters like Willy Wagstaff didn't look entirely innocent, even from her. She hadn't argued the punishment, though there was never anything terribly gracious about Eileen's manner of communication. All the same, Eileen rarely missed engagements, as it wasn't difficult to keep track of those she had, and so made her way to the potions rooms without too much delay, at the arranged time.

Slughorn met her with a jovial manner that didn't quite match the purpose of her appointment, and he passed on the instructions to her before opening the door and ushering her into the classroom, assuring her that her partner for the evening was already started at the task.

She crossed to where Sinclair - who she recognized at once - was paused, very obviously not having touched the jar they were assigned to. "Aren't you doing this detention?" Eileen asked, without lingering on pleasantries, reaching for a jar herself, certainly not eagerly but with a sharp straight-forwardness that was rather characteristic.

Almost rolling his eyes when his partner revealed herself to be Eileen Prince, feeling personally wronged by such a dreadfully unfair coincidence, Sinclair still made absolutely no move to begin working. Looking her over instead, he couldn't help feeling terribly sorry for himself - not only was he stuck touching slugs for an indeterminate amount of time, but he was stuck doing it with the most boring human being he'd ever come across. Being Sinclair, he could not quite imagine a more unfortunate circumstance than his own; he was, there and in that moment, the unluckiest boy in all of Hogwarts.

His dislike only intensified as she seized the jar, digging into the activity with enthusiasm he could only imagine coming from someone like her; he very nearly let out a laugh as he thought of the way he might describe this to Antares. However, he was able to restrain himself, even if it was only by a little bit. Smirking in a manner much more self-satisfied than he felt, quite unable to help it because it was just his manner, Avery still did not lift a finger to help. "Wherever would you get that idea?" he asked, characteristically difficult and condescending.

Eileen was also in the habit of feeling sorry for herself, and in a perpetual and generally limiting manner. She was, however, generally fairly efficient at getting things done, not by any great industriousness in her character, but by a general lack of distraction. She un-screwed the jar top and, looking down into the rather revolting contents, paused only a moment before reaching in and drawing out a single slug, underneath which, her palm was covered in an unattractively-coloured slime that was presumably a preservative - no longer effective.

She hadn't had the same length of introduction to the task as Sinclair, as she had arrived bheind him and Slughorn had told her her partner would be able to pass on the instructions. To this purpose, Eileen turned, holding the slimey hand, and accompanying slug, out towards the boy. "Is this spoiled?" she asked, in her same straight tone, unapologetically.

Anything but efficient, except when he was cramming furiously to finish some project he'd put off a week ago, Sinclair only stood, even as she drew out a slug. No. Especially as she drew out a slug. Her enthusiasm had him curling his lip perhaps more than the actual slugs did, though this was not an easy distinction made; on the whole and beneath spatters of freckles, he looked a touch green, after all.

Having her fling it out toward him was even more revolting, so much so that he didn't even get a good look at the thing. Rather, he put his own hands up as his shoulders hunched and he took a step back. "Ugh!" The exclamation was not effeminate, per se, but quite prissy nonetheless. "Merlin, just throw it away, Prince!" Truthfully, he didn't have any idea if it was bad or not - he just wanted the thing out of his face and had panicked a bit at the close encounter with it.

Eileen did not retract her hand,at once, staring at him while he reacted badly. After a moment, she pulled her hands closer to her, looking down at the slimy object on her palm. Eileen didn't like messy things - she was not that sort of girl - but she had a straight-forward sense of getting things done, once instructions were given, that she rarely had reason to try to circumvent. "He told me you'd tell me how to tell," she said, a little sullenly, but then obliged, throwing away the slug into the receptacle designated for the rejected ones, assuming it must be bad, if he was suggesting they dispose of it. A moment later, she reached for the next, holding it out in front of her again, though less close to him - slightly. "What about this one?" She inquired, seemingly slightly missing the point of his earlier objection, which was rather like her, after all.

Though he'd only just learned how to tell the difference himself, the fact that she wasn't aware gave him the upper hand; perhaps childishly, it was not something he wanted to relinquish. It was perhaps one of his greatest pleasures, making other people feel stupid - and if it was someone so obnoxious as Prince, it was all the better. "Oh, honestly," he said a moment later, still seeming rather surprised and sickened by the slug coming near him. "Stop waving rotten slugs about. Were you raised in a barn?"

Eileen had a sort of silent, un-exciting expectant quality, while she waited for the answer. When instead of the information - which she thought was only reasonable for her to receive - Sinclair insulted her, she stiffened automatically. A sharpness increased on her features, which was the product of a quick defensiveness. She did not withdraw her hand, but closed her fingers tightly over its contents, in a illogically possessive gesture. "No," she said quickly, "I was raised in a house." Defensively, she added, "I've never been in a barn," in a sharp, matter-of-fact tone.