Generally speaking, Evan didn't like to think of himself as paranoid. He was suspicious, of course, but these days, what was left not to be suspicious of? The world was ending and if you had an important name, you lived in a cushy government safehouse. If you didn't and you just so happened to have that special gene in your blood that made you Immune? Well you won a life sentence serving people who didn't give a shit what your name is or what your story is. And half your supplies probably went to said cushy government safehouse.
It warranted suspicion, as did the sudden faux-sweet lilt in Bitchy McMenstrualpants' voice. Still, Evan didn't mind playing the game right back at her if that was the way she wanted to be. He'd be damned if he was going to let her ruin his birthday anymore than the rest of the world already had.
It probably wouldn't work, but it was worth a try nonetheless, right?
His face took on a welcoming expression as the cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, and his speech blew a puff of smoke right in her direction – which would have probably been even more rude if he didn't know she smoked too. "Well, would you look who's here? To what do I owe this prestigious honor?" He decided not to respond to her question, at least not at first. If this conversation seemed friendlier than their usual sparring matches, maybe he'd mention something, but as it was, what was to celebrate about birthdays anymore?