"It could be any number of things," he admits, his mind already racing through the possibilities, prodded on by the fact that she'd brought up diseases. "Maybe it's not about where we're from, maybe it's about something as inconsequential as blood type or some other medical aspect that groups us together. I'm B positive," he says, but he doubts that black scrubs would be noting that. He thinks that there would be some sort of medic-alert bracelet instead of the scrubs. "The number of possibilities of sorting us are staggering and I doubt it's as fun and playful as Hogwarts houses," he jokes wryly. He gets the last of the skunk onto the board and grimaces as he stares at his hands and knows that there isn't near enough bleach to get the feeling of dead skunk off his skin.

He's a big fan of experiments, given his history, but he doesn't really like being the one who's meant to produce results. "I don't see how dead skunks fit into any equation that has up being split up by colour," is all he says, with mild disdain.