All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.
Homey is the first word to come to mind when looking at the farmhouse's kitchen. Dark, wood-paneled wainscoting covers the walls to about waist height, dark beige wallpaper continuing to the ceiling. Twin refrigerators occupy the north wall, facing the large six-burner stove on the south. The kitchen counter runs the length of the eastern wall, broken only by the double-basin sink. Cabinets run above and below the counter and a twin-pane window is set in the wall above the sink. A small pantry is set into an alcove alongside the refrigerators, presumably holding the deep freezer as well as shelves of dry goods.
Some twelve feet above the floor, a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the dining room and casting long shadows over the bar to the kitchen. A long table occupies the center of the dining room, three chairs setting along each side, and one on each end. On the west wall, a large window looks out on the trees alongside the western pasture. Set into the north wall is a large cabinet, its glass doors closed on shelves containing a full compliment of fine china and glassware as well as a few decorative nicknacks. On the east, a wide bar separates the dining room from the kitchen.
An opening in the southern wall allows passage to the front entryway of the house, while a sliding glass door in the kitchen opens to a clearing behind the house.
In the back of the house, Clanks and rattles come from inside the fridge, as Matt rummages for late night snack type food. His flannel sleep pant and t-shirt combo is the height of not-really awake fashion.
Bernie wanders in, glancing about the hallway to see if anyone's about. Seeing no one currently in evidence, she shrugs slightly, and wanders over to the bookcases, humming softly to herself. She slips her backpack off her shoulder and pulls out a book, sliding it into the case as the sounds from the kitchen catch her attention. She glances in that direction, and grins, swiftly and almost randomly choosing another book and putting it in her bag before padding quietly toward the kitchen doorway.
In the back of the house, Matt finds some deli meat and bread, plus the basic condiments. Oh, and orange juice this time, not beer. Maybe he's not feeling well.
Matt begins going about the business of half awake sandwich construction. It's hard to tell if he's really awake, as his hair is just as spiky as ever, even if he's been sleeping on it. The pillow crease on his face might be a hint, though.
Bernie peers around the doorframe a moment, then enters, as quietly as she can manage, coming up behind the Philodox. For a moment, she ponders tickling, but in deference to his apparent sleepiness, merely looms (as much as a girl of average height can) an inch or so behind him, grinning as she observes the sandwich creation from over his shoulder. After a couple moments, she murmurs conversationally, right beside his ear, "...Boo."
Matt starts, almost knocking his glass of orange juice into the sink. A quick catch, follwed by "JAy-sus! Cor, you scared the gypsy's out of me." His brain now shocked awake, he smiles. "Hungry? Oi could make two."
Bernie bursts out laughing at the reaction, and nods as she steps to the side a bit. "Thanks," she manages after a moment, stifling all but a few persistent giggles, "tha'd be nice. Whatcha up too, been nappin'? 's kinda early t' sleep, innit?"
Matt downs a mouthful of orange juice and pushes his plate, sandwich and all toward Bernie, before starting on another one. "A little under the weather, is all. 'Ad to call in to work."
"Well, that sucks," Bernie declares, pulling the sandwich closer and hooking a chair from the table with a foot, moving it out so that she can take a seat. No sooner has she set down the plate and sat, however, than she realises she hasn't got a drink, and gets up once more, heading over to the fridge. "Whatcha got, a flu?"
Matt gets out of the way, allowing the Gnawer at the fridge. "Nah. Cold, I fink. Just woke up feeling like arse this morning." He takes his plate to the table as well.
Bernie pulls out a soda, and swings the door shut as she returns to her seat, popping the can open as she goes. "Yuck. You feelin' better yet, then?"
Matt grimaces. "Not really. Still sore in my froat, and disconnected and floaty in the loaf." He takes a halfhearted bite of sandwich.
Wrinkling her nose, the Ragabash nods, and bites her own sandwich. "Mmph," she begins, before rolling her eyes and chewing, washing the bite down with a quick sip of the Coke before she tries again, "...good sammich. Thanks. So didja try hot tea with lemon in it? 's good for a sore throat. Or bad for one, dependin' how y'look at it, but either way, helps it feel better sometimes."
Matt nods, grateful. "Fanks," He says around another bite of sandwich. "Oi haven't yet. Just got out o' the scratcher."
Bernie chews another bite, brow furrowing a bit. Swallowing, she queries, "Scratcher?" as she readies the soda for another drink.
Matt explains another bit of slag. "Scratch yer head. bed. Scratcher." He smiles. "So. 'ow're /you/ adjusting?"
Bernie ahhhs, tilting her head back a bit, and grins. "Most of 'em I c'n figger out pretty quick, but that one's kinda osbfucated. A'ight. Thought it might be bed," she continues, and pauses a second, eyeing her companion, "...given th' stunning an' stylish ensemble. Flannel never goes outta fashion." She grins at him again, and takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing quickly before answering, "...an' I think I'm adjustin' okay, mostly..." A smirk suddenly crosses her face, "Oh, wait, I forgot, I'm not s'posta hang out with ya, I think, an' risk taintin' th' way you talk an' act..." She doesn't seem inclined to do anything in regard to the comment, though, as she goes back to munching.
Matt says "What?" Matt looks genuinely confused. "You're a risk to the way /Oi/ talk and act?" He almost manages to keep from sniggering, but eventually has to laugh, which turns into a coughing fit until he can get some orange juice down. Eventually he manages to gasp "Who told you that?"
Bernie's smirk widens into a broad grin as she swallows, and she nods. "No 'ffense meant, but I hafta say I found it kinda hum'rous m'self...." She leans back in her chair, but suddenly looks slightly worried, sitting back up and peering around suspiciously. "...Collin said t' be careful sayin' things here, 'cause y' never know who might be listenin'..." she remarks, apparently by way of explantation, and then relaxes back again with a slight shrug, picking up her soda. She grins again, but speaks a bit more quietly. "Well, see after y'went t' bed, I was talkin' with him still, an'," a slight pause, "I was -lucky- enough t' get t' meet onea your higher ranked kinda tribemates. Steven. He," her voice changes slightly, more evident in her suddenly much better enunciation than her tone, though that also shifts a bit, "advised me that I ought to avoid excessive interaction with the Fianna cubs, so as to prevent the contamination of their behaviour and speech." Another pause, and she seems back to normal, "So there y'go, you best not be lettin' me influence you. God only knows what might happen." That said, she continues decimating the sandwich.
Matt grins. "Um. I think Steven meant it the ovver way 'round. You're 'encouraged' to spent time wif yer own tribe for a while, to preserve the tribe's identity. As much as we might like one anovver, I wouldn't want to deny you your Bone Gnawer heritage, such as it is. And," he adds this with a smirk, "Oi wouldn't subject you to all the Fianna history I had ta absorb."
In the front rooms, Christopher comes down the stairs.
In the front rooms, Christopher goes through the aperture at the northern end of the front hallway to enter the back room of the house.
Bernie laughs, "Hey, history's cool, I act'ly wouldn' mind hearin' it sometime... but, lessee, I think his exact words were," she pauses a moment, looking upward in the way people tend to as they access their memory, and then speaks again, tone fairly dry, "I don't want you fuckers tainting the way Fianna cubs act and talk." She sips her soda, and shrugs, with another grin, and the 'proper' version of her voice returns, "So I shall endeavour to prevent that eventuality, of course."
Matt shakes his head. "Sounds like Steven. Subtle as a lorry of pianos." He finishes his orange juice, and goes to refill his glass, shuffling to the fridge in sock feet and sliding the last few inches. He returns for the second half of his sandwich.
Christopher walks into the Kitchen and looks about. "Heya, how's it goin'?" He looks rather tired.
"Quite th' Goodwill Ambassador," Bernie comments, taking another sip of her soda, and quiets a bit as the new person arrives. "Hey," she greets him, and returns to eating her sandwich, or what remains of it.
"Mmrph," Matt nods to Christopher as he shuffles by, returning to his seat. "You two met? Bernie, Christopher, Christopher, Bernie. Oi leave it to you ta make more formal introductions."
Bernie shakes her head, "Nope, haven't met. Hiya, Christopher. Bernie, no other names, Bone Gnawer Ragabash cub. Niceta meetcha." She polishes off the sandwich, washing it down with another gulp of soda, and looks back to Matt. "...oh hey, check it out! Past midnight, 's my birthday now!"
Matt's eyes widen. "Really? 'appy birthday then. Which one is this then?"
Bernie nods, "Really, yup! Sweet sixteen..." She smirks, "I better go see 'bout gettin' a fancy dress or somethin' and rentin' a hall."
Matt laughs, then grunts in pain, again. "Blimey, stop makin' me laugh. I'll put a word in wif Kaz about your ball."
Draining the remnants of her soda, Bernie grins. "Sorry," she replies, "almost forgot 'bout your poor throat... hey, I bet I got some kinda throat lozenges in here somewhere, come t' think of it..." SHe indicates the backpack still hanging from her shoulder.
Matt looks dubiously hopeful. Probably fuzzy.
Bernie takes the expression as an encouragement and swings the bag from her shoulder to the tabletop, beside her plate, and rgards it for a few moments before choosing one of the midsize pockets, unzipping it, and rummaging around within. "Oh! I fin'ly got my clothes ded'cated, too, so now I c'n change without findin' a bathroom, tha's pretty handy."
Matt says "Aye," Matt smiles. "Not that bein' naked is so bad. Kinda cold this time o' year, but that's what lupus is for."
Bernie blushes slightly, glad that it's somewhat hidden as she looks into the pocket and her curls fall in the way. "Gen'rally, I don't think me in th' alt'gether's somethin' th' world's clamorin' or needin' t' see... but, yeah, when I'm four-legged damned if I'm gonna look like some prissy maiden aunt's sweater-clad pooch..." She pulls out a crumpled plastic bag, triumphantly, "Found 'em! Honey-eucalyptus, that okay?"
Matt nods, gratefully, noting that the cough drops are still wrapped. (Wonders never cease!) "Oi'll try just about anything at this point. Anyway, Oi guess since Steven doesn't want us 'contaminating' one anovver, Oi'll lay off what teaching Oi might give you, at least if yer elder can tell ya the same. Other wise, Oi fink sandwiches and sodas should be all right."
Bernie smirks, and unfolds the bag, pouring a few rather old but still perfectly acceptably wrapped lozenges out into her palm, and offering them to Matt. "I don't think he's gotta problem with -you- 'tainting' -me-, jus' vice versa... but sammiches are good." She giggles, and sings quietly, o/~ Sammiches are beautiful, sammiches are fine, I like sammiches! I eat 'em all th' time. I eat 'em for my breakfast an' I eat 'em for my lunch -- if I hadda million sammiches I'd eat 'em all at once! o/~ She sips her soda, and grins again. "Geez, I'm gettin' punchy."
Matt smiles, and tries not to laugh at the song. "That's......bloody clever. I'm a bit knackered meself." He pops the last of his sandwich into his mouth when he is able, and chews it thoughtfully.
Bernie returns the crumpled lozenge packet to her backpack, and zips it back up. "Can't take credit for it, s' not my own... learnt it when I was li'l, think in preschool, don't 'zactly 'member. 's fun though. Good one t' sing at th' toppa your lungs for no good reason." She drains the remains of her soda, and ponders. "Hmm... crash here, or wander off an' crash elsewhere?"
Matt glances briefly upwards, in the direction of he attic. "You know yer always welcome to take advantage of Bohemian Decadence." Unwrapping a lozenge, he pops it into his mouth, immediately making an Umm-face, as the menthol soothes his throat.
Bernie grins, pleased. "Well, far be it from me t' refuse Bohemian Decadence..." She glances about for the trash can, or better yet, recycling bin, and rises, empty plate in one hand, empty can in the other.
Matt follows suit, getting up to rinse his plate and glass out in the sink.
Bernie throws the can away, and grins, suddenly reminded as she moves over to wash her own plate off. "Hey, just r'membered... that other night, when Steven was here? He told me t' get 'im a beer, so I did... only, I don't think he b'lieved me that I didn't do anythin' to it, 'cause he left it with me. Was pretty funny. I brought it up t' you 'cause I'm not so big on beer, but you were 'sleep already by then, so."
Matt runs a hand bemusedly through the rat's nest he calls a hair-do. "Fanks anyway. I sleep like a bleedin' log, so I'm no' surprised." He makes an after-you gesture toward the hallway. "You remember how to get there, then?"
"Second star t' th' right, an' straight on 'til mornin'," Bernie replies agreeably, and snags her bag from the table, heading toward the door.