Little Tim is planted at a rickety plastic table in the far corner of the smoking section, a ransacked tray settled before him. Ketchup and wrappers are mostly confined there, but a few litter the table and floor at his feet. As he nurses a soda, he's using his cigarette to plow holes through an empty french fry container, eliciting a curious look from a toddler a few yards away. Mom wouldn't like that role model.

The door opens, letting in a quick, cold breeze as Bernie passes through and lets it fall idly shut behind her. She heads directly for the counter, and waits for a few moments behind a little old man who can't quite decide which super value meal tickles his fancy. As luck would have it, a second worker takes pity and opens another register to help her, then, and she leans on the counter a bit as she orders.

Burn. Burn. Burn. Tim's having fun with the fry container and cigarette, so he decides to burn holes spelling his name. The toddler is impressed, and claps his chubby hands enthusiastically, a peal of giggling arcing through the "restaurant". Mom glances down from her conversation, but doesn't bother to investigate her son's new idol.

Bernie glances over toward the giggling tot, and grins, distracted momentarily from the oh-so-thrilling pursuit of watching the workers scurrying to dump fries in little boxes and construct various burgers and desserts. Dumping her backpack unceremoniously by the register, she pulls out the payment for her meal, exact change, mostly in coins, and leaves it in a pile there as she claims her tray. That done, she glances around the room again, and this time recognizes Little Tim as someone she's met. She stops by the side of his table, "Hey. Mind 'f I join ya?"

Little Tim is leaning over the back of his chair now, his cigarette smoking holes through an old burger wrapper - in fact, he's holding it out so the kid can watch, fully aware of his new, though young, audience. Ash butterflies off the thin wax-paper, and the little boy squeals again as Bernie swings by. "Oh, hey, naw, sure, whatever," Tim says, winking and giving a thumbs-up to the toddler before looking up to Bernie for real. "What's shakin' 'n bakin' with you, Bern?"

Bernie eyes her tray, and gives one of the packages a slight poke, "Th' apple pie, or so they claim..." She flashes the kidlet a quick smile, wriggling her fingers at him before she starts unwrapping her burger and augmenting the ketchup level on it. "'sup with you? Anythin' new an' fascinatin'?"

"I'm the same old piece of shit I always been," Tim says a little dismissively, smirking, before adding, "Oh, I did bust some ass on these little fuckin' poseur skate-rats at the park yesterday. That was boss. One tried to gank my bag when he thought I was sleepin', an' I knocked three teeth out his head before I realized he was, like, only fifteen." He pulls on his cigarette, snorting smoke in a way that just oozes self-satisfaction. "Then I took his board and regulated on his chump friends. Ran like bitches."

"...bet he doesn' try -that- 'gain," Bernie remarks dryly, making a pool of ketchup for dipping her fries and starting in, eating them between comments. Someone must've drilled 'no talking with your mouth full' into her at a young age. "'s good though, don' wan' people makin' trouble in th' park, y'know? 's not like there's a whole lotta greenish places 'round there for people t' hang."

Little Tim nods, slurping loudly through his straw while still puffing away, the cigarette jabbed into the corner of his mouth while he drinks. Can you say, 'oral fixation'? "Word on that, girl," he says. "Green is good, but the place also been under our watch for hella long time. Since my first run up here, a while back. There's good magic there, if you know what I mean. Not as much as, you know, out in the woods, but enough to have to protect it." He pauses, smirking and winking at his audience of one as Mom hustles him out to the car, then asks, "You gettin' your trainin' and shit? The rules, some magic, some one-two?" He mimes quick punches.

Bernie relaxes back in her seat as the kid and mother leave, slouching down slightly as she moves her legs across the table and props her feet up on the seat on the opposite side, ankles crossed. "Yeah," she replies, nodding, and takes a quick look around to be sure no one's paying attention, and out of habit, that there's no camera focused on the table. "...check it," she comments, and gives the apple pie box an 'I own you' smirk for a second or so. The flaps undo themselves, leaving the box open, and she relaxes into a grin. "...I love that," she declares quietly, sounding rather tickled. "'s goin' okay I think, so far. Jus' gotta keep practisin' everythin' an' gettin' taught an' all... so when you say 'our watch', whose watch 'zactly? 'cause I was talkin' t' Joey, an' he had th' same idea I had, only a while ago, an' th' Powers That Be shot it down 'parently..."

"S'cool, yo," Tim says, nodding, a faint grin edging his features. "Who taught you?" Taking a moment to guzzle his soda, sucking greedily on the straw, he answers Bernie's question about the park: "/Our/ watch, the whole fam-damnily. You, me, rangers you roll into town, know what I'm sayin'? No pack or nothin'," he says. "It's, like, too much a community thing for that. Everybody pitches in. See, it's like this. When I was here, what? Three, four years back? Us rats, we wanted to bust out from the park - some shit about them tryin' to boss where they ain't the boss, you know? We wanted to make Harbor our own little, you know, /place/." There's no question that he means 'caern'. "There's that same kind of joo-joo there, runnin' through the place we found out. Never broke off our piece, but we did start watching the place a little more closer."

"Joey," Bernie replies, somewhat absently, as she considers the rest of that. "Thing I don't get, okay, is, why couldn' ya have a pack t' focus on it anyhow? Not like that'd mean anyone else couldn' watch it, right, jus' that some people'd be, like, -focused- on it....? 's onea th' things I kinda wan'ed t' do..." She takes a bite of the burger, washing it down with some coke. Ah, nutritious and delicious...

Nicodemus pushes open the door and slips inside the fast food restaurant. A chill wind from outside accompanies him, settling on the floor like an old dog under the supper table. He stands in line, waiting to get his order taken, and rubs at an eye with a pinkie finger--as if trying to dislodge the element of sleep from his recently-awakened state. It appears the social night shift is looking for an early-morning breakfast. Or, rather, the equivalent of.

Almost as nutritious as washing down cigaratte smoke with some Coke. "Well, who'd you go an' ask about it? I ain't no big dog, you know. If you could pin down old man Barlow, he might could answer you." Gray eyes immediately track the dark young man as he enters, just for a moment - the usual Gnawer watchfulness.

Various accesories complement the goth's clothing. Most notable might be the infestation of earings, a unique-looking silver skull necklace with a translucent red crystal inside, and a rather out of place looking crucifix about his neck. A pair of finger gauntlets, one on each hand's middle finger, bears a jagged--almost bladed--design on the top that looks sharp enough to do some actual damage if they were employeed in a non-civil situation.

"Joey was sayin'," the girl replies, glancing over her shoulder briefly as the breeze from the door flows through the room. "...like I said, seems like he had th' same idea, only a while 'go. So yeah, we were figurin' maybe we'd give it another shot or somethin'... an' I haven' met who y'said, tha's Junior's dad though, yeah?" She sets the burger aside, and goes back to decimating the fries, reclosing the apple pie box as an afterthought. Wouldn't want it to get cold, after all.

Nicodemus makes it to the counter without starving to death, places an order, pays, and collects a tray with one of McD's plastic-tasting salads. And a drink of some kind. He makes his way over to acquire two napkins, a set of plastic utensils, and a straw from the dispensors, then swings his gaze over the dining area's current denizens. A scene from high school cafeterias all across the world replays itself as he looks for group to join and a place to sit. Oddly enough, Nicodemus seems to be in his own little social circle of one. He settles for a corner booth, by himself, placing his back to the wall and possibly displaying a bit of street smarts in the process. He begins positioning his meal before preparing to eat.

Bernie is sitting at a table in the smoking section, feet up on one of the seats on the opposite side, ankles crossed. Little Tim is in the other seat on the other side, and the two Gnawers are chatting while Bernie eats; the other ragabash is already pretty much done. Nicodemus is seated alone in a corner booth. Various less interesting people are around, of course; it's McDonalds. Everyone needs his RDA of grease.

Matt steps in from the cold, pulling off his helmet in the process. His jacket is still zipped up, showing off the plethora of embroidered patches that armor it, most from bands no one will have heard of unless they were /really/ into British punk music in the early eighties. Judging by the black jeans and boots though, Matt's been at work. He approaches the counter and orders, oblivious for the moment to the rest of the restaurant.

Nicodemus finishes setting up shop, withdraws a battered paperback from the depths of his leather jacket, and reads while eating. He doesn't get absorbed by the book, however. Regularly, he glances up from the book to scan the dining area. He looks mostly harmless--so long as he's not bothered.

As before, the cold air from the opening door draws Bernie's attention, and she glances back over her shoulder to check out the latest arrival or departure. Even from behind, that particular person is unmistakable, and she breaks into a wide spontaneous grin. "...'scuse me a sec," she murmurs to her tablemate, and pulls her feet down to stand, stalking Matt quietly.

Matt unzips his jacket, and hooks his helmet on a D-ring on his belt. This reveals the Ruth's Cris steakhouse maroon polo: he has indeed been working. He waits patiently in line until a Drone can take his order. Hmm...extra-value meals....

Bernie slips into line behind Matt, narrowly beating out a hawaiian-shirt clad guy trying unsuccessfully to hide his mostly-baldness under an old baseball cap. She regards the other cub's back a moment, pondering the best execution... leaning forward and up on her toes so that her mouth is almost level with his ear, she suddenly puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes, nonchalantly announcing, "Boo."

"Yes, Miss. Oi'll 'ave the number two extra value meal, wif a co... Gah!" Matt jumps about a fot in the air, or would, if he wasn't held. Spinning he sputters "Bernie!? God's cobblers, whot the 'ell are you doin' 'ere? You scared the life outa me, an Bob's yer uncle!"

Nicodemus glances up at the minor commotion, then goes back to his book and salad.

Bernie dissolves into giggles, letting go of Matt's shoulders. Y'know, that just never gets old... She lifts a finger in a 'hold on' gesture, and works on composing herself. "...Bob's my -brother-," she manages, "-Frank's- my uncle..." Another moment or so, and she clears her throat, killing off the remaining stray giggles, "...an' sorry... jus' couldn' resist. As t' what I'm doin' here, eatin', mostly. You too, huh?"

Matt nods. Still a bit confused. "So...you didn't joost follow me in 'ere, then?" he turns back t othe Drone behind the counter for a moment: "Sorry. Coke wif that." He drops some bills on the counter and returns to his conversation with Bernie.

Bernie tilts her head at Matt, eyes widening. "Alas!" she cries, "You've caught me, 's true, I'm stalkin' ya... y' oughta see th' pictures I got in my notebook..." Grinning again, she shakes her head, "...nah, jus' happened t' be here. Serendipity. I'n't that a great word?" She steps to the side and leans against the counter, glancing at the scurrying of the various workers.

Matt furrows his brow. "Serendipity? Isn't that where Neil Armstrong landed on th' moon? ''Allo Houston, th' Eagle 'as landed!...One small step fer a man,' an' all that?"

Nicodemus lifts the plastic lid off his drink and sets it aside. His slender hand delves into his jacket and extracts a silvery flask. It's uncapped, and a healthy dose of some kind of liquid gets added to his beverage for the evening. The flask is recapped, and disappears as quickly and effortlessly as it appeared in the first place. The lid is replaced, a straw is inserted, and, following a brief bit of straw twirling, the drink is sipped. Turn the page.

Bernie giggles at how the quotes sound in Matt's accent, and thinks about the question a few moments. "...I know I useta know that. When I wan'ed t' be 'n astronaut. Lessee. ...they landed on th' Sea o'... Serenity? Nah, wait, Tranquility? Soun's better... yeah. I think. Dammit, Matt! Now I'm gonna hafta go look that up... anyway serendipity's a happy accident." She pauses, "...like chocolate chip cookies."

Matt seems to get it as his tray and change arrive almost simultaneously. "Ah, Oi see. Sorta like meetin' you then?" He winks, walking her back to her table in the smoking section. Sitting down, he unclips his helmet and sets it down next to him in the booth. Before even unwrapping his food, he pulls out his cigarettes and lighter. For later.

Bernie grins, looking rather pleased. "'zactly," she replies, slipping into the seat beside him, where her rapidly cooling meal awaits. "..huh," she comments, looking at the other side of the table, "...looks like we lost 'im. Ohwell... so 'sup? Work go well an' all t'day? Basketball teams blow town yet?"

Matt sighs, nodding. "And fank goodness. Oi was gettin' close ta freakin' out on 'em. One more of the little bint's askin' "Eks-cuse me? could you fill my coke?" and Oi'd 'ave gone ballistic."

Bernie lifts her McDonalds paper cup, gesturing at her seatmate with it and asks innocently, "...could you fill my coke?" Taking a sip, she smiles mischeviously and adds, "...guess they wouldn' be 'mused if y'filled it with somethin' else." The cup is returned to the tray, and she starts back in on the ketchup-drenched fries. "Found some stuff out t' tell ya later..." she regards her tray a moment, and shakes her head, "...I think maybe 'f ya don' eat a while, your stomach really -does- shrink. Never had any trouble finishin' this b'fore."

Matt glances over at her tray, half a cheeseburger in his mouth. "Rmlly? Yr prbmghly mn brmmr..." he swallows. "Yer probably in better shape, gettin' some exercise. Farm livin's good fer that Oi 'ear."

"C'be," Bernie grants, glancing down at herself. "...think I'm gonna hafta go hunt up some new clothes soon act'ly. I already hadda take in..." She blushes a bit suddenly, and finishes lamely, "...a couple things. ...anyway. So yeah. Things're back t' normal over there then?" She toys with a couple of the fries, but let's face it, they're a lot less appealing cold. "Jus' th' normal kids redecoratin' th' place in edible colours?" A thought occurs, "...an' speakin' of decoratin', any news on th' flat front?"

Matt shakes his fries, offering. The second cheeseburger doesn't have much hope of lasting another few minutes. "Pretty much back ta normal. An' Oi fink Oi found a place, but Oi 'ave ta hear back from the lawyer before Oi can buy it. The bank needs ta see my green card before they can make the loan."

Bernie accepts a few, dragging each through the puddle of ketchup on her plate before eating it. "Cool! Where 'bouts? Hmm... now I gotta start thinkin' of a good housewarmin' gift... so d'ya call her t' see what's up wi' that?"

Nicodemus finishes off his salad. Or, rather, he finished most of it and pushed the remaining few bites aside. He leans back in the bench seat, hunkering down slightly in an attempt at making himself somewhat more comfortable, and flips a page of his book after a quick glance over the room.

Matt shrugs, finishing the cheesburger, and taking a slurp of coke. "Oi 'aven't 'eard since oi saw 'er the first time. 'opefully, Evelyn can smoove fings."

Bernie nods. "Hopefully," she echoes, and surveys her tray. Burger wrapper, inedible cold fries, soda, formerly-hot apple pie. Well, that's salvagable. She wraps the pie box up in most of the rest of her napkins, and opens the front pocket of her backpack, putting it inside. She pulls out a neat bundle of kleenex and looks at it curiously, unwrapping it to peek inside, and blinks in surprise, murmuring, "...totally forgot 'bout that..." as she rewraps it.

Matt raises an eyebrow, as he's sure she would expect. "Oi don't wan' ta know, do Oi."

Bernie grins, and shrugs. "I dunno... it doesn't bite. Jus' somethin' Max gave me, back a few weeks 'go..." She regards the packet a moment, and then flips her hand over, offering to let him check it out if he wants.

Matt, admittedly a little curious, examines the contents of the packet of kleenex. A gift from one ragabash to another...

"...also she gave me some FunYuns. An' this!" Bernie opens a bigger pocket of the backpack, and withdraws a Magic 8-ball with a flourish. "...lessee... is it safe?" she queries, and flips the ball over, then back, "....Signs Point To Yes. Well, of course -you'd- say that..."

Matt nods, a little thin-lipped nod. "Ah. Nice. Shouldn't go bad in there eivver. That ruck's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, isn't it. Admit it!"

Nicodemus's eyes alight briefly on the 8-ball toy and a corner of his mouth twists upwards in a subdued, wry smile before he returns to his book.

Bernie eyes the bag as she replaces the 8-ball, then retrieves the other packet and redoes the wrapping carefully. "Should hope not, 'f I keep forgettin' it's there for months atta time... an' I wish! Y'know what I could do witha baga holdin'? Nah... I'm jus' good at packin' it. Practise an' all." She fastens the pockets, and pushes her tray slightly away, leaning back in the chair with her soda. "...alas."

"Alas?" Matt queries. He scoops what little trash remains on his tray onto hers, sliding his underneath. He stands, taking both trays to the trash cans and emptying them efficiently.

"Alas," Bernie confirms. "Or possibly a lad." She grins quickly, "...just thinkin' tha'd be neat, thassall. Y'know, if it were bigger inside." She stands, sliding the bag onto her shoulder and resting against the table edge as she watches Matt empty the trays. "...thanks. So, wanna go take a walk or somethin'?" I've still got some stuff t' tell you 'bout."

Matt shrugs again. "We could walk...so long as we walk back 'ere, so Oi can get me motor." He holds up his helmet helpfully.

Bernie shrugs back, "...well, or whatever. I mean, th' walkin' part isn't essential." She pushes an unruly curl back behind her ear, where it fulfills its contractual obligations by utterly refusing to remain.

Matt sketches an exaggerated bow, escorting Bernie toward the door. He zips the jacket up again before going out, and produces a pair of gloves.

Bernie smiles, making a quick mock-curtsey in return before slipping her hands in her jacket pockets and heading out.

[Regan Avenue West, Downtown]

Matt opens the seat on his scooter, then looks over to Bernie. He mimes putting his helmet in, or pulling the spare out, offering her the choice of transportation. Making a bit of a production out of it, too.

Bernie grins, and walks closer to the scooter, "...rather ride, I think..." She holds out a hand for the other helmet, free hand rummaging in her pocket for her ponytail holder. "...where d'ya wanna go?"

Matt looks up, to get a feel for the time. Late. "'arbor Park or the church?"

"Either way..." Bernie starts, pulling her hair back, "...th' park? 's 'propriate. Let's go there."

Matt nods, handing her the spare helmet and seating his own on his head with a slap. The seat is laid down, and he straddles the scooter's seat, leavign enough for Bernie to squeeze on behind him. The Lambretta's electric starter wheezes the engine to life.

Bernie slides into the remaining space, and fastens the helmet on, giving the straps a quick adjustment before getting her legs comfortable and wrapping her arms closely around Matt's waist.

Matt pushes the scooter forward off its kickstand, and off they go.

[Harbor Park Meadow]

Matt edges the scooter carefully through the fence, almost as much with his feet as the throttle.

Bernie glances around at the park thoughtfully as they enter. "...hmm."

Matt looks around a bit as well, swivelling his helmet back and forth, anyway. "Whot? Whot am Oi lookin' for?"

"Nuttin' in particular..." Bernie replies, "..let's go sit by th' fountain? Much 's I like ridin' this thing with ya 's easier t' talk over there..." She leans forward slightly, and adds, "...plus, I wanna show you somethin' an' it'd kinda hard from here."

Matt nods, spurring the scooter on, its motor loud in the quiet of the eerie, near-abandoned park.

[Harbor Park Fountain]

Matt brings the Lambretta to a stop near the boarded-up fountain, not far from a bench. He puts the kickstand down, backing the bike up onto it. Shutting the engine down brings relative silence back to the park, and he dismounts.

Bernie lets go and slips off as well, and lifts a hand, "...don't take your helmet off yet, 'kay?" She tilts her head slightly, and focuses on him, or more precisely the clasp of the helmet, then lifts her chin slightly, giving the thing a rather cocky, commanding look, with just the hint of a smirk. The fastening quickly pops open, and she breaks into her much more usual grin. "Tada! Cool, huh? Joey taught me yesterday." With that, she undoes her own helmet -- by hand -- and takes it off, pulling the ponytail holder off with the other hand and shaking her curls free.

Matt grins, pulling the helmet off. He wraps Bernie in an unexpected hug. "Fantastic! that's fookin' great, Books! 'ave ye tried it on th' lock 'ere?"

Bernie fairly beams, hugging back tightly. "...thanks..." A quick shake of her head, "Nuh-uh... haven't been here yet since then... d'ya think I should? Try, I mean? Or wait 'til later...?"

"Can't hurt," Matt guesses. "We don't 'ave ta /undo/ the lock ta see if you can open it, now do we."

"Mm... prolly not... well, I mean, I do kinda hafta undo it t' see if I can... but we don't hafta remove it, an' I don' see why we wouldn' be able t' jus' click it shut 'gain..." She nibbles slightly on her bottom lip, and takes a quick glance around the area, toward the buildings with a view of the park. All looks fairly quiet...

Matt smiles mischeviously. "An' if the flyin' squad comes by there isn't anyfing illegal in a couple of kids makin' out inna park, roight?"

Bernie smiles back similarly. "....'s a point," she agrees, and nods once, heading over to the fountain enclosure.

Matt follows closely, trying not to look like a vandal. ("I don't know...fly casual!")

Bernie rubs her hands together a moment, and then puts them on her hips, standing feet slightly apart as she regards the lock. "...a'ight," she murmurs, and gives her head a shake, curls bouncing, then shoots the lock a look that very clearly informs it that it is now her bitch. It takes longer than the helmet did, but after several seconds, one eyebrow quirks at it in tandem with one corner of her mouth, and the thing pops open. Well, grinds open, really, given the condition of it. The ragabash melts directly from dominatrix to delighted kid, grinning from ear to ear. "Told -you-," she informs the lock, and reaches out to click it shut again, then turns quite proudly to her partner in crime.

Matt rewards her with a quick kiss on the cheek. "oh, that's 'adsome, Books, mighty 'andsome." His smile is the glowing smile of a man handed a stack of hundred pound notes. "Quick," he continues, "Let's get out of 'ere before you can no longer fight the urge ta peek in there." Not that he wouldn't love to himself, obviously.

Bernie giggles, still grinning like a maniac, and gives Matt a quick, joyful hug. "Right," she agrees, grabbing his hand and pulling him along as she heads back toward the scooter, "...we better hurry, 'n that case."