In the corner, a lone figure is shooting stick at a table. Smoke curls under the green table light above the felt, produced by the cigarette in Joey's mouth. The young Gnawer lines up a shot, banking it off the side and sinking the 7 in the far corner.

Given the darkness outside, the opening door does not a thing for the ambient light levels, but it does admit a quick gust of chilly wind, as well as Bernie. The girl slips inside, letting the door fall closed behind her, and quickly takes in her surroundings; spotting the other Gnawer, she strolls over to him, hands casually in her jacket pockets. "Hey," she greets him, "Nice shot. 'sup? This place r'minds me of where my dad hangs out."

Joey looks up from the table, and beams, stashing his smoke in an ashtray on a nearby table. "Hi,' he says, happy. "Hey, maybe I met your dad. I know a few folks in here, even if they don't like me and all." He sniffs, humorously, and wipes a phantom tear from his eye. "So special, when your cubs visit you at work, let me tell ya."

Bernie smirks, "Yeah, it's take-yer-cub-t'-work day, di'n't ya hear?" She leans against the table, taking another slowl ook around the room. "...prolly this's where he'd hang out if my folks lived 'round here. They're down in SoCal though, so, y'know, Outlook Not So Good." A quick grin, as she looks back to Joey.

Joey nods slowly, showing sympathy for a moment. "After you're Rited, I can teach you a Rite to track them down if ya want. It's what I used to find my own folks last month."

Bernie considers that. "...tha'd be cool," she replies, "...but I'm pretty sure I know where they are. I mean, I don' think they went anywhere. I send 'em letters and stuff once 'n a while, an' I got one back couple weeks 'go, had 'em send it t' th' hostel an' all..." She shrugs slightly. "So really I don' hafta track 'em down. But it sounds like a cool thing t' be able t' do."

Joey grins, hopping up on a bar stool by the table, his game forgotten. He motions for Bernie to pull up a seat as well. Swinging his legs idly, he nods quickly. "Rites kick ass," he says. "We have Gifts for our powers, but they're like Magic spells. You can do lots of wierd shit, being one of us."

Setting her backpack on the floor beside the indicated stool, Bernie takes a seat too, and nods, with a quick grin back, "Kick ass. I always thought it'd be cool t' do magic shit for real, useta play wizards an' all a lot in games, y'know?" She twines her ankles around one leg of the stool.

Joey hmms, taking a quick puff and blowing the smoke away from the girl before he asks a question. "You said something about that before," he says. "What is that all about?"

"Which," Bernie asks, slightly startled, "...games, y'mean?"

Joey nods again. "Yeah. Wizards and stuff," he says. He looks to the bar at the front of the hall, and winces, remembering his manners. "What kinda soda you want? My treat."

Bernie shrugs slightly, "Thanks, anythin's fine really... they by any chance have cherry coke? An' yeah... role playin' games, like AD'n'D, y'know?" She tilts her head at the cliath, looking for signs that he knows what she means. "Bas'cly one person's th' game master, which's kinda like th' storyteller? An' th' players have characters they play, an' combat an' shit like that are simulated by dice an' stuff."

Joey just gives Bernie a confused look, before going off. He returns a few minutes later, Cherry cokes in hand, since Bernie's suggestion sounded really cool to him. "So...it's like pretend, but with dice and rules and stuff?"

Bernie nods, "Yeah... 's kinda like bein' in a play, too, 'cept y'get t' write th' lines an' y'don' have five million people starin' atcha..." She takes one of the cokes, and smiles, "...thanks. I dunno, 's jus' fun."

Joey nods quickly. "Well, yeah, it does seem kinda neat. Like, pretend to be all good and noble and tall and clean and stuff. Sounds like a nice getaway," he admits.

"Paladins," Bernie comments immediately, with a fleeting grin, and then nods. "Yeah, 's a nice t' be someone else sometimes... this whole thing is still kinda like I woke up one mornin' an' I was in onea th' games, y'know? Which's pretty cool, 'course. But, I mean, we got, like, character classes an' levels an' spells an' evil monsters t' thwart an' all'at..." She sips her soda, and adds, "...jus' no dice."

Joey chews on his lip. "You know...that makes a lotta sense, right there." he sighs. "Now I see why you use dice. You can have a little control over what happens, you know? This...sounds exactly like what ya said, but without the dice, and you can't just call it a night when you're tired of playing."

Bernie nods a little, looking thoughtful as she takes another drink of her soda. "I 'gree on th' not bein' able t' call it a night part," she comments slowly, "...only 'bout th' dice givin' y' more control, I dunno... I mean, mostly they're there t' intr'duce a bita randomness in it all, work with probabilties. Makes it so if you're a lion an' you're fightin' a mouse, th' mouse might win, one in say a hundred times... gets ridda somea th' control." She thinks a moment, "...th' real diff'rence, I think, is prolly more that most GMs, they -want- you t' win, in th' end... so y'know th' odds are stacked in y'r favour, even if it's subtly... an' that's a place there'd be more control, I s'pose."

Joey smiles softly. "couldn't have said it better myself," he says. "Remember that: we're the Mice, the Lion's fucking huge, and the GM's pissed at us because we didn't bring enough food. But it's that one-in-a-hundred chance, Bern. It's all we got, and we gotta take it."

"...don't s'pose we c'n all chip in a couple bucks an' call Crazy Carlito's 4-for-1 Pizza Hotline, either, huh?" the cub asks wryly, taking another sip of her drink. "Well... 'least we're mice who know they're gonna be fightin' lions an' have a change t' train up for th' bout, I guess...."

Joey nods slowly. "And just hope it's the best, and we live til we're old and grey. We run with other mice, and take what Gaia provides, huh?"

Bernie nods. "Sounds like a plan t' me, Brother Mouse." She grins and finishes off her soda. "Anyway a mouse c'n beat a lion much more often if he pays 'tention t' what their strengths an' weaknesses are an' plays it smart, right?"

Joey laughs. "Oh, hell yeah. You got it in one." He shakes his head. "You're amazing. Just so's you know."

Bernie blushes slightly, but grins, and bobs a slight mock-bow. "Thank you. I try," she declares airily. "...I'm still tryin' t' figure out jus' how much I don't know yet though, y'know?"

"I'll give you a hint," Joey says, hopping off his stool. He walks over to Bernie, leans close, and whispers in her ear. "There's no end to it. You're always learning."

Bernie laughs. "Well, yeah, but that's th' way with everything..." She shrugs a little, "...still, I know there's a sorta... basic lit'racy level, y'know? Which I'm still tryin' t' get to, I think, but I dunno jus' where it is." She shrugs again, and adds, "....'s a'ight though, sure I'll get there."

Joey smiles once more. "And I'll be there to help ya, no sweat, sister mouse."

[...later, on the Farmhouse Porch...]

Matt is lounged on his customary middle step, back braced against the short banister, wreathed in smoke. The cold evening air accentuates the smoke, making Matt seem even more the fire-breathing Welshman.

Bernie comes wandering up the lane toward the Farmhouse, a mid-sized plastic bag dangling from one hand and swinging a little as she walks. A sharp-eared listener might notice that she's singing quietly to herself -- sounds like "Ain't Misbehavin'." It cuts off immediately as she sees the porch is occupied, however, and she breaks into a bright smile as she gets slightly closer, and sees who occupies it. "Hey!" she calls, "'sup?"

Matt looks up, see who calls and smiles himself. "Nuffin' much," he replies. "Jus' chewin' an oily before goin' inside. An' what 'ave /you/ been up to? Shoppin'?" He nods in the direction of the bag.

Bernie glances down at the bag herself, and looks mildly embarrassed for a second. "Mmhmm, 'mong other things," she replies, closing the remaining distance, and muses, "...I prolly oughta try t' find a job soon, y'know? Or I'm gonna run outta money. I should, like, go t' th' high school an' see if anyone needs tutorin' or somethin'..." Shrugging, she sits down beside him on the step, "...anyway I kinda needed some new clothes so I went t' see 'bout fixin' that some. Nothin' excitin' goin' on here, huh?"

Matt looks over his shoulder at the front door, as if checking to see if it's still there. "Not sure, ta be truf-ful. Oi just got 'ere a few minutes ago. 'aven't gone in, on account'a..." he raises the cigarette, to finish the statement. A satisfying inhale causes the end to glow rich orange in the dim light of the porch. "Less than 'appy with the fibre in your skyrocket, eh? Well, if yer all hearts Oi could spare a century or so. Oi've over ten bag in the iron."

Good as she's gotten at it, that one still takes a little work to translate, though she does get the gist right away. "Thanks," Bernie replies, shaking her head slightly, "...but not 'less I hadda 'mergency or somethin'... 'd feel bad. You gotta get your flat an' put stuff in it an' all." She pulls the plastic bag into her lap, and leans on it a little, squishing it. "..'s nicea ya t' offer though."

Matt shrugs. "Oi /fink/ I could spare a bob or two an' still 'ave enough for the mickey."

Bernie smiles, and reaches around to give Matt a quick squeeze. "Thanks," she repeats, "...'ll keep it in mind, yeah?" She glances out into the darkness, and upward at the stars that dot the sky -- fewer than at the boulder, but still an impressive display compared to the LA area. "'s a nice night," she remarks, as she looks them over.

Matt looks up, squinting a bit, taking in the sky nonchalantly. "That it is, if a bit taters."

That one doesn't parse. "...taters?" she queries, looking back down form it to him.

"Potatoes in mould, dear girl," Matt says with his obnoxious upper-class Brit accent, "are the kind one doesn't eat."

"Well, not 'f it's fungus-mold, no," Bernie replies, and giggles a little. Then she snickers slightly, "oh, and' hey, 'f you're cold, guess you c'd borrow th' sweater I got..." She reaches into the bag and withdraws the end of one sleeve of something dark red and sort of fluffy; the garment owning it would probably look quite out of place on a male.

Matt examines the sleeve dubiously. "Dunno if it's my colour, but I'll bet it's smashing on you."

"...thought it looked kinda nice," Bernie grants, pushing a curl back behind her ear, and returns the sleeve to the safety of the plastic bag. There's a fleeting mischevious grin, "...sure it'd look utterly fetchin' on you..." She pauses a moment, and asks more quietly, "...any word 's far as your Rite?"

Matt frowns, then stabs the remains of his cigarette out on the porch steps. "Nope, nuffin'. Totally forgotten, Oi am. An' it wouldn't be so bad if they were off /doin'/ fings." His voice growls a little bit in suppressed rage. Two weeks ago this wouldn't have been a sore point.

Bernie sighs, and leans over to give the other cub a quick half-hug. "Maybe they're pr'parin' things... or maybe it's gonna involve goin' inta th' Umbra, an' they don' wanna send you there in a new moon...?" she suggests, "...I seriously doubt they've forgotten. I mean, I dunno 'bout th' Fianna 'cause hey, I only know you an' Steven an' he doesn't 'zactly c'nsider me a confidant, but I know th' -Gnawers- all think y'kick ass. So hey."

Matt sighs. "I almost wish Steven 'adn't /said/ anyfing. I'd just about accepted that it would 'appen when it 'appened. Now Oi'm expectin it around every corner. Every time Oi go ta work, Oi expect ta 'ave Megan come in and yank me out, makin' excuses to the pitch an' fuck all. Oi've busted my arse gettin' ready fer this, and now it's 'urry up an' wait, again." He sighs again, heavily. "An' oi can't buy the flat Oi want until Oi get me green card, an' fer that Oi 'ave ta wait on the fokkin' lawyer lady."

Bernie considers. "...isn't anythin' I c'n do t' help out, 's there?" she queries, "...I could, I dunno, phone th' lawyer up an' ask what's up or somethin'. Though prolly she wouldn' tell me anythin', I guess..." She trails off, and looks at him a second, setting the bag to the side and rising to sit on the top step behind him, putting one foot down on either side of him on the middle step and rubbing his shoulders a bit through the leather of the jacket.

Matt sighs even more, leaning over a bit and hanging his head to get the most out of the impromptu massage. "Not a blody fing, Books. If I'd fought of somefing ta do, /Oi'd/ 'ave done it. No, just more waitin' an' 'eadin' for the nutter. Mmm. That feels good."

"Kinda figured you woulda," Bernie remarks, and smiles slightly, "...an' it should, you're scary-tense, y'know?" She continues, massaging almong the neck and shoulders, and down on the back a bit. "...this'd prolly work better 'f y' didn' have th' jacket on. Only then y'd freeze. We could go in though, 'f y'wanted?"

Matt nods. "For a massage? Certainly."

"Plan, then," Bernie replies, giving a final squeeze to his shoulders before she stands and reclaims her bag. "_That_ I c'n do, at least."

Bernie opens the door, holding it for Matt to pass through. "C'mon, old man," she teases gently, "inside, b'fore your joints finish th' freezin' they seem t' be workin' on..."

Matt bahs. "Oi! When you work ten hours of 'ard labor, we'll see 'ow your legs ache, neh?"

[Farmhouse: Hallway and Living Room]

"True, true," the cub replies, and gestures slightly with the bag, "So, where d'ya wanna set up shop -- here, or upstairs?"

Matt points up the stairs, adding "Oi'm goin' ta 'ave ta climb 'em evenchually, better now than when you've got me noodled."

"'s a point," Bernie agrees, and heads toward the stairs. "Though, gotta say, might be fun t' watch..." She grins, and starts up.

[Farmhouse: Upstairs]

Matt considers briefly the infirmary, as wholly appropriate, but continues climbing.

[Attic]

Matt pulls off his jacket and tosses it carefully on the bed, following it with his work shirt, leaving him in jeans and a flimsy white T-shirt. The shirt is so thin it's possible to see some of his more prominent scars /through/ it.

Bernie heads toward the bed, and dumps her bags beside the duffel she keeps underneath it, slipping her jacket off and dropping it atop them. "A'ight," she declares, lacing her fingers together and pushing her palms outward in a preparatory stretch, "lessee here..." She takes a quick look around the room, and sits on the edge of the bed, waving a hand at it, "...you oughta lie down, I think."

Matt nods. "'ard surface is better, if Oi remember. Doesn't give." He grabs a rolled up sleeping bag and squashes it into a workable pillow, stetching out on the floor near the bed. "Mmn. Bohemian Decadence."

Bernie grins. "It is, but my mom always r'fused, said she -knew- how often our floors got cleaned..." She leans over and unties her boots, setting them neatly by her other things, as usual, "...m' Mom's a waitress, dunno 'f I ever mentioned that..." She kneels beside him, hands resting just above her knees a moment as she looks him over. "...I c'n do it from here, but it'll be easier if I don't. Y'mind? 'll try not t' squash ya..."

Matt findsa comfortable spot on the floor, and wiat pateintly. "ahhh."

Bernie takes that as permission, and straightens up a bit, moving one knee over to his other side so that she can face his shoulders straight on as she begins again.

Matt moans a bit with pleasure, pain, or some combination of the two. It's been a hella long time since his last massage. There are definitely some muscles under there, and they're all tense.

Without the leather interfering, Bernie's much better at finding the knots and working them out. There's a soft click of her tongue as she finds just how much tenseness there is there, and she goes to work in earnest. Someone -- presumably her mother, given the earlier comment -- evidentally made sure she knew what she was doing, either by instruction or pure practice. Not professional, of course, but it'll suffice for most circumstances. "...tell me if I do it too hard or not 'nough, 'kay?" she murmurs, working on the back of his neck for a minute.

"Mmm hmm," Matt assents, raising his eyebrows while keeping his eyes closed, a Stan Laurel look of happiness.

Bernie smiles and focuses on what she's doing, moving from the neck down across the shoulders, down and back up the upper arms, and then down along his back, resting back a bit to half-sit on his rear as she moves lower. True to her word, though, she's careful not to squash him. After all, that tend to make people tense...

Bernie can probably feel the ridges of numerous scars as she works, mementoes of old failures on Matt's part; failures at least, as his stepmother saw it. He doesn't appear to worry about it anymore, only the ghost of a frown passes his face when she starts on his back.

Bernie does note them, a look of mingled sadness and anger passing briefly over her face as she remembers what he's said about them before, but continues without comment, walking either side of his spine with her thumbs, then working out toward the sides, and completely ignoring the lovely opportunity to tickle mercilessly. After a while, she picks at the hem of the shirt, and pushes the fabric upward to work directly on the skin.

Matt grunts, making an ineffectual attempt to pull his shirt off. Gives up, relaxing even more.

Bernie smiles, with a silent giggle, and shakes her head, continuing with her work for a while longer. When a tour of the muscles yields no more knots of tension that can be compared to sports equipment in size, she relaxes slightly herself, and sits back on her haunches. "...there.." she says quietly, "....howzat?"

Matt is gelatinized. "Hoo. very nice. Oi'd shake yer mitt, but... Oi don't want ta move. Why don'tcha curl up an' we'll see if Oi can make us breakfast in the mornin'?"

Bernie grins, marking it down as a job well done, and nods, slipping from her position to lie down beside him for the moment, the easier to talk. "...sounds good," she replies, "...still got stuff t' tell ya an' all. Sleep well... want a blanket or anythin'?" She reaches over and gently pulls the shirt back down, at the least.

Matt is only thinking slightly clearly. "Mmhn. Blanket. Good idea."

Bernie pushes up and gets the blanket from the bed, and tucks the gelatinous Fianna in with it, unrolling her sleeping bag in the spot beside him and collecting her nightclothes from her duffle. "G'night," she says quietly, and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off to change.