One of the last bastions of green left in the city, occasionally mottled and withered grass and weeds covers the earth like a badly stained carpet. The vegetation seems marginally healthier the further it is from the river and much healthier towards the central area of the park around the fountain. Overpowering the scent of living vegetation are the exhaust fumes from a busy street to the west and an unpleasant stench from the Columbia River to the east. A rusted chain link fence delineates the territorial boundaries between the park and the encroaching city. Unchecked hedges and vines interweave through the fence, as if the park wanted to distance itself from the city--or the local community wanted to distance itself from the eerie park. Despite the foliage, the majority of the open meadow is easily seen. People in tall buildings or on boats have an excellent view of any goings-ons. In the center of the park, a small glade of six tall trees and a flower bed surrounds a lovely... plywood barricade.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of St. Claire.
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 A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall.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.
Kaz, flute case in hand, heads up to the threesome by the bench, grinning a bit.
Junior grins at Pete. "Teaching's good..."
Joey smacks his forehead. "Ok, that works. Knew I was getting ahead of myself. So, yo, I just learned Blur from Yi, one of our own. Been teaching her and one of the cubs myself. Junior..." He gives Junior a meaningful look.
Junior grins. "Me, I've been after Elan t' learn how t' Dedicate stuff."
"Screw Elan," says Barlow with a nod. "I'll teach you that. Shit, I think I probably taught that to Eyes back in the day."
Bernie wanders from the street into the meadow, nose buried in a book as she walks. It's a wonder she doesn't trip, let alone that she can find her way into the park. Not to mention it's a bit dark out to be reading, this time of evening.
"So, yo, folks, how goes your shit?" asks Kaz, evidently in an actual good mood, for once.
Joey tips his bill to Kaz, the smile on his face barely seen in the orange light of his cigarette. He taps out some ashes, looking around. Spotting Bernie, he whistles.
Junior smiles at Kaz. "PRetty good...you?" He turns back to his dad, and nods. "Sure, if you got time."
Bernie glances up at the whistle, a bit startled, and breaks into a grin as she notes the group. After another quick glance at her book, possibly to note the page number, she snaps it shut and heads toward the others. "Hey," she greets the cheerfully, giving the lone stranger a slightly longer look than the others, "...'sup?"
Pete Barlow gives Kaz a warm smile before nodding back to his son. "I'll make time."
Kaz bounces on the tips of her toes. "I," she tells Junior, "Am pretty good," and then she grins at Bernie. Jerking a thumb at Chugs, she tells her, "Take a stab at who /that/ is."
Junior grins back at his dad. "Cool."
Joey chuckles. "Yo, Bern." he says. But, he lets the Raggie cub have her chance to answer.
Bernie tilts her head and regards the man for several moments, considering. "Wellll," she drawls, "he's bigger'n a breadbox..." She grins again, and shrugs. "Gotta be someone I hearda, or y'wouldn' ask. I'm thinkin' maybe," she glances at Junior, then the older man, comparing, "...Senior?"
"The man, the myth, the legend," agrees Kaz, grinning to beat the band. She is, quite obviously, glad to see her old packmate, and not exactly afraid to show it.
Junior grins at Bernie. "M' dad, yep."
Pete Barlow flicks ashes from his cigarette. "Myth, maybe. Legend? Please. Man? I got your man right here." Barlow gestures with a finger, downward.
Kaz snorts softly. "No need t'boast, Chugs, we all know it anyways."
Joey snorts, himself. "No, don't be subtle there, Big Pete." He just chuckles, shaking his head.
Junior laughs.
Pete Barlow shakes his head at Joey. "Subtle? You can be subtle i fyou want, punk. I don't do subtle."
Bernie blushes slightly at that comment, but ignores it, and smiles, offering a hand. "Heya. I'm Bernie. Niceta meetcha, I was startin' t' suspect it was all an elabourate hoax."
"About as subtle as a flourescent orange musical rock, yeah," Joey says, standing up. "But yo, you know where to find us, any of you, and Junior'll give out directions to his pad for those wanting to visit, right?"
Junior nods. "Sure will."
"Hoax? Sure. That works too." Barlow smiles, gives a nod to Joey and sits back.
"Or I can just use th' Questin' Fry. Either way, see you on the flip side, Joey." The metis perches on the back of the bench, now that Joey's vacated it.
Bernie steps over near Kaz, musing, "A flourescent orange musical rock... hmmm..." She stares off into space for a second, and then slips the backpack off her shoulder, offering it toward the metis, "...hold this for me a sec?"
Kaz, obligingly, grabs a hold of it, and then asks Chugs, "Bet you ain't heard my news?"
"No, sis. I ain't. What's up?" asks Barlow.
"Well. I ain't never thought about it before, but Elan kinda whacked me over the head, an', well." Kaz taps the bench with her hand. She sounds almost embarrassed about it, except that her entire posture is quite firmly glad. "Decided t'challenge 'im. Went an' did it yesterday."
"Thanks," the cub murmurs, and unzips the backpack, slipping her book inside and pulling out a small notepad and pen instead. She scribbles something down on what appears to be a randomly selected page, and then returns the notepad to the bag as well, rezipping and reclaiming the backpack, which she slips right back onto her shoulder. She seems unsurprised by Kaz's announcement, until the end, "...wait, you challenged him yesterday? Aw, I wan'ed t' see it..."
Kaz looks only slightly penitent. "Yeah, well, I hadda do it when I /saw/ the fucker, otherwise, I'd never get it done, y'know? He's kinda busy, y'know?"
Bernie nods. "I know," she replies, not sounding too put out about it, "So didja do th' whole thing, or what?"
Kaz shakes her head. "Nah. He gotta talk t'Robert an' get the beaurocratic angle sorted out. We c'n do the actual thing later, I guess."
"...so what's th' deal, 'zactly, on challenges, anyhow? I mean, I get that you gotta do 'em for rank, an' so far looks like th' challenged person gets t' pick what? C'n it be, like, -anythin'-? Could he challenge ya t' cream pies at twenny paces?" Bernie queries, shifting her weight onto one foot and eyeing the bench for possible seats.
The metis scoots over slightly. "Yeah, basically. That's true of rank challenge an' any other kinda challenge, really. Just, rank's gotta be kinda tougher, gen'rally, although if whoever you challenged thinks you're real ready, they won't make it a buttfuck of a challenge. But. Anyway. Yeah. I challenge Elan, he decides what th' challenge'll be. He could have it be a footrace or somethin', if he wanted. With most dominance challenges, people expect 'em to be fights, but that don't mean you gotta give int' th' dominant paradigm. Specially if you ain't th' buffest've Garou."
Bernie takes an exaggerated look at herself. "I don' think American Gladiators is gonna come beatin' down my door anytime soon," she remarks dryly, and then slips into the space newly created on the bench. "So that's good t' know, I guess. What other kindsa challenges are there, then? 'side from rank, I mean."
Kaz shrugs. "Dominance. Steven and Rides-Fire, they had one right in front've me, actually, an' no blood got shed at all. They were figurin' out who was gonna be Alpha've their pack, an' they had a staredown. Rides Fire," Kaz adds, clearly pleased by this, "Won."
Max slips free of the shadows, her eyes on Kaz and Bernie. She heads toward the bench they're sitting on, her pace unhurried.
"Cool," Bernie replies. "Is it, like, blinks first, or looks away first? Or not laughing? I useta be really good at those. Though I'm thinkin' it's prolly a diff'rent league, so t' speak..."
Kaz doesn't, as yet, notice the Max coming up on her periphery. She's fairly focused on Bernie. "It ain't so specific as all that. Got a lot t'do with instinct an' acceptance of subtle physical cues. An' a lotta homids, 'cause it /ain't/ that specific, they don' like to use it as a way t'determine stuff like Alpha-ship, although normal dominance shit, they can cope with just a staredown. But, so, for the Alphaship, they'll make it somethin' like a fight t'submission, or a riddle contest, or somethin'."
Max moves up to the bench and leans in, resting her forearms on the back of it. "S'up?" she asks, looking from cub to fostath.
Kaz brightens, as she finally notices Max. "Yo, hey. Bern's just askin' bout dominance and challenges and shit. 'Sup with you?"
Junior nods to Max. "Heya."
Bernie leans back, looking uppish at Max. "Hey," she greets the other ragabash, before adding as a quick aside to Kaz, "...I think I'd go for th' riddle thing, pers'nally."
"Oh, gee," Kaz says, deadpan. "I woulda never guessed. Anyways, so dominance stuff, a lot of the time, you don't even notice it's goin' on, y'know?"
Max's gaze slides over to Junior and she winks at him before looking over to Bernie. "You figgered it out, huh? Zee's got this, like, burgeoning hardon for dominance. I swear the Kahuna sees her coming 'n his tail's so far between his fuckin' legs, it's stickin' out his ear."
Kaz just nods, as if everything Max just said makes perfect sense. "Oh, yeah, that's me. Dominant Lady. You watch out, I'll start orderin' people around, and /then/ where'll we be"?
Bernie giggles at Max's comment, and pushes a curl back behind her ear, where, as usual, it refuses to remain. "At least I know where my strengths are an' all," she replies to Kaz. "...I'm not dom'nant t' anyone though, I don' think." A pause, and a quick smirk, "...not even when I wear leather pants."
Kaz regards Bernie calmly. "Well. Not /now/, no. An' from what I've seen, you kinda let other cub type folks take stuff over, too. But --" The metis stops. "Well, once you Rited, you can do a fuck of a lot by kinda sneakin' it through the boss types, but eventually, you're gonna have t'take over from the front, too. If you wanna get the shit done, that you wanna get done." Says Kaz, vaguely.
Junior chews his lip, keeping quiet. Though his cheeks are faintly red.
Max, in stealth-sarcasm mode, skims a sidelong look over her fellow ragabash. "Patent leather, chica. You'd work all shiny 'n shit." She quiets for Kaz's more insightful commentary, sliding a muted, extended look at the galliard.
Bernie grins, and shrugs, "I jus' don't see th' point t' bossin' anyone 'round 'f they're already doin' what I want anyhow, right?" She pauses, brow furrowing a bit. "...I can't thinka what you'da seen, though."
Kaz waves a hand. "Just friend stuff." She pauses at the image of patent leather, and then shakes her head, as if to clear it. "I mean, this is me we're talkin' here, Bern, I ain't got no objection to stealth dominance. It's just, sometimes it's pretty damn useful t'be able to just up an' growl at someone and actually have 'em /pay attention/. I guess, mostly, it just depends on what you wanna do with your life."
"Stealth dominance..." Bernie echoes, and laughs. "Makes me thinka those stealth bomber things...." She shakes her head slightly, and glances back to Max, "Patent leather, huh? I dunno, I hear that stuff doesn' breathe real well... maybe I oughta jus' go for chainmail. I mean, that's gotta have some ventilation, right? Scarier, too. Or it oughta be."
Max straightens up and moves around to Bernie's side of the bench, settling in a spare couple inches of bench beside her, having apparently no issues infringing on the cub's personal space. She draws a foot up onto the bench and rests her chin on her knee, her other leg completely off the bench, foot on the ground. She scans the dark river while tossing back, "Um. Ouch. 'less you's into slow motion hair removal.""
The metis seems perfectly willing to drop it if Bernie wants to, but she does add, "This kinda society we're alla us stuck in, sometimes it's best t'be blunt and straightforward. N'matter how much I like stealth bombers." She shrugs. "Anyways," she mutters, and starts rummaging in a pocket.
Max pushes back to her feet and heads for the water, looking as if she's going to investigate something she caught a glimpse of from a closer proximity.
"Well obviously you'd hafta wear some sorta padding under it, 'course," the cub replies, "...plus, it's hella heavy. But it -does- make people notice. Oughta be on th' runways in Milan any season now." She shrugs slightly, returning to the previous subject: "...anyway, I speak up 'f I care 'bout somethin'. Don't hafta be in charge 'f I don' even know or care that much 'bout th' topic, y' know? Kinda be silly 'f I was. Wouldn't it?" The last bit sounds as if it might be an actual question, not just rhetorical.
"Well." Kaz pauses. "Think about the Alpha. Brian, I mean. He ain't gotta know everythin', but he does gotta be able to delegate t'people that does know shit. It's like that f'a pack Alpha, too. Make sure you know what y'packmates're good at, an' use 'em right. I mean, in addition t'lovin' 'em an' livin' with 'em." She shrugs. "Now, if you don't wanna be in charge, that's fine, but then you don't gotta, y'know, mold the direction of the Sept or Tribe or pack or what have you -- at least not in the obvious ways."
Bernie looks mildly confused. "Yeah, but that's just logical," she says, "...I mean, what else wouldja do? Try an' do it all yourself? Not that there's anythin' wrong with doin' things alone 'f y'know how an' all, but I don' see how you gotta be all rar, do what I say or I'll kick yer ass, t' get things done. I mean, obviously ev'ryone oughta do th' bit they know, tha's th' pointa auspices even, innit?" She sighs, shaking her head again. "I'm not gettin' somethin'. I hate that."
Kaz shakes her head. "But that's just it -- I mean, lookit me." She seems almost embarrased to be saying this part. "I don' kick anyone's ass unless I gotta, right?"
Junior shrugs. "Auspices are useful, yeah...but they don't always fit."
"Far as I've noticed," Bernie replies, nodding slightly.
"Right. I mean, I kick Rotem's butt, but that's 'cause he deserves it. But other times -- I've been givin' a lot of orders, lately. I ain't even realized I been doin' it, an' most times, they might not even seem like orders -- but they /are/. Actin' like bein' in charge means only that you say 'rar, I'll kick your ass', well, that's just fucked and stupid an' givin' into the image most Garou have of a leader. An' we need /real/ leaders, not frothy morons."
Junior nods. "Yeah."
Bernie arches a brow. "Okay, so, that's what I was sayin', then. Which I guess means I -do- take chargea shit, after all. I jus' ask people t' do things 'steada tellin' 'em to, mostly." She shrugs, "An' it 'curs t' me Lacks could almost cert'nly kick my ass inna actual fight, but so far he hasn't argued with me tellin' him I outrank him an' shit, so anyway there's one proof I don't d'fer t' other cubs all th' time or anythin'." A slight smirk, "Maybe I jus' got timin', so far."
Junior hmms? "Lacks?"
Kaz explains, "The dimwit that ain't so dim no more. Rotem." And then she nods, thoughtfully, at Bernie. "An', fuck, this is me. I ain't sayin' deferrin' is all bad, anyways. I'm just sayin', bein' clear about stuff ain't bad, a lot of the time, too."
Bernie nods, confirming Kaz's explanation, "Yeah, Lacks-Social-Graces. Though last time I saw him I guess he was improvin'." Slightly grudging tone, there; he's obviously still not on her A list. "I dunno, I jus' thought I was pretty clear mosta th' time..."
Kaz shrugs. "I dunno, I ain't accusin' you of nothin'. Specially given as you /are/ a no moon, and often times no moons /do/ gotta lead in sneaky ways. If I sound like I ain't gettin' you, I'm sorry."
Bernie adjusts her glasses, with another quick nod. "'s jus' weird. 's th' secon' time someone's said somethin' 'bout me relatin' t' other people an' it not 'zactly bein' how I see things..." She shrugs, and leans back against the bench. "Doesn' matter that much, though, really. 'long as ev'rythin' works."
Kaz tilts her head. "What was the first time?"
"Roger said," the cub begins, then pauses, "...gimme a sec... right, that I don't seem t' realise th' full potential I possess, not t' use 'licia as a crutch life'll go on with or without her, an' that he thought I seemed very 'ttached t' her an' he was worried what might happen t' me 'f somethin' happened t' her." She stops semi-quoting, and shrugs, "'s not how we saw things, dunno why he got that impression."
Kaz furrows her brow. "Um. I hope I don't sound like Roger much? I mean, fuck," she continues, gaining steam, "That ain't what I meant /at/ all, an' callin' someone who's prolly your best friend around here a fuckin' /crutch/ is kinda just a /bit/ over the fuckin' top."
Bernie shakes her head. "Nah, y'don't, 's just weird t'," a slight pause, "...I dunno, see diff'rences 'tween how things look on th' inside an' on th' outside, y'know? Like, I figure, 'cause I get embarrassed on certain topics an' 'licia doesn't, that's maybe one reason he thought that. But 'licia said, later, that was weird, 'cause she though 'f anythin' it'd be th' other way 'round. Which, I think, nah, jus' she an' Matt're my best friends, so 'course I'm gonna talk to 'em an' be messed up if they get hurt or somethin', right?" Feeling hte need to clarify, she adds, "...he's didn' 'zactly -call- her a crutch, jus' said not t' use her as on. Which's slightly diff'rent, technic'ly."
Kaz grunts. "What the fuck ever, her bein' used as one is the same as her bein' one, an' I see nothin' whatsoever wrong with /relyin'/ on people, that's what packmates /is/, is people to love and trust and work with. I'd sure the fuck be really fucked in the head if Max went and died on me, but shit, if I didn't have her around, I wouldn't be the same person I am today, y'know? So sure, I'd hurt, and sure, I'd cope badly for awhile, but y'know? That's the joy of /havin'/ friends and packmates and stuff that're that close, adn if he thinks that means she's a liability, then he's just fucked in the head." Hello, hit a nerve lately? "An' I wasn't sayin' nothin' about livin' up to your fuckin' full potential. That's just the biggest load of crap I can name, ever, that potential shit, and it fucks with your head more than just plain old quiet support does. Talk about makin' you doubt yourself. /Shit/." She hops off the bench and starts pacing. "Fuckin' Roger. I was just tryin'a talk dominance and shit from a general standpoint, and I honestly didn't mean t'be pokin' /at/ you, even if I was."
Bernie looks a bit startled at that, but smiles a bit, replying, "Hey... I didn't mean it was th' same thing like that, anyhow. Like, I thought 'bout what he said, decided he was workin' from false premises, an' pretty much ignored it. I mean, there's lotsa people I'd be upset 'f they weren't 'round anymore. Plus, whatever he thinks, I know m'self pretty well, most ways." She pauses, "...an' I wasn't thik you were pokin', or 'least not th' same way." She smirks slightly, and adds, almost teasingly, "...plus, he called me Book Burner, how good a grasp could he have on who I am?"
Kaz manages to stop pacing. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she smiles, just fainty. "No shit. Book Burner? Christ, I think you'd have t'have it pried out've your cold dead hands..." She glares at the ground briefly, and then sighs, a long releasing sigh. Looking up, she grins. "Sorry 'bout that. Anyways. How /do/ you see yourself?"
"'side from findin' a reflective surface?" Bernie jokes, and adjusts her position on the bench, getting more comfortable. "Well, lessee. First thing, I'm smart. Which feels all arrogant t' say, an' all, but I -am-. What proofa such things there is, I got. I'm also pretty knowledgable in a sorta general way, 'cause I read a lotta various shit an' I gotta good mem'ry. I like people, an' I get on with most people pretty well, 'cause I mostly know how, an' 'cause I'm basic'ly a nice person. 'f ev'ryone c'n get shit sorted an' handled an' done without anyone gettin' pissed or bein' all confrontational, cool. So much th' better. Gen'rally 'f I care how somethin' comes out or gets done I say, an' try t' guide things so they come out th' way I want." She considers some more. "'m pretty independant, mostly, though maybe less'n 'fore I got here... an' I'm more d'termined'n people us'ly think, I guess. I don't like t' see bullies pickin' on weaker people t' make 'emselves feel bigger. I useta get in fights a lot, but 's easier t' control m'self here. Maybe 'cause th' things that useta cause it don' happen much here. 'f at all. So hey." Another slight pause, and another shrug, "Us'ly I don' try t' put that kinda thing inta words, though."
Kaz listens, hands stuffed into her pockets still, and nods, occasionally, thoughtfully. "Sounds... Like you got a pretty good grip on y'self, yeah."
Bernie runs a hand through her curls, seperating them. "Well, if people tell y' shit 'bout yourself y' don't like, you gotta either accept it or figure out how they're wrong. An' I didn't feel like agreein' t' be worthless." She half-smiles, "...so I try t' keep tracka where I'm good an' bad."
Kaz grins, slightly. "An', presumably, tell 'em why they're wrong, too."
Kaz, eventually, wanders off to patrol.
[...that section cut short, a bit, by RL. But, later!]
In the back of the house, Cameron eyes the lasagne hungrily. "Now. To eat this with hands? Or muzzle?"
The sound of a van backfiring is distinctive. Kaz has, evidently, not learned to drive much better in the 3 months or so Cam's been gone. Nor has she stopped talking, since she's doing it as she pushes the door open. "... Dunno, it just seemed like the thing to do at the time, y'know? Circuses and investigative reporting, why not?"
In the back of the house, Alicia smirks and pushes a fork to him, one she's been holding in her hand, then slips down into the chair. Crossing her legs, she props up her chin with her palm, eyeing him for a moment, waiting for that important first bite.
In the back of the house, The first tasting is interrupted by the arrival of the big Gnawer, and Cameron's face lights up like a child's at Christmas. "KAZ!"
"What, no bread?" Bernie queries as she follows the metis inside, "Tch, no r'spect for th' classics." She closes the door behind her, keeping the cold air out, and the Gnawers in. Check that out.
"Well, you always gotta have bread." Anything more Kaz would have to say is cut off completely as she hears Cam's holler. "Holy /shit/!" And she's off, into the kitchen.
Alicia blinks a bit and glances over towards the two Gnawers, waving a hand quickly. "Hey Bernie!" Her eyes light up like twin candles.
As Kaz arrives, she's barrelled into by an Aussie Fianna cub. "Kaz! Hey!"
Bernie follows Kaz into the kitchen, grinning back at Alicia as she sees the other cub. "Heyyy, 'sup, 'lish?" She eyes the food on the table, and teases, "...now, what'd I tell ya 'bout th' Lucretia Borgia bit? Though we agreed. Or didja leave th' ars'nic out this time?"
The metis is grinning pretty hugely for 2am, as she grabs Cameron in a bear hug and doesn't let go for some little time. "/You/," she mock-growls, once she lets go, "Where th' hell've /you/ been?"
Alicia chuckles at the new moon's antic. "Don't worry, I can't kill off /all/ the cute cubs, or who else will I have to day dream about on those long, cold winter nights?" She teases, then offers. "You want some too?"
Cameron grins cheekily and heads back for the table, and the awaiting morsel on the fork. "Oh, here and there." He lifts food to his mouth and chomps, an expression of pure bliss crossing his face. He turns to Alicia. "Madame, this is just /divine/."
Kaz snorts. "I just bet," she mutters, and leans against the wall. A moment later, she's moving again, fetching a Coke from the fridge.
Bernie grins, considering, and nods, with a light shrug, "Yeah, sure, 'f you got plenny, an' it looks like y'do. But then, I've -seen- th' boycubs eat... ars'nic an' all, still beats ramen." She heads to the cupboard, getting herself a plate, and glances to Kaz, "y'want a plate?"
Kaz considers. But then, when does Kaz refuse food? "Yeah, sure, a little. Thanks."
Alicia smiles brightly at Cameron and ruffles up his hair again, threading her fingers through the blonde strands. "Merci'Beaucoup'." She replies to the male in a thick, French accent. "I'm going to go upstairs and finish up some art, hit the diary, then snooze." To the two cubs, she smiles. "I guess I'll probably see you two up in the attic, or whatever, or in the morning. I'm making breakfast. I hope you like pancakes." With that, she heads to the hallway, to depart for the night.
Kaz mutters, "When'd she become the den mother?" with a very small, approving smile.
Cameron raises his eyes to the heavens and speaks with a mouthful of food. "Oh, I /do/ believe someone's just made my Christmas list."
Bernie grins at the coggie cub, waving the pair of plates at her. "G'night, 'licia, an' dammit, quit makin' me look bad." She plops the plates upon the table and serves out fairly generous portions of the pasta, passing one over to Kaz before pulling a chair out from the table and dropping not terribly gracefully into it.
With a final grin, she slips out and into the hallway, then up the stairs.
Kaz takes an experimental bite, staying leaning against the wall. She blinks, peers down at the lasagna almost suspiciously, and then plops into a chair around the table. "Thish's /good/," she mutters, around another forkful.
Looking mournfully at an empty plate Cameron mutters through a mouthful of food, "Myeah."
Apparently, even though she quite likes it, Kaz really /isn't/ very hungry, as she chops her lasagna in two and offers the uneaten half to Cam, eyebrow raised.
"Always is," Bernie remarks, pushing the remaining tray of lasanga toward Cameron. "I'm bettin' they never let 'licia off house 'rrest, 'cause then she wouldn't be cookin' here all th' time, an' they'd hafta make do with, like, my macaroni or somethin'."
Cameron looks at both Bernie and Kaz with eyes almost in tears of gratitude. Then sets to his opponent with a vengeance, weilding fork with consummate skill.
Kaz jerks a thumb at Cameron. "So, Bern, you met the locals yet?"
Bernie grins, swallowing her bite before responding, "I thought I -was- th' locals..." Glancing to Cameron, she considers. "I dunno. Sorta, poss'bly not completely, though. I was only here a couple minutes, yesterday."
Cameron grins at Kaz. "Nah, I'm foreign, remember? And I haven't been here for nearly three months. I don't think that qualifies me for 'local' status." He waggles an eyebrow. "Wanna know where I've been?"
Kaz shrugs. "You live here, she don't, you're a local." There's a pause. "But yeah. I do. Where /have/ you been?"
Cameron puts the fork down. "Living with a humble Fianna kin very close to my heart." Waggling an eyebrow suggestively he chuckles. "My uncle Malcolm." he adds quickly, to defuse.
Kaz grins at his eyebrow waggling. "This Malcolm guy, he back in Australia, or's he local?"
Bernie tilts her head at Kaz. "I pretty much -did- live here, last couple months, y'know, Kaz... I've washed every dish in th' place 'least three times. I only started bein' mostly in th' city 'gain," a barely perceptible pause, "recently." She scoops up another forkful of her lasanga, considers asking about proper meetings, and decides not to interrupt anymore for the moment. Pasta enters mouth, chewing commences.
Cameron laughs at Bernie. "You're only getting started if you've only washed them three times each." He sits back and waves a wiggles his palm at her. "Fear the callouses." Turning his head to face Kaz, he replies, "He's fairly new here himself. He's no Aussie, he's a Scot." Cam's tone turns a little less light, and he adds, "But he's really from Seattle."
Kaz tilts her head at Bernie. "Well. Yeah. 's true. All I ever do is use the couch, you actually use th' /attic/. Main question is, did you ever put y'self on Megan's list?" She finishes her Coke, and nods at Cameron. "Been there. Nice place. Wouldn't wanna live there."
Bernie grins, and shrugs lightly, "Didn' wanna 'zaggerate. I mean, I coulda said fifty, but I figure three's safe. Didn't count each dish or washin', y'know." At Kaz's question, she blinks. "Um. Dunno. I never met Megan yet, f'r all I know -she's- th' elabourate hoax... so if I'da had t' talk t' her t' do that, then no, I wouldn' be on it."
Cameron folds his arms and puts his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "There's a bunch of lists you just write on yourself. One in the attic."
Kaz says, glumly, "Oh, Megan exists allright." Apparently, she exists, and she doesn't make Kaz happy. "But fuck, I bet you're official mostly 'cause you /do dishes/. Anyone who does dishes is a bird to treasure, y'know?"
Cameron laughs. "I've been assigned by the perverse Powers That Be to do as many outside chores as possible." He grimaces. "To get me used to this bloody awful weather."
Kaz says, cheerfully, "Hey, it ain't even freezing, t'day." Why yes, this is someone who grew up with weather worse than this, why do you ask?
"Oh, like th' one out front? Yeah, pretty sure I scribed my John Hancock on that thing at some point a while back. Maybe I oughta check. An' dishes aren't so bad, long as you don' let 'em sit too long." Bernie considers Cameron a moment, and holds out a hand across the table, fork-free. "By th' way, Bernie Rosenberg, sometimes called Reads-in-Darkness, Ragabash 'Gnawer cub, hi, niceta meetcha. Again."
Cameron sticks his tongue out at Kaz, then starts singing, "I come from a land down-under..." he reaches over to Bernie, and sings to her, "Where the sun always shines and whites sunburn."
Kaz can't quite help but laugh at that, even as she's rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah..."
Cameron shakes the offered hand with a grin. "Ditto."
Kaz mutters, "Ditto? What, your name's Bernie, too?"
Cameron gives Kaz a very serious look, and folds his arms once more. "Only to those I trust implicitly."
Kaz's grin springs up again. "And what's your name to those you've just met, then?"
Bernie laughs, shaking the hand. "You better run, you better take cover," she advises, briefly deadpan. She can't maintain it for longer than it takes to make the comment, though, and grins, "...funny, y'didn't strike me as a raggie Gnawer, but hey." At his further comment, she does Big Eyes(tm) behind her glasses, and queries, "Ooh. Can I call you Bernie, then?"
Cameron frowns, and fidgets, then intones seriously, "Well... no. I was lying. My name isn't Bernie, and I'm not a Raggie Gnawer." He glances from side to side, and his tone lightens considerably. "I covered a mistake very badly. I am actually a Fianna Theurge. You can call me Cam. But I used to read in darkness. Until I discovered bedside lamps." He stops fidgeting and gives the little gnawer a lop-sided grin.
This is apparently an acceptable reply, as Bernie grins again, and nods once. "I've got a scooby-doo flashlight, m'self. So yeah, niceta meetcha, Cam. I'm still tempted t' call you Bernie, but it'd get too confusing, so you're off th' hook. But jus' this once."
Cameron eyes Kaz cheekily. "Those who have just met me usually call me God. It doesn't seem to work that way around here."
Kaz looks blank. "God?" She shoots a look at Bernie. "I thought that was Collin..."
Cameron appears to muse idly. "Or... 'Oi! Gerrof my daughter!' on occasion..."
Bernie nods to Kaz, "Mmm, yup, Collin's still th' res'de-" She breaks off midcomment at Cameron's latest addition to his nomenclature, and almost chokes, blushing noticably, if not too hard, as she laughs.
Kaz chortles, shaking her head some more. "Gonna get it, one of these days..."
Cameron chuckles and points to his front left tooth. "Already did. This one's false."
Kaz grins. "Well, that's ok, then..." She trails off, glances outside, and grunts. "Gotta go crash -- But Cam, you hear my news?"
Cameron shakes his head. "I have heard no news."
Bernie recovers, and goes back to eating her pasta while Kaz makes The Announcement.
Kaz explains, grin rising again, "Well. I finally decided I oughta get a brain and some motivation, so I went and challenged for Fostern. Ain't had th' thing itself yet, but we're gettin' there..."
The gnawer finds her self interrupted by a hug. "Hey that's great! Good for you!" He pauses, leaning back from the embrace to consider. "Of course, if people /know/ you got brains, you lose a certain advantage, eh?" He smiles. "So what've you gotta do?"
Bernie grins, watching quietly as she demolishes the rest of her meal.
Kaz, hugged for the second time today, just keeps grinning. "I dunno yet. Elan's gotta talk to Robert about it. But, I mean, even if it sucks, it ain't too bad. After all, I waited 15 years t'do it th' first time, if I fail, I just wait awhile'n do it again."
Cameron's mouth purses as he rest back into his seat. "Yeah, well. Time's a bit of a luxury for people like us, yeah? Know many middle-aged Garou?"
Kaz leans on the table. "Well. Brittany. Chugs. But I get y'point. I'm /tryin'/ t'be calm about it... It's like, either I'm calm, or I'll bounce off the fuckin' walls, an' most people don' wanna deal with me bouncin' offa walls, y'know?"
"I dunno," Bernie declares, "...might be kinda fun t' watch..."
Holding back a grin into a slight smile, Cameron eyes the walls and cabinets. "Yep. Quite a lot could get broken."
Kaz eyes Bernie dubiously, and then Cam -- but there's clear amusement in her eyes. "I'm not all that good at fixin' things, people, honest."
"Well, there's that new guy in town who said onea th' things he's called is Mr. Fix-It, so hey, we c'n call him over...." Bernie grins, and reaches over to collect all the plates that appear empty into a small stack.
"Yeah, call him, steada me -- then I can get some sleep. And," adds Kaz, "Speakin' of, I'll see y'all later. But Cam -- way glad to see you back, y'know?"
Watching the plate gathering, and knowing it for the ritual that it starts, Cameron quickly gets up. "Oh no, no guests washing the dishes." He gets up with the plates and winks at Kaz. "Crazy as it sounds, I actually missed you, Kazster."
Kaz's grin widens. "If you're doin' that kinda stuff, it's Kazamataz -- an' the feelin's mutual. Bern, you want th' keys t'th' van, or'll you be ok on your own?"
Bernie looks slightly surprised to have the dishes taken away, but keeps grinning, "...hey, no protest here, 'f you wanna wash 'em..." Kaz's question get more startlement. "A'ight, I admit t' bein' tempted, but my essential goodness forces me t' admit I dunno how t' drive, so leavin' me someone else's car might not me th' best plan. You should teach me sometime though, yeah?" The grin broadens a bit, there. "Otherwise I'll be 'kay, I do that walk all th' time. Thanks."
Kaz mutters, "Gotta do it soon, you'd prolly be better at it than I am. But yeah, ok." That said, she heads out to the barn.
Cameron smiles and calls goodnights to the two gnawers before looking at the plates and sighing.
Bernie pushes up from the table, and gets out the plastic wrap, readying the sad remnants of Alicia's lasanga for the fridge. "Y'know, y'don't hafta do those," she remarks, noting the sigh. "I don't mind."
Cameron looks a little surprised, but keeps staring at the plates now in the sink with grit and determination. "No, no... I am a good little cub, and I /will/ clean these filthy plates." He pulls a bottle of detergent from under the sink and twirls it, pistol-style before popping the cap and shoot-squirting the plates. "Have at you, fiends!"
Cameron adds, over his shoulder, "But you can wipe up if you're desperate for work."
Bernie slips the pasta into the fridge, eyeing a few of the canned beverages therein for a moment before deciding against them, and bumping the door shut with her hip. That done, she wanders toward the sink, and leans against the counter. "A'ight," she replies, "...but d'ya mean th' dishes or th' table?"
Cameron raises his head and looks mock-surprised. "People wipe dishes and tables? I meant the little bit of drool off my chin." He pokes his tongue out and winks. "Both would be good."
Bernie leans forward slightly, apparently assessing the alleged drool, and clucks her tongue lightly, shaking her head. "And 'licia left th' room ages ago, too. 'mazin'." She tugs a towel down and dabs it against the other cub's chin before stepping back over to the table, and starting on it.
Cameron frowns quickly at her, his arms covered in suds up to the elbows. "Hey. Not funny. It's bad enough that I can look but not touch."
"Look but not -mate-," Bernie corrects, wiping down the surface swiftly. "Not that one oughta go pushin' that envelope too hard, I s'pose." She pulls the towel from the edge of the table with a flick of her wrist, giving it a slight, random flourish. She smirks slightly, returning toward the sink, and adds, "...an' -I- thought it was funny."
Still looking a little annoyed (more exasperated, though by the whole damn rule...), Cameron waves a hand about. "Well yeah, /technically/ it was funny, I mean in all the right ways, but as the butt of the joke... I'm allowed an obligatory 'not funny'."
Bernie looks, actually, remarkably sympathetic for a fleeting moment, before turning to select a dish to begin the wiping. "A'ight, granted, one obligatory not-funny per joke targeted t'ward your person."
Cameron eyes the younger cub worriedly. The way one would a crazy person. "You're awful serious. I'd think you're gonna stick to that rule."
Cameron also does a little bounce as he realises he's slowed the washing. He hops to it sharply.
Bernie bursts out laughing. "I'm awful serious? Oh, man, this is so a weird day; Rod Serling's gonna jump outta th' pantry any minute, i'n't he?" She puts on that Twilight Zone voice as she dries, "Submitted for your approval: one ragabash cub. Once, a source of fun and humour. Now, a member of future accountants of america. Another victim of... th' Twilight Zone. Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo..."
Cameron bends down to give Bernie a nudge with his elbow. "Hey, let's make it a weirder day. Put in a good word with Alicia for me, huh?" He grins and winks, then gets back to the washing. Suds are starting to spill out from the sink - testament to the enthusiasm, if not skill, that Cam puts into the chore.
Bernie stacks a few finished dishes beside the sink, and grins, "A'ight, how about," she pauses a moment, "...'paranomasia'? That's a pretty good word... ooh, or 'defenestrate'? That's onea my faves." Glancing upward, as if she could see the attic a moment, she adds a tad more seriously, "...an' I could, but I doubt it'd do ya a lotta good."
Cameron blinks then looks sadly down at Bernie. "You have just filled me with a great sadness." He pauses to sigh, then continues. "You have used big words that I do not understand, and you are younger than me. This saddens me greatly." He looks up for a moment as if checking something internally, then smiles. "Sorta."
"Don't feel too bad 'bout it. 's a talent. I'm good at usin' big words people don' unnerstand. Hell, ask-" She breaks off, then starts again, "...no, on secon' though, -don't-. Please. Heh. Anyway paranomasia's punning, defenestration is throwin' somethin' or someone outta a window, an' I'm not THAT much younger'n you, I don' think."
Cameron shrugs absently. "I'm eighteen in... a week." he says. "And sure, you don't look much younger, but I gotta have something." He rolls his eyes. "Though you'll definitely be Rited before me..." He's not looking forward to it, from his tone of voice. "And don't worry about that Alicia thing. I'm just... getting used to not being allowed things. It's not my nature." He chuckles. "Though if you /do/ want to do me a favour, you could get her to stop /teasing/." He chuckles absently to himself, concentrating on the washing.
"A week? Kick, we'll hafta havva party or somethin'." Her expression darkens slightly as she moves on to yet another plate, rubbing it dry, and adds with what seems like rather more annoyance than one might expect, "...an' 'f they take as long 'bout Ritin' you as they are for Matt, yeah, chances're damn good I will." The plate joins the others with more of a clink than usual, and she pulls another from the sink. Most of the cheerful lightness returning to her voice, she notes, "An' yeah, somea th' restrictions, not t' put too fine a point onnit, blow leprous goats. An' I c'n say that, y'know, 'cause I'm a Questioner of th' Ways an' all." She winks, and then, as an afterthought adds a bit wryly, "...you're prolly outta luck on th' last count too, though. Not sure she -could- stop... plus, she's been locked up here f'rever, gotta have somethin' t' do for fun, right?" The grin fully returns.
Cameron whines, "Awww, but is just /sucks/!" He laughs some more and looks at his reflection in a freshly washed plate. As the laughter trails off, he murmurs to his reflection, smiling. "Never been denied anything I set my mind to. Now I can't get anything I want. Probably Karma." He puts the plate on the draining board, and moves onto some glasses.
Bernie smirks, "I -could- say somethin' about where there's a will, there's a way t' get at least somewhere -close- t' what yer goin' for, but Steven told me not t' be a bad influence on th' Fianna cubs." She manages to look altogether too innocent on that last line despite the tiny hint of a blush from before it. "Oh, an' don' let me mess with th' way you talk, either, a'ight?" She grins again, adding, "....I don' wanna get defenestrated."
Cameron blinks angelically. "I don't know /what/ you're talking about." He frowns at a seive. With pasta bits in it. Grrr...
Water splashes everywhere.
Bernie dodges ineffectively, but doesn't comment as she removes her glasses and wipes the drops off the lenses with her shirt. "An' t' think I just -explained- defenstration," she teases, putting the glasses back on and returning to her work.
At that, Cameron throws his head back and lets out a jovial "HA!" and continues scrubbing away with vim and vigor. "Damn little chunks..." he mutters darkly.
A few moments later, Cameron raises his hands, victorious! "Behold the last item of washing!" He hands it cermoniously to Bernie. "Will you do the honours?" he intones, punctuating the sentence with a plug-pulling to empty the sink.
"Certainly," Bernie agrees gravely, accepting the last wet dish with the proper reverence. She dries it earnestly, with a quick flourish on the last movement, and holds it forth to be admired. "Voila."
Cameron puts an arm around Bernie, and walks her to the corner of the kitchen, when he waves an arm at its glorious cleanliness. "The sparkly-clean effect, is an ode to teamwork. Well done." Dropping the act, Cameron slouches slightly, and scratches his head. "And pretty soon everyone's gonna mess it up for breakfast. Poo." He shrugs and smiles at her. "Well I've had a... big day. I'm going to go sleep. Perchance to dream, rah, rah, rah..." He tilts his head. "Seeya when I seeya?"
"Ah, there's the rub," Bernie replies in an incongrously cheerful tone, and nods, giving the kitchen an approving once over. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna indulge in th' Bohemian Decadence too, t'night. Don' feel like goin' back inta th' city right now. So, onward an' upward..." With that, she starts toward the hallway and the stairs.
Cameron mutters, "Amen." and follows without ceremony. The happy-act could probably not last much longer with-out the valuable shut-eye.