The only direct evidence of a Kaz in her native habitat is her flute case, sitting under the couch, and her jacket, flung on top of it, with an open Coke can sitting on the arm of a sofa. She herself isn't visible, although it's a good bet that she's the one causing the loud banging noise on the pipes in the bathroom.

Max is settled on her knees on the floor in one corner of the room. The smell of rubber cement wafts through the room. Max appears to be collaging magazine cut outs, candy wrappers, and newsprint on the wall. Key words stand out: "Bite", "Watch", "Flavor". Beside her is a pile of the same materials and an industrial size vat of rubber cement.

Bernie makes her way somewhat tentatively down the staircase and into the room, one hand holding the strap of her backpack that's actually in the logical place of over her shoulder, and looks around curiously. The sight of Max, and the further sight of Kaz paraphernalia, combined with the implication it gives that she's somewhere in the immediate area, seems to relax the cub a bit, and she smiles. "Hey," she greets the other Ragabash, remaining just a few steps inside the room, "...'sup? Y'mind 'f I come in an' bug ya an' all?"

Max twists around to grin at Bernie. "Yo, Burn! You shittin? We's been waitin' for y'brand o'buggin' for ever 'n ever ay-/men/. S'up, chica?"

There's a final bang on the pipe, and Kaz emerges, grumbling. "Piece of shit, you'd think Chugs'd've ki --" and stops. Brief surprise flickers across her face, and then a small grin rises. "Well, hey, if it ain't the bookbag herself. Hey, hey. Whassup?"

Bernie's smile morphs into a full grin at that, and she wanders farther into the room. "Namuch, really. Startin' t' ponder a search party t' go find Matt, but otherwise, situation normal... 'sup with your pipes?" A glance toward Max's collage, "...an' whatcha doin'?"

Max pushes to her feet, in essence blocking what she was indeed doing, or a part of it. "Nothin'." Her gaze flickers over to Kaz for a longish moment then back to Bernie. "Matt blew?"

Kaz tosses the wrench onto the floor. "They just suck. Well, and we're hooked up illegally t'th' water supply an' the hot water only works when it wants to. So I'm tryinna fix it. An' failin' miserably."

"I could find ya some plumbin' books 'f y'wan'ed," Bernie offers, glancing toward the bathroom from which Kaz emerged, "...but we were hooked up legally back home, an' th' hot water wasn' too dependable there, either. 'course that mighta been 'cause eight'r nine people were takin' showers in it ev'ryday..." The gaze moves over, a bit more curiously, toward Max and her 'nothing', but, for the moment at least, she doesn't push about it. "He poofed off 'bout a week anna half ago, yeah, left a note an' all that he'd be back in a li'l, an' whoosh. Checked in with his boss a few days 'go 'cause I was startin' t' wonder what was up an' all, an' he said he was off in Portland or somethin' doin' somea th' citizenship shit. But it's still takin' a hella long time 'f you ask me." She shrugs slightly, managing to look only slightly worried about it all.

Kaz says, with a glance back at the bathroom, "It ain't that we don't never /get/ hot water. It just ain't predictable." She flops onto the couch, gaze drifting Maxwards and then back to Bernie as she speaks. "Y'can be takin' a bath, mindin' your own business, an' suddenly, th' hot water y'got up t'max'mum 'cuz it ain't workin', it just /sears/ you. Gotta, y'know, make sure you ain't bein' surprised like that." Shaking off a brief contemplative moment, she frowns, faintly, at Bernie. "Well, shit. I hope that don't fuck up that Ritin' stuff of his."

Max screws up her mouth which indicates Thought is happening. "Tim bangs the Roses now 'n then. Mebbe he could, like, ..." And right there, Max shuts up as if a spider just crawled down her throat. Swallowing, she simply nods vaguely at what Kaz says, her gaze wandering over Bernie, and settling on her backpack.

Kaz gets a rather curious look on her face for a moment, but then just says, blankly, "Bangs the Roses?"

Bernie nods to Kaz. "Yeah, might wake ya up a'ight, but it's not gonna do much for th' mood... an' I dunno, but hell, they been puttin' it off -how- long already? An' th' government gets kinda pissy 'f you tell 'em t' hold on 'til you're ready, I hear... gonna be hard for 'em t' rite him if he gets deported, innit?" She looks somewhat lost at Max's comment though. "...okay, I know I tend t' th' innocent end on certain topics, but I'm still pretty sure I'da hearda floraphilia..."

Max stuffs her hands into the pockets of her shorts, flickering a lowered gaze at Kaz and muttering, "Yo. City 'o Roses? You got somethin' on th'brain other'n translatin' my shit, Zee?" She meanders away from her collage, climbing over the back of one of the many sofas in the room to approach Kaz and hold up two fingers, while standing /on/ the sofa. "How many fingers, chica?" Now she's smirking, settling her weight asymmetrically to one hip.

Kaz mutters, "Yeah, it'll wake me up allright," but anything else she has to say is diverted by Max, and the attention she gives the approaching no moon. The attention and the vaguely wary look. Well, this /is/ a Ragabash, after all. "Forty-two," she answers, suddenly grinning. "Does that answer your question?" After a moment, she asides, not looking away from Max, "Portland, Bern."

Bernie nods, some comprehension dawning, "....ahhh. So Tim bangs Portland." She pauses a beat, considering, and smirks. "...that anythin' like Debbie Does Dallas?" And she actually doesn't blush, for once.

Max eventually drops her gaze -- it's the nature of the rank. She sits on the sofaback and swings one leg over to half turn toward Bernie again. "He bangs like a Mother, shyeah." She tilts her head. "I ain't into his Debbies, but y'never know." She's grinning at the other ragabash, her dark eyes glimmering behind her hair which seems to be clumping in places she pushed it out of her face with rubber-cement covered fingertips. "There's shit in the fridge f'you want somethin'." She gestures across the room at a 50s-esque refrigerator.

Kaz's grin turns more into a smile as Max looks away, and Kaz follows her movements fairly automatically. "Anyway, so the point is, Tim gotta brain. Whether he uses it or not, well, that's another question."

"Well, given that I got five siblings..." Bernie remarks, setting her backpack down, and winces slightly, "...oh, man, I really don' wanna go there. That can just -stay- in th' landa th' conceptually vague." She wrinkles her nose a bit, and wanders over toward the indicated fridge, though she doesn't open it immediately, instead giving the antiquated design a careful once over. "...so brains are good. An' this is pretty cool. No pun intended."

Max follows Bernie across the room with her gaze before turning a look back to Kaz. "He uses it far's I can tell." She remains perched on the sofaback as if it might eventually turn into a horse and decide to go somewhere.

Kaz says, thoughtfully, watching Bernie now as she heads toward the fridge, "I'd rather think about my brother havin' sex than my mother," which was probably not what Bernie was aiming at, but Kaz is apparently in the land of tangents tonight. "Yeah -- Chugs found it in an ol' dump an' dragged it here. He really took care've it, too. It ain't like th' pipes." Something in Max's look attracts Kaz's attention, and that grin flickers back into life.

Max slowly turns and slides down with a thump to the seat cushion, one knee up under her chin, her other foot on the floor. "You.. uh.. know anyone got that lock-fuckin' trick, Zee?"

Kaz thinks about it. Glance drifting to Bernie in a half questioning manner, grin evaporating into thought, she says, "Yi?"

Bernie opens the fridge, and admires the insides, if not neccesarily the contents, as well. "...never can figure out why they stopped botherin' t' make shit -look- cool... an' I know that trick. Joey taught me, so he does too. An' he taught Yi, also, an' Tim knows it, too." She pauses, thinking about it. "...he was gonna try an' teach me th' blurring one, only he hasn't got 'rount ' it yet i guess. Think that's all I know who knows it. Oh, only I think maybe Chaser does too." She shuts the fridge again, and wanders back toward the occupied couch.

Kaz beams. "See?" she asks Max. "That's why we keep her around, she knows shit like this."

"Fuck me, I gotta menu." Max grins at Bernie now, tossing a dowdy, ratted pillow at Kaz. "I got the blur, dude, f'you wanna dig it." This, also, is directed at Bernie.

Kaz catches it and puts it underneath her head. Comfort above all, apparently.

Bernie grins. "Oh, hell yeah," she replies, finding a spot to sit as well, "so far this shit's totally my fave part. I'd offer t' try an' teach ya th' openin' thing, only I'm not sure I'm 'llowed, bein', y'know, cubly an' all."

There's a staccato rapping on the door leading to the theatre, following shortly by the appearance of Tim. "The fuck's up?" he asks generally, scanning the room. As usual, he trails smoke and carries a brown grocery bag of goodies.

Kaz shrugs. "You c'n give her pointers." Grinning at Tim from her flopped position on the sofa, she adds, "An' he can do the grunt work on it. Yo, Timster, how goes?" Returning her attention to Bernie, she adds, "I sure the hell ain't gonna say no if some cub've ours has brains enough t'light up a small city, an' wants to share 'em."

"Tim-/may/, wasuuuuuuup?" Max greets the newest arrival with a genuine grin from her corner of a sofa, chin atop one knee. Her dark gaze flickers, behind her hair, from the ragabash's face to his grocery bag and back again.

Little Tim flashes another trademark: his crooked, smart-ass smirk. Catching Max's gaze, he pats the bag and nods, saying, "'Wasuuuuup' is, I gots the freshest collection of tossed out Chinese you ever /saw/, man." He's obviously proud of himself. "Here," he says, setting the bag on the sofa between people, then moving off to check the fridge.

Kaz pokes into the bag. "Dude. You're my hero. Y'wanna know /why/ you're my hero?" Producing a somewhat battered white box, she finishes, "You brought rangoons. You are assured a place in heaven, doncha know."

Bernie grins at Tim, and waves a hand, getting comfy on the arm of the well-populated couch. "Hey," she greets him, not saying much else for the time being.

Max scrambles over to the bag and, despite there being a plethora to choose from, grabs at Kaz's container. "The fuck's rangoons?" She adds, like an afterthought, ".. yeah, you're the wind beneath my freakin' wings, dude."

Little Tim rescues a plain silver can from the fridge's icy grip, smirking anew. "Worship away, baby," he says, "but I just grabbed, is all. Just cruising past the Golden Spoon and seen the help ready to dump a mess of shit. Took some down the Open Door, then brung this. The fuck /is/ this?" he asks, looking at the faceless can again.

Kaz doesn't seem to have much of a problem with ragabashes who want to eat her food; she just grabs a couple from the box, first. "They's them crab things they make with, like, mayonnaise and shit and then stick in a blanket."

Kaz adds, "An' that's Coke. It's just, they fucked up the labelin'. So I got me a free case."

Little Tim makes an ugly face - it's not beer. But, he cracks open the can and claims a seat in one of the empty chairs without complaint.

Bernie looks intrigued, and leans over to snag one of the contents of the popular box herself. "...so what else we got hidin' here, then? An' what... no chopsticks?" She grins, pulling out a mystery box to ascertain what's inside.

Kaz says, casually, as she munches on a rangoon, "All kinda shit. An', actually..." She pauses, thinking. "There's chopsticks inna bathroom."

Little Tim slugs back the Coke in a few deep gulps, then pushes a grubby hand into a front pocket of his jeans. "I got your stick right here, honey," he leers, before producing a handful of chopsticks. Nine, to be exact. "Had to bug the help for these things."

Max pops a rangoon in her mouth and is left chewing for sometime. "Not bad," she says around said mouthful. Then she pushes up from her seat and meanders over to the fridge, pulling a generic can out for herself and heading over to stand behind Tim's chair, leaning on it with her forearms. She snorts quietly as he produces chopsticks, then notes, hovering, "You got somethin' else I want, dude."

Bernie eyes Kaz suspiciously for a moment before asking, "...do I wanna know -why- y'all keep th' chopstick in th' bathroom?" The question is rendered effectively moot as Tim produces his booty, and she half-rises to snag a pair. "Thanks."

"'S what all the ladies say, girl," Tim smirks, blowing smoke in a way that could only be described as smarmy.

Kaz snorts. "Somehow, I predicted that," she mutters. Shooting a grin at Bernie, she explains, "Sometimes, I eat in the bathtub." With a sudden blink, she adds, "I mean. I read in there, too. Don't sleep though, might drown." She rises to grab a pair of Tim's chopsticks, as well, peering into the bag as she rummages in it.

Max shoots Kaz a look that could only be described as bewildered, her answer caught in her throat. WIth an absent shake of her hand -- the one holding the pop -- she looks back down to Tim. "Yeah. Um. I gotta learn somethin' 'bout fuckin' with locks."

Bernie presses her lips tightly together, restraining any comments, but not quite supressing the smirk. Of course, a closed mouth gathers no chinese food, so it doesn't stay that way -too- long.

Little Tim nods as if he'd guessed the request. "I'd be the guy for that, then," he says as he wanders over to the bag to fish out yet another white mystery box. "Oooh, plain beef 'n broccoli. Sweet." As he takes his seat, he goes on: "Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll teach you. May cost you somethin', though."

Kaz is too busy examining a box of what turns out to be General Gao's to visibly notice Max's look, but her shoulders manage to look somewhat repentent -- or perhaps embarrassed -- even without the seeing the look.

Max opens her pop and, unsurprisingly, splashes overflow around just about everywhere but /on/ Tim. She takes a long drink then asks, too casually, "Yeah? Like what?"

Bernie just eats and watches the show, for now. Although, the nice comfy corner of the couch having been vacated, she does slide to her feet and steal it.

Max eyes Tim oddly when he starts snoring, but moves away from his chair anyway, going over to flump between Bernie and Kaz, close to Bernie since she took her seat. But Max doesn't seem to mind. She looks Bernie over from a close proximity, "So what's news, girlfriend? That Walker chick get any off you?"

Little Tim shrugs. "Dunno. Like, keep me fed nice 'n fat for a week. Or maybe a bottle of the good shit they keep behind the counter at the grocery store." Another shrug, then he leans back, closes his eyes again. "You got a suggestion?"

Max purses her lips, looking back over to Tim. "Yo, granpa. I'll bring ya two f'you teach me that 'n more of your ass-bustin'-mind-fuck philosophy shit." Max slouches down on the sofa until she's nearly lying down, but now she's grinning across the way at Tim.

Kaz's back relaxes slightly, and she blinks vaguely at Max's question, shooting a very small grin at Bernie.

Bernie blinks vaguely at Max's question too, running it through her mind. Not the speech patterns she's used to translating. Enlightenment hits quickly enough, though, and with it, a noticable blush. "Uh, no. There's this one major problem with th' potential for that particular relationship, vis a vis her chromosomal makeup an' my pers'nal pref'rences, such as they are..." She gives the cashew chicken in her container a close look as she picks out another piece with the chopsticks.

Kaz translates, toward Tim, "She's straight, in other words."

Little Tim levels Max with a rather serious look for a moment when he opens his eyes, level, as if trying to read her thoughts. "Straight up," he says then, nodding, lighting another cigarette. "Two bottles for some mind-fuck with a side of lock-opening." In a show of strange solemnity, he rises, offers his hand to Max to shake.

Max's shoulders up against Bernie-pillow, her knees nudging up against the bag-o-goodies, Max kicks lightly at Kaz's calf with a booted foot. After Tim answers her, Max reaches up to return his shake, thumb-to-thumb, rather than businessman style. "Someday, unca Tim, I's gonna whoop your ass. Right after you show me how." Max murmurs sweetly, grinning. Then to the room in general, "Yeah'n Rina-rino ain't gettin' no Bone Basher 'n her lifetime." This seems to amuse Max greatly.

Little Tim nods at Max, grinning now, nice and wide. "I'm looking forward to the day, sweetheart. Then I'll be knowin' I finally done my job." A pause, looking from Max to Bernie, and then he asks, "Who's Rinarino anyways?"

Kaz lays a hand on Max's boot, and looks between Tim and Max with a small, thoughtful grin. She answers, "She's this Walker Kin chick that kinda sticks her nose everywhere alla time. She ain't a /bad/ person, though."

Max looks Tim over, apparently rethinking her most recent statement. "Chick Burn knows." She arches her head back to look semi-upside-down at Bernie as if expecting elaboration. It comes from Kaz, however and Max tosses a look to the galliard. "I ain't sayin' either way."

"She's nice an' all," Bernie confirms, "...'least, she's always been nice t' me an' shit. But I don' like her That Way an' shorta some bizarre intervention from on high I don' see that changin' in this lifetime." She glances sideways, watching Kaz watch the others a moment, and looks back to her meal, still blushing slightly.

Kaz mutters, "I sure hope she ain't gettin' none," into a rangoon, and then blinks at Max faintly. "Huh?"

"Damn good way to get your nose broke," Tim says, then goes back to his Zen meditation. Maybe he's trying to redirect his energy around the fact that he's got no beer. "An' keep up the good work for the, you know, hetero team," he adds after a moment, tossing a thumbs up toward Bernie with his eyes still closed.

Kaz flicks a somewhat reflexive thumbs up as well, munching on a piece of chicken. "Someone's gotta do it," she mutters indistinctly.

Max contemplates Tim a few moments longer then resettles against Bernie's arm, eyes on Kaz. Max smirks a little, nudges her knee with a toe again. "Mebbe when I learn more shit from Tim I can, like, bust ass with you on patrol."

Kaz raises her eyes from her chicken at the nudge. She gives Max a thoughtful look. "It ain't like you don't bust ass anyways, an' if you wanna start patrollin' with me more -- put alla that learnin' int' action now stead've /waitin'/ -- I think it'd make sense. F', y'know. What we talked about."

Little Tim cracks one eye, brings it to bear for a moment on Kaz, then Max, considering the metis' comment. He doesn't say anything, but he grinds out the hanging ash of his cigarette in his palm, a thoughtful expression dominating his features. It looks /very/ out of place.

Bernie hehs softly into the cashew chicken, still pink. "Not act'ly doin' any work for -any- team, so hey. Sa'ight, seems like there's plenny a players t' keep the field filled 'round here anyhow." she says wryly. As the others start to speak again, though, she falls silent with what looks like some relief, and goes back to just eating and listening.

Max nods, one downdip of her chin as she agrees with Kaz. "Yeah. S'coo." She elbows Bernie slightly. "Yo, girl, you got anything you needta know 'sides the Blur? You got, like, two Kenobis sittin' right here 'n I ain't one-a them." In the meanwhile, she's noting Tim's expression silently.

Kaz holds that look briefly until Max nods, and then she grins just slightly, letting her gaze drift to Tim. She raises a curious eyebrow at his expression, but doesn't, just now, press; rather, she also looks to Bernie, inquiringly, though she snorts softly at Max's assesment of herself.

Little Tim takes up the Zen again. You can almost hear his brain 'om-ing' quietly.

Bernie blinks as two out of three sets of attention focus on her again. She swallows her bite of chicken, and shrugs, her smile returning. "I dunno; I think I'm pretty much back at th' not knowin' jus' what I don' know yet stage. So you guys got any ideas, I'm all ears."

Kaz cracks a grin. "Hey, Tim, wanna beat her up some?"

Little Tim doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Sure," he says without moving a muscle. "When?"

Max's brows threaten to leave her forehead and take orbit as she sits up and turns around to eye Bernie directly. "Shit, girl..." Kaz's statement draws a chortle out of Max and she shakes her head. "You might as well rip your clothes off 'n paint bull's eyes on yo'ass."

Kaz says, evenly, "I dunno. Now works. Though," she adds, grin rising again, "If you wanna sleep, instead, just find Bern sometime. Either way, it'd be useful, an' I suck at it."

Bernie almost chokes on a piece of water chestnut, but recovers quickly. "...Um, yeah. I could prolly use that. I think."

Little Tim takes a second or two to finish his meditation, and then he's up from the chair - it's almost as if he were a bit too quick to be real, one second sitting, then next cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms a bit. Like a swimmer or runner, right before a race. "A'ight, Bern, push that couch back some." He moves his own chair, creating a space in the center of the room.

Max is up in a flash, helping to move the couch, with Kaz on it, back half a dozen feet. Then, climbing back atop it, she perches behind Kaz, her legs hanging down on either side of the galliard's shoulder. She leans down and whispers something to her that is hardly audible. "... bet he starts..."

Well, then. Kaz helps Max to push the couch back a bit, and then settles on it, a little less casual now, watching Tim with obvious measuring fascination. She just nods to Max's whisper, eyes intent.

Bernie sticks the chopsticks into the remnants of her chicken, and sets the box on the moving furniture before helping as well. She somewhat slowly removes her jacket, too, and sets it down carefully atop her backpack before turning around.

Kaz also reaches an arm up to lean on Max's knee, chin lowering to the back of her arm.

Little Tim commands, "Now, stand here," pointing to a spot in the center of the cleared space, just a pace in front of him. He turns his head, cracking his neck loudly, then repeats the gesture to the other side.

Max whispers again, to Kaz, never taking her eyes off Tim. "... /my/ team."

Bernie stretches a little herself, though not so flamboyantly, just reaching back and grasping each hand with the other and pushing out. She drops her arms back to her sides, and walks over where indicated.

Kaz nods, muttering, "No shit."

"A'right, now, hit me." It's a fair enough request. Tim even turns his chin to the side a bit and points. "This'd be good," he says, smirking again.

Max grins widely, having learned a similar lesson, thusfar. "Burn, baby, burn!" she encourages not too loudly given as her mouth is pretty close to Kaz-ear.

Kaz says to Max, a bit indistinct, "I owe you a Coke."

Bernie seems to consider a second, but decides, this being a lesson, to go ahead and do exactly what's asked of her. She adjusts her stance slightly, and aims really quite a decent punch at the indicated spot. The cub definitely isn't an outstanding brawler, but she -was- winning when she got suspended.

Kaz mutters something under her breath, inaudible. Her grin has risen again as the cub shows her stuff.

Max's appreciation for the blow shines in her eyes as she soaks up some of the heat from Kaz's personal space. She calls out an innocuous sound similar to those from an audience at a boxing match as fist hits jaw. "Ye-/ah/, baybee."

It sounds sort of like a knock on a wooden door when Bernie's fist makes contact with Tim's jaw. He takes half a step back, one hand going to where he was hit, but then, in a flash, he's moving forward, into Bernie's space. Not expecting such a quick turn-around, she's easy to force backward: Tim slaps, open-handed, bang-bang-bang, at her face and head, all the while using his movement to force the cub instinctively backward. There's a heartbeat of a pause, then Tim's heavy boot slams hard on Bernie's foot, holds, and he pushes her backward onto the floor before the couch. All the while, he stays silent.

Kaz nudges Max's knee with her chin. "Spoke too soon."

Max straightens a little as Tim backs Bernie up. This is a new version of a lesson she learned. Her brows drift upward with each slap and stomp and her hands settle on Kaz's shoulders. The fascinated-rivetted expression in her dark eyes is clear even behind her hair.

Bernie tries, rather ineffectively, to block the slaps as he backs her up, but regains a bit of control over herself as she falls, twisting a bit to break the fall with her hands. Meanwhile, the foot not pinned rises to push a kick at his groin, with all the strength she can gather into it. She's silent too, though it seems like a slight effort, and she definitely looks like that hurt.

Kaz nudges Max's leg again and then slides off, arms resting on her legs, attention drawn closer to the fight, silent.

Max turns a wry grin to Kaz. "She's fuckin' better'n me." But she, too, can't keep her eyes off the interaction, expression calculating.

Little Tim grunts now, as the cub's foot collides with the inside of his hip, just missing his dangerzone. One hand swats the foot away and, with a grimace, he drops hard on top of her, one knee pinning her right arm to the floor. A flurry of punches rain upon the poor girl, too many to block, too many to avoid, though she tries by turning her head this way and that. More wooden sounds, fist to forehead, to chin, to temple... and just as it seems Tim's getting warmed up, really ready to pound on the younger Ragabash, he rises, steps away, cracks his neck again and then reclaims his seat. "I'm done," he says.

Kaz's teeth are gritted, by the end of this, and then she tilts her head at him, just slightly.

"I'm glad," the cub manages, wincing, and sits up painfully, rubbing her right arm with her left hand before leaning down to poke at the previously stepped on boot. Shoulda gotten the steel-toed ones, obviously. After a few moments, she swallows, and adds, "....ow."

The look in Max's eyes is positively feral. And when Tim stops, she looks a strange combination of disappointed and bemused. She's already sliding down onto the sofa and off, heading for the closet instead of the refrigerator. She returns with a mini-bottle of vodka and offers it to Bernie. "Rock'n'roll, Sister-girl. You got some moves on you."

Little Tim bangs out a cigarette from the pack he produces from his sweatshirt pocket, then offers one to the cub. "We'll work on that," he tells Bernie. "Both the hittin' and then gettin' hit. There's a philosophy to both you know."

Kaz mutters, "Huh," and leans back, watching Max and Bernie.

Bernie accepts both offers, regarding the alcohol a little suspiciously for a second. She manages a quick grin to Max, though, and a quiet, "...thanks..." before looking back to Little Tim, "....a'ight. My previous philosophy on 'em bein', hurt th' guy, an' try not t' get hurt, respectively..." She winces slightly again as she pushes up to her feet, testing the stepped on foot gingerly. It seems to work all right.

Little Tim leans back, eyes closed, cigarette wiling away between his lips. Waving a hand dismissively, he says, "There's more to it than that, but yeah," in response to Bernie. With that, he seems to re-enter his Zen state... that is, until his snoring can be heard, soft and dry and comfortable.

Kaz mutters, "Watchin' carefully's a lot of it," and settles back into the crook where the arm and back of the couch meet, half lying down.

Max looks from Bernie to Tim then flops back on the sofa with a bounce, lifting Kaz's feet so her calves rest across her lap. This done, the cliath sinks down comfortably. "Zee's the Sultan o'Seein Shit."

Kaz smiles, faintly sleepy looking herself. "Just practice. Gotta be doin' that shit, what with who I am."

Bernie reclaims a spot on the couch, limping slightly as she moves over to it, and regards the bottle and cigarette in her hands. She snickers a little, and remarks, "...usually all th' people who beat on me ever gave me afterward was th' blame when th' principal was there an' th' promise of a rematch when he wasn't..." She sighs, then, and shakes her head. "Useta fightin' football players. They're big, but th' ones who wan'ed t' fight with me, not so bright. Predictable." She eyes the bottle again, and opens it, taking an experimental drink.

"What'd they wanna fight you for?" Max asks, her voice hushed, softer than Tim's infrequent snores. She fingers at the ankle-edge of Kaz's nearer pantleg.

Kaz jerks a thumb at the snoring Tim. "Don't look bright. Looks're deceivin'."

Bernie makes a face at the vodka, but drinks the remaining swallow of it anyway. What the hell. "'cause they're assholes," she replies flippantly, reclosing the little bottle. "I hadda friend, okay? This british exchange student, Nichola. An' she's, like, tiny, y'know? Funny an' smart an' shit, though. Anyway, th' football team at my school, they're th' kinda people feel like they ain't big 'less they're makin' other people feel small. Sometimes they'd say shit t' me, but I'd just toss stuff back at 'em, an' so they mostly left me alone. One day they figured they'd mess with her, though, so they stole her books an' all an' started playin' monkey-in-th'middle with 'em, an' makin' funna her accent an' her looks an' anything else they could thinka, an' everyone was jus' standin' around an' watchin', an' I got pissed an' walked over an' planted a foot in Todd Masters' ass, he's th' Q-B, an' he fell down, an' I told him off. Then I helped Nichola gather her shit, an' took her t' th' library. An' after that they were after me all time for makin' 'em lose face." She shrugs a little, and then grins wickedly, "...he's why I got s'spended an' ended up here. Second t' last time we fought, I bit his arm, an' gave him this big ol' curved teethmark in it, which is s'posta scar, so th' last time, he brought this knife, an' I managed t' get it from him after a while, an' I made these two li'l eyes 'bove the bite so he'd have this happy face there." Yup, she sounds rather proud of that. She glances to Tim, then back to Kaz, "...an' I didn' think he wasn't."

Kaz, at the last part of this story, finds her smile, sleepy though it is, rise considerably. A bit fiercely. "Rock on," she mutters. "An' didn't assume you thought he was a dipshit or somethin', all I meant was, looks is deceivin', specially with fomor and shit around."

Max listens attentively. "Yo, I gotta thank Todd's ass sometime." That just might be a euphemism all tucked into the compliment there. "You gonna hang wit'us t'night?"

Bernie considers a moment, glancing off toward the door, then around the room. "...act'ly, I think maybe I'll go back t' Matt's an' steal his bathtub while it's free. 's got hot water." A quick grin. "An' I feel like I might need that. See you guys 'round though, yeah? I'll drop by an' get beat up more often." With that, she stands slowly, and eases her jacket and backpack back on, waving before she heads out and up the stairs.