Bernie is ensconced in one of the large, dark-red vinyl covered booths; in fact, the very corner of a corner booth, designed to hold up to eight people -- ten if they're small. At 4am, who cares about the wasted space? Her backpack fills one of the many empty seats beside her, and though she has a couple books and her notebook laid out on the table before her, she's staring out the window or into space or both as she sips absently at the traditional Denny's Cup O' Coffee.

Marcus looks like he could use a coffee. Several, in fact. Bleary-eyed and clearing his throat from what appears to be a small cough, he makes his way in and decides to seat himself. No one's around to argue with him, anyway. He picks one of the cloer tables with real chairs, but catching Bernie out of the corner of his eye, he drifts that way instead. "Expecting a party?"

Bernie's head jerks up a bit, the voice startling her out of her reverie, but relaxes into a smile as she sees Marcus. "Yeah, th' democratic convention oughta be 'rivin' any minute now..." She gestures toward the other spots at the booth, including the pair of actual chairs on the other side of the table, with her cup of coffee. Luckily, she's far enough done with it that none splashes.

Marcus chuckles quietly, as he doesn't seem up for much more of that right yet. One hand lifts up to his stomach, rubbing it in that lazy, sleepy way one does when they're not aware people are watching them. "Mind if I join you? I wouldn't mind askin' Clinton about a pardon or two for a few brothers back in Chicago."

Bernie shakes her head. "Nope, d'mind at all. Have a seat. Get comfy. Coffee? Waitress oughta be by again any minute now, she's got uncanny refill timin'..." As if that's reminded her of something, she leans over and pulls a small change purse from somewhere in her backpack, and eyes the contents appraisingly. "Thinkin' I might look inta a slicea pie, too."

Marcus pulls one of the little wooden chairs out, but doesn't sit in it. Instead, he drops into the booth, slouching a bit and putting his feet up on the aforementioned chair's red vinyl seat cushion--a minature copy of the ones in all the booths. Leaning back and muttering a sort of contented, baritone gorlw/sigh, he half closes his eyes. "Yes. Please. Both. Though I should eat breakfast before pie."

Bernie grins, and shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. It's 4:30am, which is post-prandial, but ante-jentacular. So you have th' pie first, as dessert from dinner, y'see? No one has pie for dessert after -breakfast-. So it's pie, then breakfast. Y'see?" Someone's probably not on her -first- cup of joe.

Marcus merely blinks at the explanation, his expression rather blank. "You lost me after post-Perennial and Justicular." Laughing, he says, "But I'll take the pie."

"Post-prandial," Bernie repeats, "an' ante-jentacular. They mean after dinner an' b'fore breakfast, respectively. Cool words, huh? Don't get t' use 'em a whole helluva lot, as y'might imagine. Butcha got th' pointa th' exercise anyhow..." She trails off as the waitress, a dark-haired college student with a remarkably cheerful and perky expression and manner for the time of night, arrives as predicted, and refills Bernie's mug, just as she was getting to the last sip or two. The girl's name tag reads "Melody" and has a couple little charms hanging off it, not to mention the button reading "Ask me about our pies -- take one home today!" "Thanks," the cub smiles at her as the coffee flows into her cup. "Was wondrin', could I getta slicea pie, too? An' my friend here'd like t' order, also." Melody nods, smiling brightly, "Sure thing. We're out of apple and strawberry, but we've got everything else on the dessert menu." Pulling her order pad from her little apron, she turns to Marcus while Bernie ponders pies, "What can I get you tonight?"

"Coffee. Black, and lots of it. Thanks, Melody. I'll also have your steak and eggs breakfast, but /after/ a piece of pumpkin pie, with whip cream on top."

Marcus looks back to Bernie and winks.

Bernie grins at Marcus, and flips the menu shut, sticking it back into the little wire menu-carafe-and-incidentals holder on the table. "Think I'll have th' pumpkin pie an' whipped cream too," she tells the waitress, "sounds tasty."

"It is," Melody assures her cheerfully, making a few quick notes on her pad. "All right, guys, I'll have those right out to you..." She steps over to the counter and retrieves a coffee mug, filling it with coffee before heading back to the kitchen area with the pot and the order.

Marcus grins back at Bernie, pulling one of those little white real sugar packages from the tray at center. He rips it open and stirs it into the mug of black coffee. The cabbie has obviously done this more times than can be counted, because he watches Melody's backside as she moves away. When she disappears out of sight he looks back to Bernie again, still grinning. "Haven't had pumpkin in a long time."

"'s good," Bernie agrees, dumping sugar and creamers into her cup of coffee. Melody's rear view holds no fascination for her. She stirs the mug with her spoon, a tiny pool of coffee still in the bowl from the last cup, and adds, "Know what else's good? Carrot pie. B'lieve it or not. Tastes almost 'zactly like pumpkin, 's really good stuff..."

Marcus finds this hard to believe as he lifts the mug for that first tentative sip. Again, he clears his throat, and with the deep, rugged aspect of his voice tonight it becomes clear he may actually be coming down with a cold. "Really? /Carrot/ pie? I've had carrot cake, but not pie. Didn't much care for it, either."

Bernie nods, sipping her own drink. "Really, carrot pie. Nothin' like carrot cake. It honestly looks an' tastes hella like pumpkin pie. Mom useta make it at Thanksgivin', partly 'cause it was cheaper an' easier than preparin' pumpkin forth'pie, an' partly jus' 'cause it's good stuff." She takes another sip, before asking, "...so, 'sup with you? Y'feelin' a'ight? Sound a li'l under th' weather, maybe."

Marcus shrugs off the question with a simple, "I'm alright. Just tired." A pause, and he goes back to the discussion, "You good at making carrot pie? I got an idea I should try it."

There's a pause as Bernie sips her coffee, pondering. "Yeeeahhhh," she replies slowly, "only I prolly gotta mail or call my mom an' ask her how long y' gotta bake it an' what temp'rature t' use. I mostly r'member th' recipe, though." She picks up the pen lying on the notebook before her, and scribbles something on the page it's open to. It looks for all the world as if the letters are greek, mostly. "I'll ask her an' make ya some sometime."

Marcus looks decidedly pleased with this. "Yeah? Awright, I make a deal. You make the pie, I'll cook the steaks. You'll remember I cook a mean steak."

"Yeah," Bernie replies, "I r'member hearin' somethin' t' that effect... Ooh!" She spots Melody approaching again, bearing two slices of properly topped pie. "Yum."

Marcus sits up straighter, thanking Melody with a warm smile as she sets the dessert plates down. Again, he watches her go, but this time only for a second or two. "Yeah," he says, taking up his fork absently. "And speaking of, where the hell is Max? I haven't seen her /since/ then. I guess...I guess it wasn't as good as I thought."

Bernie takes a bite of her pie after thanking Melody. Being a nice, well-mannered girl, some ways at least, she doesn't talk with her mouth full. Handily enough, this gives her a little time to consider that and frame an answer. "She's 'round," the cub replies, after washing the bite down with some coffee, "but I think she's been pretty busy lately... she had her," the slightest pause, "graduation recently, y'know? An' she an' Kaz are pretty busy gettin' t'gether a... service group, right now. 'f y' want, I'll say hi for ya next time I run inta her, tell her she oughta drop by an' say hi or somethin'?"

Marcus considers this while his fork plays with his own slice. He doesn't eat any right away though. "Actually, yeah. Could you do that for me?" The roughness of his voice accentuates the gentleness of the request, and he finally brings the fork down to scoop up a pice of the pie and bring it to his mouth.

"Sure thing," Bernie replies, unconsciously echoing the waitress, and takes another bite of pie. "...so, still gettin' a lotta weirdos in th' cab?"

Marcus rubs at his eyes, setting the fork down. "You wouldn't believe," he says, shaking his head. "This one lady gets in up at Osprey Circle, right? Wants to go to the Silverton. We get halfway there and she tells me I was Napoleon in a former life."

Bernie giggles, looking Marcus up and down. "You weren't tryin' t' conquer th' road or anythin', were ya? 'cause frankly, I don' see th' resemblance... she 'splain how she got that?" A pause, "...an' what'd you do?"

Marcus tries to keep the smile from his mouth, hiding it with a look that suggests what he endured was beyond torture. But Bernie's laughter invects him and soon he's chuckling too. "She just gets up real close, so I can tell what she had for breakfast, right? I mean leaning over the back seat and talking right in my ear while I'm driving. Telling me she can read it in the back of my head. I mean, the back of my head??"

Bernie laughs, now, and shakes her head, "Well, 'less you were wearin' onea those funky Napoleon -hats- onna backa your head..." She grins, sips her coffee, and goes back to slowly demolishing the slice of pie as she listens for the rest of the story.

Marcus shakes out his lengthening dreads. "I dunno maybe she thinks these is 'french' braids." Smirking, he sips his coffee and goes to finish his pie.

Marcus licks whip cream from his beard and adds, "I no sooner got her out--and none too soon, she was starting to talk about Caesar Augustus, too--then these two idiots get in the cab, both of them packing loaded rifles."

Bernie giggles through her pie -- mouth shut, of course -- but goes more serious at the end of that. "...hunters, huh? They lookin' for a Bigfoot trophy, y'think?"

Marcus gives a simple not. "I don't think they's a serious threat to any of our kind, if you know what I mean. Except through sheer stupidity. We're goin' down Regan, where all the potholes are y'know? and this dumbass has that thing leaning against my seat, pointed at my head! I turned around and asked him if he wanted Napoleon to rearrange his fucking insides."

Despite the possible problems such people could be, Bernie can't help but start laughing again at that. "Well, glad y' didn't meetcher Waterloo, gotta say. You'd think they'd 'least make ya take a test on gun safety or common sense or somethin' b'fore lettin' ya endanger th' population at large..."

Marcus shakes his head, laughing a little himself now. "It's whacked," he mutters, adding, "But he moved the gun. So, yeah, no Waterloo." He winks at Bernie and leans back. "I should probably take the day off, but the money's been good."

"Handy stuff, money," Bernie agrees, and pushes the now empty pie plate away, looking into the half-empty mug of coffee a moment. "I'm thinkin', after I graduate too, I might look inta findin' a job or somethin', earn a little m'self." A sip, and she adds, "...'course, y'shouldn' work -too- hard, or it won't be worth it, yeah?"

Marcus lifts his chin. The mild advice doesn't escape him, and Bernie gets in return a fond look from his dark eyes. "Yeah," he answers, before asking in return, "What kind of job?"

Bernie tilts her head a little. "I dunno," she muses, "I already volunteer sometimes at th' lib'ry an' onea th' museums, y'know? But they us'ly don't -pay-, y'know? An' also, seems like I kinda make a few too manya 'em nervous, sometimes. They made me stop helpin' with th' children's section an' help in ref'rence instead, y'know? You'd think with all my sibs kids'd like me, but I guess I must be intimidatin'." She shrugs slightly, seeming only mildly bothered by this, and a bit bemused. "But, b'fore I came up here? I useta sometimes get hired t' tutor people in classes or teach 'em t' use their computers, so I'm thinkin', maybe somethin' like that. 'cause I wanna go t' th' college here, too, an' 'course I got everythin' -else- t' do, so I don' wanna do anythin' that'll take -too- many hours a week... an' also, it paid okay, so hey."

Marcus leans forward on the table, listening with an expression Bernie might find surprisingly sincere, even sympathetic. He nods toward her, hooking a finger and gesturing toward her heart. "It's what you are. Nothin't be ashamed of. Some people can't handle it. It's funny, some of the worst ones...they make me /real/ nervous. But I'm fine with you."

Bernie smiles, and admits, "Hell, couplea 'em make /me/ real nervous... sometimes, anyway. An' thanks... I gen'rally thinka myself as pretty non-threat'nin', y'know? 's still weird when people dis'gree."

Marcus, apparently, calls up a very distinct memory. Whatever it was, it was either unpleasant or at least frightening. He nods to what Bernie said, but gets really quiet. And suddenly breakfast isn't as appealing as it was earlier. When Melody next makes her appearance, asking if the pie was alright, he asks that she bring his breakfast in a doggie bag, along with the check. "I think I'm gonna go home and sleep off some of whatever this is I'm coming down with. You need a ride, kiddo?"

Bernie looks mildly concerned, but doesn't argue. "Nah, thanks... I couldn't sleep, so I popped down t' think an' work on some stuff, an' now I'm so caffeinated there's no way I'm sleepin' anytime soon. So I think I'll stay an' work on said stuff for a while. Take care, yeah?"

Marcus manages to hide a brief look of disappointment--but at what isn't exactly clear. He nods, offers the girl a smile, as well as another wink. "Let me know when to buy the steaks." With that, he picks up his bag and the check to py at the door. "Seeya."