The door opens, admitting a small gust of cool air, and with it, and happy sounding female voice, singing, o/~ Y'gotta ac-cen-tuate th' positive, e-lim-inate th' negative... o/~ ...and after a moment, it admits Bernie, too.

"But watch out, for mister in-between." Comes the reply of Alicia as she glances up from the couch, turning a page in the magazine she is holding.

Bernie looks slightly startled at the interjection, and turns her attention to Alicia. "Y'left out latch on t' th' affirmative, but hey. Hiya, 'lish! 'sup?" the Gnawer cub sounds incredibly cheerful, and if the tone didn't imply happiness enough by itself, she's also grinning like an idiot. "Howzit goin'?"

"Just fine." She says softly, closing the magazine, tossing it to the side. "An.. I forgot that part eh? Only heard the song a few times." Alicia smiles sheepishly, noting her enthusiasm. "Let me take a guess.. either.. you just passed yer rite, or Matt is home." She grins. "Or maybe aliens do exist, but who knows right? Shit, if werewolves do, I'm sure so does Aliens."

Bernie gains a touch of a blush at being so readable. "Got it in two," she replies, a tad sheepish. "Showed up yesterday." She walks to the couch, setting her backpack down, and flops into her accustomed corner. "Fine is good. Whatcha readin'?"

Alicia grins and shrugs. "Popular Mechanics." She says, holding it up. "Found it 'ere, figured it was prolly one of Roger's or something. Got bored."

Bernie laughs. "Any good articles? Buildin' any hovercrafts yet?" She curls up, still looking incredibly happy. It makes it seem as though she's been really depressed for the last couple weeks, in comparison.

The rumble-putter of a small, two-cylinder engine winds up the lane, stopping outside the Farmhouse, and followed by the crunch of gravel and the clump of footsteps on the porch.

Alicia chuckles and shakes her head. "This isn't my thing, really. Just like looking at the new line of cars, wishing that one day I'll get to drive one. I gotta use this fake license once day."

Bernie's head perks upward slightly at the sound of the scooter, and she glances immediately toward the door. "Matt jus' got a real one -- license, I mean. I gotta get onea those too, sometime soonish. First someone gotta teach me t' drive, though..."

Alicia glances over to the door as well, then smirks. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Matt shoulders through the door, in the process of taking off his gloves and unzipping his jacket. He glances quickly up the stairs, then into the living room. He smiles, giving them a 'one second' gesture and heading for the kitchen.

Bernie grins at Matt, waving to him as he passes, and then shakes her head wordlessly at Alicia. "...so 'side from readin' magazines, whatcha been up to?"

Alicia wets her lips some in thought, then shrugs. "Nothing. Talking to SeigeBreaker and Hope-Star, they are going to take me into an Umbral adventure."

In the back of the house, Matt finds a Guinness in the fridge, and opens it, shaking his head ruefully. Pausing, he grabs two others and heads back into the living room.

Bernie blinks at Alicia, "An' that's nothin'? Wish my life was that borin'." She sticks her tongue out at the other girl, briefly. "What kinda adventure they got in mind?"

Alicia rubs her neck and shrugs. "I don't know...stuck between two Adren Theurge's is kinda scary, in my opinion."

Matt raises an eyebrow over his beer and plops down on the couch between the two. He silently passes Bernie a Guinness, then turns to offer the last to Alicia. "Stella?"

"Thanks," Bernie says to Matt, still smiling, and opens hers up. "...I dunno, 'lish, seems t' me if I'm gonna be onna 'venture there, Adren theurge's'd be, like, killer companions for it... 'least they oughta know what they're doin', right?"

Alicia wrinkles her nose at the beer. "No thanks." Then turns her head back to Bernie. "Of course.. an more likely ta' kick my ass if I fuck up."

Matt shrugs, setting the can down on the floor. "Suit yersel'. Goin' inta the Umbra? Better wif a feurge or two. An' if they're Adren, yer in even better shape." He favors her with a serious look. "If Oi've learned anyfin' bein' the Perpetual Cub, it's that ye doan' learn anyfin' by worryin' if yer gonna arse it."

Bernie takes a sip, and turns a bit on the couch, so her back's to the arm, putting her legs out straight and across both her best friends' laps. "He's gotta point, y'know."

"I didn't say I wasn't intrested, or wasn't going to." She points out, almost defensively back at the other cubs, her eyes narrowing.

Matt nods. "'Course Oi 'ave a point. Soul of Wisdom, Oi am." He smirks, and takes another long pull from his beer, licking foam from his lips after.

"Positively gurulicious," Bernie replies, shaking her head slightly, and grinning again. "Jus' tryin' t' point out th' good sidea it bein' with them, 'lish, don't take it wrong or anythin', 'kay? An' you c'n be all Galliardy an' tell us all 'bout it when ya get back..."

"Well, everytime I open my mouth, it seems that you two have to shove your 'pointing outs' at me. I do have a brain inside this head of mine, regardless of the dyed blonde job." Pushing herself up, Alicia turns and heads into the kitchen, rumbling in her throat.

Matt glances at Bernie as Alicia gets up. "So anyway, Oi doan't expect ye ta 'ave noticed, but Oi was away fer a few days..." He speaks up as Alicia goes into the kitchen. "...an oi just wanted ta let ye know Oi was finkin' of you. Envious, really."

Bernie sighs as Alicia gets up. "Seem t' recall -sayin'- as much a while back, so you know I know y'do... was just makin' conversation. Sorry t' 'ffend you." Much softer, probably audible to Matt, beside her, but not in the other room, she adds, "...sheesh," and takes another sip of her drink.

In the back of the house, "Yah, missed ya Matt." Is all the Galliard says before the door is thumped shut behind her, the Gaian heading out into the barnyard.

Matt frowns. "Luna's on her, hard." He draws from his beer again, obviously pondering going after her. "Performance anxiety, Oi suppose. Hm." He glances down at the unopened Guinness getting warm by the sofa, and muses aloud. "Wonder if Cameron's asleep."

Bernie nods a little. "Sometimes she's a pain, this timea th' month," she agrees, a tad annoyed, before adding, "...not that I'm univers'ly sweet an' easy t' get on with either. An' I dunno. We could go up and check..."

Matt cranes his neck to look up the stairs. "Dunno. Seems a bit rude, like, ta wake a bloke up joost ta kick his teeth."

Bernie reaches over with her free hand, and baps Matt lightly. "First of all, we could just look, wouldn' -hafta- wake him, an' second, why d'ya wanna kick his teeth?"

"Well," Matt admits with a sly grin, "he was chattin' you up, roight?" Another drag on the Guinness has it practically finished. Matt sloshes the can judgementally, then turns it up until empty.

Bernie laughs, and turns in her seat, removing her legs from his lap and curling them up beside her, leaning lightly into him, sideways, for a moment. "Nahhh," she replies, having another sip herself -- rather slower going, on her part. "He was jus' nice t' me. Not his type, I don' think." A pause, and she looks sidelong at the Fianna again, with a quick grin, "...an' I'm fine with that."

Matt reaches down to replace his empty with the full can at his feet, then puts an arm around the Gnawer cub. "Oi'll 'ave ta compliment 'im on gettin' 'is 'ormones in loine then, next time Oi see 'im." He thinks for a moment, cracking the new can with one hand. "mebbe it's /Alicia/ Oi ought ta kick in the teeth..."

Bernie giggles at both of those comments... well, to be fair, snickers might be more accurate. "Not so sure 'bout th' first, t' be honest, though I think I'm safe anyhow... an'," she pauses, seeing Alicia re-enter, and continues, "...oh dear. No reason t' do that..." She takes another drink from her can, slowly.

Matt raises an eyebrow. "No reason? But you said..." He trails off, also hearing the door in the kitchen. "Ah well. Anyhow, Oi was planning to leave Megan a note on the henry before Oi go back. Joost ta let 'er know Oi made it back and where Oi've been an all."

In the back of the house, Alicia raises a brow as she heads into the kitchen. "No reason to what?" She says, looking a bit more calmer then before, her cheeks read, face slightly sweaty.

Speaking of red cheeks. Bernie blushes a bit, and gets very interested in working on finishing off her Guinness. Nothing to see here, move along...

In the back of the house, Cameron steps through the back door with only a slightly damp t-shirt on - a towel slung over one shoulder, his jacket over his arm. His hair is damp, and he looks a little flushed. Good work-out.

Matt folds his arms across his chest. "Books 'ere was joost tellin' me about Tom's rich fantasy life, an' 'er part in it." He raises an eyebrow archly, and a bit possesively.

In the back of the house, Cameron hasn't set more than a foot through the door before he's raising an eyebrow at Matt. Oh, this sounds good...

In the back of the house, Alicia crosses her arms back, suddenly being defense again. Hoo-Boy. "What does THAT mean Matt?" She says, eyes narrowing dangerously. "He doesn't have any fantasy life about Bernie, period."

Bernie blushes a bit harder. "Tha's not what I said," she protests, and curls up more, "..and anyway I wasn't either..." She looks like she wouldn't complain if the aliens abducted her about now.

In the back of the house, The Aussie grins, and wipes his face with the towel, still in the entry-way, trying to be unobtrusive.

In the back of the house, Alicia looks frustrated, hearing Bernie's voice. "Geezus, did you tell him 'bout /that/ of all things?" She throws her hands up in the air, then turns back around. "Ok, time ta' count to a thousand, again, backwards this time." She heads for the back door, looking just as embarrassed, but anger over comes it.

Matt smirks mischievously and raises an eyebrow. "Aw, come on, Alicia. You pull a stunt loike that while Oi'm away and Oi'm not supposed ta be disappointed Oi wan't invited? Oi mean, really."

In the back of the house, Alicia rolls her eyes, gripping the door knob. "You had yer' turn already on the wheel of fortune, now its someone else ta' get a spin." She snorts, shaking her head. "Whatever.." She swallows a deep breath, gritting her teeth together. Oh, look, there's Cameron. Hi Cameron, here's a walking time bomb, no more then ten feet from you.

Bernie pulls her knees up to her chest, and bonks her forehead down on them, absolutely bright red. She doesn't even bother trying to explain anything right now, too embarrassed by everything to talk.

In the back of the house, Cameron was casually moving to bar the doorway with his arm, but one look at Alicia, and the smile wilts and he makes like he was just going to run his hand through his hair instead. "G'day." He murmurs, only slightly amused - more nervous.

"Oh, bollocks." Matt flushes, pushing himself off the couch. "Alicia!" He crosses through into the kitchen, following the Galliard. "'allo, Cameron. Congratulations," he deadpans.

In the back of the house, "What?!" Alicia says in a guttural voice, her throat rumbling ferally as she turns her eyes towards Matt, staring hard into his. Her cheeks are red, hands squeezed into fists. One around the door knob, already jerking it open, the other settling at her hip. She doesn't look very happy, at all, period. "Not in the mood for any fucking joking around ok? This is not the night for it."

Bernie does do one thing -- she finishes off her Guinness. Then she bonks her head right back down, and sets the can blindly aside. Her face, for the brief moments it's visible, is a mixture of annoyance and amusement, both utterly overshadowed by intense embarrassment.

In the back of the house, Cameron looks totally nonplussed at the greeting from Matt, but just smoothes his face and virtually tip-toes to the fridge. Let them get on with it...

Matt loses his smile entirely, as well as any semblance of a buzz. "Fine then. Oi'm glad ta lay minces on you, too. Go on, then. Be moody, angry and depressed. Oi'm sure /that/ will be very helpful wherever it is yer Elders are takin' you." He shakes his head and offers his barely opened beer. "Relax.... We may die tomorrow, or the next day, or ten minutes from now. Wouldn't ye rather die wif friends, rememberin' the last joke ye shared? Tennyson: 'Eat, Drink, an' be merry...' not 'Brood, worry and stomp around,' eh? Damn, if Oi wasn't so glad ta be back and see ye, Oi'd take ye out ta the barn and work this extra rage off ye. Oi picked up a CD or two in Portland. Jennifer Lopez."

In the back of the house, Alicia snorts and smacks the beer from his hand, sending it hauling to the floor. "Yah, an I guess I'd rather die, knowing the last day I spent, was joking about how I almost fucked my best friend with my boyfriend out a moment of sillyness and get so piss ass drunk, I need Aussie romeo here to carry me upstairs." Her eyes narrow fiercly, venting her rage outwards at the Fianna. "This past week, I've been the butt of a number of crude jokes, and what do ya' know, I only bring them upon myself. So whatever, I don't find it funny, Its humiliating." Jerking the door all the way open, she heads outside, slamming it behind her, leaving the three at that.

In the back of the house, Cameron's standing frozen at the fridge, can of guiness in hand. His eyes are wide with suprise, cheeks now flushed with embarassment. Oh. Ok, then...

Bernie takes a slow, deep breath, and unfolds herself, pushing to her feet and heading toward the backdoor herself, looking fairly determined. As well as embarrassed. But hey, at least she obviously hasn't died of it.

In the back of the house, Cameron straightens at the fridge, staring into space. Blinking a little, too. Oh. He gives the thought a little more room... enough to be verbalised. "Oh." After a moment, he decides that the thought hasn't been expressed well enough, and elaborates. "Oh."

[Big Red Barn]

Blooms-Pain is inside the farm now, pounding away at the bag in her war form. She towers easily, sending the poor thing flying back, only to be met with another hard fist. The sandbag looks dented in and nearly killed as the chain creaks back and forth. She's growling loudly, chest heaving as she moves quickly, blurring in and out of manuevers.

Bernie follows Alicia to the Barn, and looks at Matt. "'f y'don't mind," she says, softly but firmly, "I wanna talk t' her 'lone for a minute. A'ight?" Without awaiting an answer, she walks further in, and hops onto a haybale, watching the Galliard attack the bag.

Matt follows Alicia into the barn, maintaining his temper, and (barely) his good humor. Apparently even an enraged Alicia is preferable to form-filling, INS hell. "Oi!" he shouts, pointing a finger. "Do what ye loike ta me, but leave the women and the beer out of this!" To Bernie, he whispers. "She needs somefing ta pound on, and I fink Oi'll do nicely, neh?"

Blooms-Pain turns on them, her eyes glowing brightly like two exploding stars. She's taking deep breaths. ~I am not going to fight either of you.~ She snaps at them, her jaws clicking together, revealing sharp teeth. ~Just leave me alone.~ Her tail sways from side to side, helping keep the Galliard's equlibrium, claws flexing out in dangerous sharpness.

Bernie touches Matt's upper arm lightly, and shakes her head. To Alicia, she says, "I don' wanna fightcha. I wanna talk with ya a sec." Another glance to Matt, as she adds, almost apologetically, "Alone."

Matt folds his arms across his chest, contemplating exactly how stubborn he feels right now. He sighs. "All right. Foine. Run away from yer troubles. Oi'll just 'ave a fag on the stoop then, shall Oi?" He turns his back on the pair and walks slowly to the door.

The Galliard turns back around and slams a fist back hard into the bag, sending it sprawling backwards. ~I am not running, I am venting out my anger, so that I don't end up hurting someone, or myself. And NO, I don't want to talk, Reads-In-Shadows~ She states firmly, still growling in annoyance. As the bag sails past her, she steps to the side, taking the wolf.

Bernie watches Matt walk out, and then looks back to Alicia, still just watching for a little, silently. Eventually, she replies, "...that's a'ight. I do."

Matt slides out the door, refraining from a comment by shaking a cigarette out of the pack that materialzes from his jacket pocket and lighting it with little fanfare.

Blooms-Pain flicks her tail back and forth out of annoyance, rumbling loudly back to the new moon. Go join the Fiannas and be happy, I do not want to talk. I should go back home and get to sleep, the moon is too bright for me to be here.

"Don't talk, then," Bernie replies, sounding determined. "I'm still gonna. An' anyway, c'mon, you know damn well I'm not gonna be happy with you this upset. So. I'm talkin'. Look... I di'n' meanta do anythin' t' embarrass you or anythin', honest. An' I wasn't jokin' 'bout anythin', either. Maybe you don't care, but I wantcha t' know that, anyhow. 'kay? But... look, us'ly, somethin' like that happened, I'd talk t' you 'bout it, right? Same way I always have. But seein' as it -involved- you..." She shrugs slightly. "So I told him instead. Not as a joke. 'kay?" One hand goes up, fingers sliding through her curls. "I'm sorry you're havin' a bad time, an' I'm sure th' moon isn't helpin' any, but, y'know, I love ya an' all. Dunno how t' make you feel any better 'side from lettin' th' moon shrink, or I would. Anyway... tha's all, I guess." That said, she slips down form the haybales, and heads doorward, making good on not requiring Alicia to hold up half the conversation.

Blooms-Pain slumps down into the darker patches near the haybales, covering her eyes with her paws, whimpering lightly. Her tail tip twitches slightly. Then chuffs. I am sorry.

Bernie turns around, and heads over to the wolf, kneeling down beside her and giving her a fierce hug, if somewhat awkwardly given the forms and positions. "'s a'ight. Me too."

Outside the barn, Cameron - now clad normally in his jacket - approaches the Barn doors, and Matt, with a cup of seaming cocoa in each hand. "Welcome back." He says, by way of introduction, with a nod.

Outside the barn, Matt blows smoke, even whiter given the cold, and gladly accepts th cocoa. "Fanks. Good ta be back ta the usual madness."

Blooms-Pain leans into the arms, staying silent. She closes her eyes and twitches her tail only lightly.

Cameron sips his own, and nods slightly. "Congratulations?" he asks, mildly.

Bernie hugs a while longer, silent herself, and then moves to scritch the wolf behind the ears, fondly.

Outside, Matt nods. "Sure. Last time Oi saw you, you were pretty bent over a kin twist, and buttin' 'orns wif anyone who crossed you. Oi 'ear now you've been back at least a week an' 'aven't caused a row an' a ruction yet!" He offers the cocoa up in a salute, then takes a scalding gulp.

Blooms-Pain pricks her ears a bit, listening to the two voices outside with her heightened senses, shifting along in Bernie's touch. She looks a lot more calm now, content.

Cameron winces briefly, then subsides into a slightly bitter smile. "Fair enough. Not much's changed from the looks of it." He gestures inside the barn with his cup, then sips some.

Bernie continues scritching the coggie a while, before asking quietly, "You wanna try goin' in, hangin' out a bit? Or wouldja rather be 'lone a bit, still?"

Blooms-Pain lets out a long breath in thought, glancing up at her. I should be alone, I should probably go back home to the Bawn, and let sleep take me.

Matt smirks. "Not much, no. Still an' all. Oi've got a new flat, so At least there's anovver place ta wait fer me Rite."

Cameron nods and smiles a little. "Good for you." He puts his head down and concentrates on his cocoa. No. Not even a hint of jealousy, there...

Bernie nods a little, and gives Alicia another hug. "A'ight, then. I won't try t' make ya stay. Sleep well, 'kay? Dream sweet."

Blooms-Pain dips her head in a nod, gently nuzzling her back, then turns, heading back into the shadows of the barn, to pass out later in the night once the other cubs leave.

Bernie pushes up to her feet, and wanders to the door, slipping out to join the boys. "Hey," she greets them quietly, and peers at the mugs. "Ooh.. cocoa," she remarks, and steals Matt's cup from him to take a sip.

Matt frowns a little in surprise. "Oi!" He smiles up at Bernie, though. "Look out. It's bloody peasy." Craning his neck to glance into the barn, he asks. "She goin' ta be all roight?"

Bernie takes a tentative sip of the cocoa, then a larger swallow, and returns it to its rightful owner. "Mm. Thanks," she says, smiling back at Matt, and leans back against the doors. Good thing they're closed. "...yeah, she's a'ight. Got things sorted, for now, 'least. So, y'know. 's all good."

Cameron nods at Bernie, ignoring the strife for the moment. "S'more waiting for you if you want your own mug. Come on. It's fuckin' freezin' out here." With that he stalks quietly back into the farmhouse.

Matt snorts. "Fookin' Southern fairy..." he mutters, pushing up against the barn. His grin belies any animosity, however.

Bernie grins, and pushes a curl back behind her ear before pushing up from the barn to stand straight. The movement sends the curl right back where it was, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Well," she points out, "it's that or I drink alla -your- cocoa..."

Matt heads for the kitchen, chuckling as he abandons the mug to Bernie's tender mercies.

[Farmhouse: Kitchen and Dining Room]

Steven heads for the fridge straight off.

Bernie follows the boys in the back door, and glances about for this fabled mug of cocoa she's been assured awaits her within.

Cameron has only just stepped inside, himself, holding one mug of cocoa, and heading for two empty mugs sitting next to the kettle. With intent. Looking up at Steven he waves with his free hand. "Evening."

Steven cracks open the door of the fridge and looks at Cameron, then Matt skeptically. "Either one of you the miscreant who is refrigerating my Guinness?"

Cameron raises a hand, and an eyebrow. "Well... we don't have an esky and ice..."

Matt snorts. "Not bloody likely, Steven-rhya. Oi keep mine in the pantry. 'ave ta admit Oi've drunk a few of 'em, though."

Bernie mutters, quietly, "...I keep moving some to the pantry, but it keeps moving back, somehow..."

Cameron's head whips about to peer at Bernie. "You! Why on earth would you put them in the pantry?"

Bernie grins. "'cause I was brought up right?" she teases the Aussie, and heads toward the mugs and cocoa herself. It's chilly out there tonight.

"Look. I want my Guinness at slightly below room temperature. Not at forty-four fucking degrees. It's uncivilized." Steven fixes Cameron with A Look. "Piece of piss, isn't that the expression?"

Matt nods along with Steven. "Cameron, friend, a salmon is a gift, given us by our ancestors. Ta mistreat it so by shovin' it in the icebox till its flavorful blessing freezes on the tongue, well, that's a disservice, ta you, the stout, and the spirits who gave it to ya."

Cameron shrugs, but has a slightly baffled look on his face, really not seeing the problem. It's a little bit like the world just went insane. /Warm beer?/ "Room... temperature... Uh... Ok."

Steven looks at the fridge and shakes his head. "The worst part is that beer that's chilled, and unchilled tastes like shite. He pulls out a bottle of Samuel Adams, instead, closing the door behind himself. "So, the Fianna tribe." He glances over his shoulder at Matt and Cameron. "It's an ancient tribe with a long and glorious history of serving Gaia." As he fumbles in a drawer for a bottle opener, he continues, "Word to the wise: Every Fianna's got a wee bit of storyteller in him. That comes in handy in two cases..." He looks well pleased as he snaps the top off the beer. "Case number one: you want to tell the world how great you are. Case number two: you want to tell the world what a fuck up someone is." He shrugs. "Sometimes you get it both ways, greatness and fuck up all rolled into one great big shit burger."

Matt raises an eyebrow, obviouly clueless as to where this particular thread of conversation leads. He continues his original plan, then, to get more cocoa, ending up at Bernie's elbow.

Cameron leans against the counter and listens, mug in hand. A brief look at Bernie, and he decides not to bother, and peers at Steven. "Er... you fuck up a good story?" He eyes Matt, looking for clues, then looks back to Steven. "Lost me with the shitburger. Sorry."

The galliard takes a long drink, and shrugs at Cameron. He chooses a seat at the kitchen table and kicks his feet up on it. "Seems like most Fianna also got a streak of no moon running in them. The point being of my long-ass diatribe is that you should know when to tell a story, and you should know when to bite your damn ragabash tongue and listen." He glances at his feet, and nods toward the cubs. "Don't tell Megan about this, or she'll tan my hide red."

Bernie laughs at Cameron's interpretation, and pours some of the cocoa into Matt's mug before filling another for herself. "...or you tell a story that shows how great you are, especially in comparison to some other fuckup?" she proposes.

Cameron smiles slightly at Steven, but it's mostly out of sympathy.

"Oi aven't seen Megan in over a month, rhya," Matt mumbles, nodding thanks for the cocoa to Bernie. "Probably won't soon, unless she comes to my flat."

"I haven't seen Megan at -all-," Bernie remarks, moving to the table and slipping into a chair. "Oddly enough. I'd think she was a myth, but someone told me which one she had been at the moot, afterward..."

"The Fianna were historically a band of storied warriors from the Celtic past, but the truth of the matter is that a lot of them were werewolves who can trace their lineage to Fionn MacCumhaill himself. MacCumhaill is one of the greatest mythic figures of the Celts, and /some/ of the stories about him and this band are truth, and some are fiction. Which are which doesn't even matter much any more." Steven jabs a thumb toward his gut, and shrugs. "Now me, I'm a Fianna mutt. I have no pure blood in me. My family's lineage goes back for 800 years I know about, and more beyond that, but they were never nobility. The Righ, on the other hand... he's got royal bearing and blood practically flashing on his forehead. Anyway, the Fianna have traditionally lived in the British Isles, and anywhere the British may have emigrated." Here he nods toward Cameron. "And there are a couple of quick things I need to sketch out for you about our tribe. Especially since I guess me or Brian or Megan's been a little derelict about it."

Matt has heard this before, but relaxes, as it never hurts to have the telling of it again.

Cameron shrugs a little guiltily. Sore point that. He just nods and slurs the rapidly-cooling cocoa.

Bernie sips her own cocoa, and listens quietly and with evident interest. She hasn't heard this before, and who knows if she'll get another chance to?

"Now, anyone who's studied human history knows that the Romans invaded Britian and managed to occupy it for a good long while. That doesn't mean the Fianna liked or tolerated it much -- especially since the Romans brought with them the corrupt influence of thier empire and the Wyrm puppets who controlled it. The Fianna along with a few Silver Fangs worked on getting the Romans out of England, permanently like, but never quite succeeded. It wasn't until some of the emigrated Get of Fenris landed on the British shore that we pushed those bastard all the way back into the sea. But instead of working like allies, the Get took our setbacks as a sign of weakness and they turned on us... our allies had turned into our enemies over night."

Cameron looks up from his cocoa, raising an eyebrow. He just stares intently at Steven, waiting for the rest.

Bernie, too, sips her drink quietly, and waits for the story to continue.

"You've heard the expression that 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?' I bet you have -- it's true too. Mark me." Steven drinks from his bottle. "Well, the Fianna tribe has a long memory, and little stomach for treachery. To this day, you can look back at that decision and see how it's spawned a rift between our tribes. Those Fianna heroes cut the celebration short and tried to parley with the Get, but they really weren't interested in talking only fighting, only blood and death. Most of them are more interested in bashing shit down than trying to sit down and have a nice rational chat about things before it comes to blood washing the dirt. All wars take two things, Cameron: blood and treasure. It took a lot of both, but eventually we drove the Get all the way back to the Orkney Islands up on the far top end of Scotland. Some Get kinfolk live there to this day..."

Cameron's mouth twists slightly. /Right/. He finishes the cocoa, and just leans against the counter, nursing the still-warm mug in his hands. "I see."

Bernie nods a little, without even really meaning to, and continues to slowly lower the cocoa content of her cup.

"Now, there's two other things I need to tell you about. One is the fate of the White Howlers, our tribes greatest loss. The second is about the essence of what it means to be Fianna." He eyes the cub. "You've heard the latter speech at least?"

Cameron runs a hand through his hair. "From other tribes, definitely. From you..." He shrugs. "Not in great detail. Well." He just shuts up there.

The brow over Steven's eyepatch rises. "From other tribes?" he prompts.

Cameron shrugs a little, dismissing it. "Just their opinions. Drink a lot. Fight a lot. Passionate to the point of stupidity sometimes, but never a word against them for it." He shrugs again. "I paraphrase, of course, but that's just general feeling I get from the others." Another shrug, just as dismissive.

Steven looks amused. He drains the rest of his beer. "We'll finish this later," he decides, kicking his feet off the table.

Bernie finishes her cocoa, and gets up for some more. As long as it's there, anyway. She fills hers, then looks to Cam, lifting the pot in silent question.

Cameron shifts his shoulders a little, releasing tension, and nods at Bernie with a smile. "Good." he says to Steven. "That's good. Yeah. Need to know the real thing. Thanks Steven-Rhya. " Grinning he adds, "No set time, though, eh? Just when you're passing through and need a drink? Give enough warning, I can pop a can or two into the freezer so I can drink with you."

Bernie wanders back with both her cup and the pot, and sets hers down while giving Cam a refill. She sets the pot down on the table so they don't have to get up again, and reclaims her seat.

Steven stands up. "There's this thing, kid, called specific gravity. And stout happens to have a high one. That's why the stout floats on top of the ale in a black and tan. And when a beer has a high specific gravity, you don't want it chilled because it dampens down the flavors in the malt." He shrugs. "Just don't put Guinness in the fridge -- or if you do, take them out and drink them after a few hours."

Cameron's eyebrows rise. "Ahh..." Understanding dawns. So /that's/ why it's flavourless over here. He nods and flips a salute. "Good 'o. I didn't know that. Ta." He grins happily at the fridge which he /knows/ contains Guiness. Guiness that needs to be drunken soon.

Bernie blinks at that explanation, and grins, filing it away. "Cool," she murmurs quietly. "G'night, Steven," she adds, more audibly.

Steven mumbles something mostly incoherent at Bernie, and looks back at Cameron. "Sorry. There's no Four X in the U.S. You'll have to get some smuggled in." He waves and then heads outside. "See you crazy kids."

Cameron sips his cocoa, nodding to himself with a smile. "Much better." He heads over to the table, taking a seat to relax better.

Bernie sips her own cocoa, looking, overall, pretty happy with the world. "Which?" she asks, after a moment, "..the cocoa being warm again?"

Cameron looks a little puzzled for a moment, then blinks. "Yeah, that'll do." he nods. "Good cocoa Bern." He grins and looks heavenwards. "Oh wait... that's right... /I made it/."

Bernie grins. "Well, th' only other thing I could thinka was Big'n'Scary headin' out..." She doesn't say it as if he was really making her particularly nervous, but it -is- noticable how her speech patterns change when he's around. "...an' it -is- good cocoa. Thanks."

Cameron laughs and shakes his head. "Oh no... getting Steven around here more often is /good/." He tones the grin down to a warm smile. "It's not common, see. We don't... talk. I don't see many of my elders anymore." He sips the cocoa a bit. "I think I /might/ just be on my way out of everyone's bad books. All I gotta do is keep cleaning and cooking..."
Cameron sobers immediately. "Oh. Speaking of bad books... Alicia. Just before... if looks could kill, they'd be tagging me and sticking me in a plastic bag. Am I in shit?"

"Cool," Bernie replies, sipping her hot chocolate, and then sighs, looking slightly upset. Though, aside from having to deal with that whole rather embarrassing Alicia incident earlier, overall she's seemed happier all evening than Cam's probably ever seen her. "Our other cub, he was fin'ly gettin' outta our bad books, an' then he jus' went an' did somethin' dumb again. Gonna get his ass culled, next time... an' I don' think so, I mean, she hasn't said she was pissed atcha. I think it was jus' spillover from her gen'rally bein' incredibly torqued off jus' then, y'know?" A touch of a blush, at the memory.

Cameron nods, relieved and takes another swallow of cocoa. And cultivates a micheivous grin. "You females make me real jealous, sometimes, you know."

Bernie gives the Fianna a wary sidelong glance. "Yeah? A'ight, I'll bite: howzat?"

Cameron looks to the heavens, sipping his cocoa to cover the massive grin. "Oh, just not having to worry overly about the litany in certain places."

Bernie blushes harder, but manages to retort, "Well, neither do you if you stick to males..." She takes another swallow of the chocolate and adds, "...an' anyway, I'm not inta girls that way, so." There's a moment's pause before she adds, for the sake of complete honesty, "...'least, not so far as I know."

Cameron was hoping for a bit more fight, and sticks a thumb to the ground, poking his tongue out. A more thoughtful expression crosses his face, and he admits, "In all seriousness, though... that does actually make me jealous. Hmm."

Bernie looks sideways at Cam again, head tilting slightly. "What does?" she asks, seeming genuinely unsure.

Cameron tilts his head, still looking into space somewhere above his head. "Hmmm. Other people being happy, maybe?" He slurps thoughtfully, and shrugs. "Selfish, that is. Oh well." Smiling he raises a cup to Bernie, sort of like a toast. "But I know sometimes it's got its disadvantages."

Bernie still looks somewhat lost, sipping her cocoa. "I swear I'm not -tryin'- t' be obtuse," she says, after a bit, "...but I dunno what you mean, 'zactly. What's got dis'vantages? Bein' happy?" Yes, she's confused.

Cameron shrugs. "With someone else. You know. Anything resembling 'Love'. I guess." He finishes off his cocoa as a distraction. "You know. When the right person is really, really the wrong person. Or vice-a-versa."

Bernie mmms, and nods. She finishes off her cocoa before remarking, rather quietly, "...'m sorry 'bout Rina. I mean, I dunno what all went on, but from what I -do- know, yeah."

Cameron smiles softly. "Wasn't thinking of myself in particular. Time'll only help me out." He eyes the empty cocoa mug as if it's arguing with him on that point. Shaddup. He stands, and heads for the fridge. "I need a drink." he announces.

Bernie pushes her empty mug slightly away, and watches Cam speculatively. "...what sort?" she asks.

Cameron mutters on his way. "A drink, any drink..." He opens the fridge. "Guiness. Needs to be gotten rid of, see. Not strong enough, cold." He grins, knowing he's twisting that awry.

Bernie grins. "Well, y'know, y'don't hafta dispose of it all yourself. I'll give ya a hand there. 'cause, y'know. I'm jus' that nice." She crosses her arms on the table in front of her, and leans against them.

Cameron smiles and starts pulling cans out. He seems to have grabbed a few in advance... about eight. "Good. This'll do for starters." He wanders back to the table, arms full, and dumps the cans ceremoniously on it.

Bernie eyes them with exaggerated wariness, and laughs. "That'll do for starters, middlers, and enders, far as I'm concerned. 'less I magic'ly learn that gifta y'all's." She reaches over and snags one, though.

Cameron grins and opens one too. "You never know. That's pretty much how they taught me. Got me /really/ drunk, then started me thinking about Gaia, and the spirits. And stuff." He starts slowly enough, though.

Bernie takes a sip, considering that. "Not sure it's worth th' risk. I mean, last time I wasn' even all -that- drunk, an' that next mornin' wasn't the absolute -best- timea my life..."

Cameron sips and nods. "You weren't careful. You were drained. You hadn't had anything to eat. That's the /worst/ time to be drinking. Especially if you have different types of alcohol, too." He shrugs. "The combination of different types of alcohol in the blood-stream act as a catalyst for absorbtion. Which is why a cocktail will knock you six ways from Sunday faster than two beers."

"Really?" Bernie asks, brow furrowing a little as she drinks -- fairly slowly. "Weird... wonder why? ...anyway all I get t' drink is good beer an' crappy beer. An' I don't bother drinkin' th' crappy beer. Oh, an' a little bita vodka once, after Tim kicked my ass." She grins.

Cameron smiles and chuckles. "Vodka's /good/ for that." He stares at the Gnawer. "Who's Tim?"

"Tim's another Gnawer raggie," Bernie replies, relaxing back in her chair and making use of another for resting her feet. "Cliath. Gonna be in th' pack Kaz's startin', with Max an' N'vada, too."

Cameron sips his beer while nodding. "Ah. Righto. Why'd he beat you up? I can't see a raggie beating a raggie for mouthing off... and you're /quiet/ as raggie's go." He grins.

"Trainin'," Bernie replies, cheerfully. "He's a pretty kickass fighter. I knew I was gonna lose, so I think I did pretty well on th' whole. Kaz an' Max were there, an' I kinda got th' feelin' they 'spected me t' lose a lot worse. An' quicker." She takes another drink, considering. "Gotta find a chance t' have'im do it 'gain, I s'pose. Hmm."

Cameron hmmms, and rubs a shoulder absently. "Fights between Garou are often over quicker than an ordinary fight. I've never lost my cool in a fight before." He muses idly and takes serious gulps from his beer. Lots more to get through, dammit!

Cameron amends. "Till I first changed. And then... against Sepdet-Rhya."

Bernie blinks. "You fought with Sepdet?" she asks, "how'd that happen?" Without noticing, she drinks a little faster, probably influenced by the other cub.

Cameron sighs and finishes off the can. Putting it on the floor (out of sight, out of mind...) he cracks open a new one. "She thought I needed stress relief. She probably also wanted to test her skill. Didn't use claws. Just fists." He grimaces. "Unlike me." He guiltily downs a good portion of the can before coming up for air.

Bernie mrms, watching. "Yeah? Well, obviously it came out okay...." She gets very close to the bottom of her own can. "...I useta get in a lotta fights at school... b'lieve it or not... but y'know, barely any since I got here. So I gotta get s'more practice, I guess."

Cameron chews a lip, and eyes a scarred knuckle or two. "Mmm. Don't enjoy fights usually. Just did it to help people out." He chugs some more of the beer. "Never personal, really. Just a matter of principles." He taps his can thoughtfully. "And if you were ever too close to it... you didn't do it. Maybe that's how I got so old without changing." He starts on the beer again, to distract himself.

Bernie finishes her can, sets it aside, and pulls over another one, a bit absently. "Well, I never started 'em," she replies, "....'less you count th' initial thwartin' th' asshole's mean li'l fun bit as startin' it. See, there were these guys at my school, jocks mostly, an' they liked t' make 'emselves feel big by makin' other people feel small. So one day they were pickin' on my friend Nichola, an' I kicked th' ringleader in th' ass an' told 'em all off, an' everyone laughed at 'em. So after that they were kinda out t' get me." She shrugs, and grins a little. "I prolly woulda ended up changin' that way 'f I hadn't got s'spended just as it was gettin' t' that time. So Todd Masters got off easy."

Cameron eyes the bottom of his can. "Wonder why I didn't change earlier..." he mumbles. "/Now/, it seems like I only gotta /look/ at someone, think they're holding me back somehow, to feel like changing and ripping their lungs out... what happened?" He cracks open his third can and wastes no time getting into it.

Bernie thinks about it, drinking quietly for a while. "Dunno," she replies eventually, "maybe it's got t' do with act'ly -bein'- held back, someways?"

Cameron drains the can to about half-way, effortlessly. He grins and waggles his eyebrows at Bernie. "Cabin Fever." He laughs. "I would love to visit the Caern, I think... and maybe the city. Say hi to my parents once in a while, you know?" He rests on the table. "Anyway. You've been looking especially cheerful recently." he asks, pointedly, changing the topic.

Bernie grins, doing some harm to her own can. "Yeah, bein' grounded sucks. I was only stuck at Signe's for like a week, maybe, an' I was about t' climb th' walls... you've been t' th' Caern, though, haven't ya? An' I guess you mean phonin' your folks? 'cause they're still overseas, yeah?" She pauses in the light barrage of questions, taking another drink, then adds, "...an' I'm a cheerful person, gen'rally. Despite possible 'pearances 'casionally."

Cameron laughs. "Been there three times, parents are living only an hour away, in St. Claire, and, Stop Evading the Question." He chugs a little from the can. "Or read between the lines or whatever. Soon I'll be too tired to play games, and'll start with brutal honesty."

"There was no question," the ragabash shoots back, "there was merely a statement." She just grins at him, and takes another swallow of her beer. "So d'your parents know what's up, then, or what?"

Cameron shrugs. "I've been told.. 'To a degree'. Bloody big help that is, but me uncle wouldn't budge. I'm assuming they're thinking I'm being trained as a secret government agent or something. Gawd." He frowns at the beer. And drinks it as a punishment for its sins. He looks up at Bernie, considering asking her a proper question about stuff... but just winds up sighing, and not doing so. Some things are... not for sharing. "Fair enough." he murmurs.

Bernie is almost done with her second -- not quite, but close. She gives the can a startled, almost accusingly look as she realises just how light it's gotten, and starts drinking what remains with rather slower, smaller sips. Pacing. Important. At least she ate enough today, and slept last night. "Mine think I'm just sorta explorin', an' preparin' t' go t' th' college here." Pause. "...which I am, so hey."

Cameron dangles the third empty can above the floor between his thumb and forefinger. Holding it and watching it there for a while, he lets it go, to fall to the floor - joining the other two. Out of sight, out of mind... He reaches over for his fourth. "Doin' alright with this... go with the flow, and there's no /need/ to think straight. No need to use the gift. Good." He murmurs, and sips.

Bernie finishes off her second despite having slowed down, and pushes it over toward the husk of her first. She regards both cans thoughtfully for a moment before deciding to go ahead and recruit a third. "Y'know," she remarks, "'f I get drunk 'gain, 'lish's gonna kill me. 'specially with this moon."

Cameron snorts. "You won't get drunk. You've only had two. Back home, the TV ads always said, two for the first hour, one every hour after that, and /that/ was for drivers!" He downs a good portion of his own. "Have a ball. Enjoy the fuzz."

"You," Bernie says firmly, "are a Bad Influence." She grins again as she says it, though, and pops the can open. "...here, you're not act'ly s'posta drink at -all- 'f you're gonna drive..." She takes a sip, and adds, "'s onea th' things Matt did while he was away, got his driver's license. I really gotta get someone t' teach me t' drive, an' get one also. Would be handy t' know how, even 'f I still wouldn' act'ly have a -car- or anythin'."

Cameron grimaces. "Bloody Americans and driving on the bloody wrong side of the road... I don't wanna go /near/ a car." the Fianna mutters. "It's like... 'Hey England. We're the US, and we are /so/ not you anymore, and to prove it, we're gonna screw up our spelling and drive on the other side of the road. So there.' Or something." Cam blinks, surprised, and chuckles. "Pardon me."

Bernie snickers a little. "Sentiment noted," she replies, "but -first- off, mosta th' world does it -our- way, an' second, cars came a tad later'n th' Revolution. An' it's all from th' way things worked when it was all buggies, anyhow, an' where th' driver hadda sit and where he hadda keep th' whip... but the spellin', act'ly, turns out, yeah, they -did- change it jus' t' spite y'all. Kinda petty, y'ask me, but hey." She takes another drink.

Cameron pouts. "No need to remind me. Most of the world... heh. The 'Free World' that is." He chuckles a little at that. "Mmmm." He sips. "Some food'd go down nicely with this. I'm peckish. Feel like something?" As he asks, the Theurge stands and heads for the kitchen.

Bernie considers, taking another sip, and nods. "Yeah, a'ight," she replies, "I could eat. Whatcha got in mind, an' wanna hand?"

Cameron shakes his head (a fairly pointless gesture, hidden as it now is by cupboards....). "Just heating up some left-overs or something. Ooh! Burger patties... In they go..." He fetches bread and sauce while he heats the patties.

Bernie laughs suddenly. "I'm pretty sure -beer- isn't us'ly s'posta give ya th' munchies..." She discovers that at some point she'd leaned in toward the table, and relaxes back in her chair again, slouching down slightly.

Cameron shrugs. "I was hungry. Besides, if you eat /while/ drinking, some of the alcohol gets absorbed in the food, and takes its time getting out of it to be absorbed into the bloodstream. Sort of a delaying tactic to protect the liver." Oh, a font of information is this cub. He squirts some tomato sauce onto a piece of bread, and when the patties are cooked, puts one on the bread. He squirts the meat with the sauce, and slaps on another piece of bread. "Mmmmm. The taste of home." he murmurs, and munches.

"Yeah?" the Gnawer asks, and regards the food. "Well, you gonna share, or not?" She gives her head a bit of a shake, pushing her curls back behind her shoulder with her free hand.

Cameron grins, and responds with a mouthful of food. "Bu' of corf." So saying, he squirts another piece of bread, and repeats the process to create a meat and sauce sanga. Which he hands carefully to Bernie as he works his way back over to the table. "Carfuwl. Shorsh'll dwrip outta sides."

Bernie put her beer down, and accepts both the sandwich and the warning, pushing back up to eat over the table, and not her one-and-only dedicated shirt. Gnawer stereotypes aside, she does do her best to stay neat and hygenic. Rather gingerly, she bites into it, and chews thoughtfully. "...not bad," she decides, after swallowing.

Cameron sips his beer, adding its flavour to yet another mouthful. "Mmm." When he's swallowed, he explains. "See... in all the good sandwhich formulae, you have bread, a filling, and something to moisten the bread a little. Usually butter or margarine. This is simpler. The sauce is the moistener, /and/ part of the filling. Untainted by butter or margarine, you get a fuller flavour." This explanation merely seems to make him hungry. He eats, enjoying himself immensely.

Bernie laughs. "I hear an' learn, oh mystic sammich master... though, there's good sammiches t' be had on toast as well, an' y'don't want th' toast t' get too moist..." She stops talking and goes back to eating, carefully balancing the sandwich in one hand and trying not to drip sauces as she washes a bite down with a mouthful of the Guinness.

Cameron suddenly finds the fourth can empty, and hastens to the fridge to get the last two in there. Can't be stealing Bernie's...

Bernie polishes off the sandwich, and washes it down with what turns out to be most of what's still in her can of beer. This startles her a little, and once again, she consciously slows down. "Thanks," she says, suddenly.

Cameron sits at the table, and plonks down the other two cans, cracking his own open, and wobbling it around. "Numero cinq." He looks up at her. "Anytime." The boy settles into his seat and sips quietly.

Bernie considers. "I prolly oughta be more'n one behind ya, huh?" She continues trying to draw out the third a while longer. "...though, gotta say, def'nitely think it'd take more'n four this time." The sandwich done, and the danger of sauce stains past, she leans back in her chair again, with a little sigh of -- it seems -- general contentment.

Cameron merely nods, slouches in his chair, chewing the remains of his sandwhich and sipping. "Now... if I was to give you some of the harder stuff..." He grins, and makes his way into the kitchen, stuffing the last remnants of his sandwhich into his mouth. In the kitchen, the cabinet above the stove is opened, a bottle taken out, and two shot glasses pulled from a cupboard. Cameron returns with these items, and plonks them on the table. "I don't think I could sit by in good conscience, /knowing/ that you have never had whiskey before."

Bernie sets down the newly empty can, sliding it over to sit with its brethren, and gives the Fianna a seriously amused look. "I am but an innocent, untutored in these sinful vices you promote," she declares in wide-eyed, melodramatic tones, and then grins again, gazing across the table to read the small print on the bottle's label. "Well, far be it from me t' leave your poor conscience unassuaged..."

Cameron pours out two shots, and pushes one over to the Gnawer. "Bah. Sinful nothing. Drink. Don't swill it, don't take your time, don't sip. Just pour it right down." He holds his own glass aloft, and peers into it. "Normally, being Fianna, I'm supposed to say Slainte or somesuch... but I'm not sure what the protocol is. I think you have to stand up, and put one foot on your chair, or something. And seeing as I don't know... I won't sully it." He pauses and sends Bernie a sidelong glance. "Instead, let us say... 'Bottoms up!'"

Bernie follows suit, picking hers up, and regarding the liquid curiously. She gives it a tiny swirl, just to see it move, and then sniffs it tentatively. "Bottoms up, huh?" she asks, "...s'pose that refers t' th' glasses' bottoms...less it's what happens after y'drink too mucha it. A'ight.... well, bottoms up!" She follows the instructions given, drinking it right down almost like taking tylenol. Setting the empty shotglass down on the table again, she closes her eyes a moment tilting her head a bit, and swallows again. "...Hmm," she remarks after a few seconds, "...tha's diff'rent."

Cameron downs his own, and blinks once, swallows again. "Mmm. Good." He murmurs. Then pours two more. "You took that well." He adds grudgingly. "First time I ever drank this stuff, I was coughing and spluttering everywhere." He pauses for a moment to grin. "Then again... I took a breath in when I was meant to be swallowing, and it went down the wrong way. /Burns/." He laughs and raises his glass. "Should toast something." He pushes Bernie's over to her. "Whaddya reckon?"

Bernie eyes the second glass. That was pretty strong. But then, look at it, it's so -small-... "Do not breathe when swallowing," she remarks, and then reaches out to accept her drink, "...noted. Mmm, toastin' somethin'... do we hafta be original here? Or could we jus' go with l'chaim?" The 'ch' has the appropriate almost gutteral effect, spoken back in the throat.

Cameron shrugs. "Why not? Tell me what it means when we're done." He growls, "l'chaim!" and slams his own back, stopping it for a moment in his mouth so that he can let it wash through the mouth and down the throat, getting all the flavour. "Mmm."

"L'chaim!" the Gnawer agrees, and tries it a little slower than before, trying to catch more of the taste this time. It has approximately the same effect as before, although this time she lefts herself shake her head a bit. The curls bounce. The glass doesn't, partly because she sets it down gently, with almost exaggerated care. "...yyyeah," she remarks after a bit of thought, "I could get t' like that. Prolly -shouldn't-. But I could." She flashes a grin a Cameron, looking a touch flushed, though that passes, "oh, an' l'chaim means 'to life'."

Cameron stares at Bernie for a little while after that. Perhaps not seeing the Bernie that's sitting there right now, Bbut the innocent looking Bernie he tucked into bed the other night. And maybe a different Bernie some time on from now... He shivers and snatches up the bottle and glasses. "You're right, you know. Probably shouldn't. Easy to get addicted to stuff, and this stuff's bad for that." He shrugs as he stalks into the kitchen and replaces the bottle. "I'd normally say three, but I think two's a fair enough introduction, especially when you've already got a few beers inside you." Raising a shot glass he adds, "You ought to know... one of these is about... a beer."

Bernie doesn't protest the removal, and regards the glass, tilting her head at it, as Cameron brandishes it. "....Huh," she remarks, looking from it to one of the beer cans, and back, "...funky how that works. Good t' know." Doing the math quickly in her head -- well, it's not real difficult, as math goes -- she decides against recruiting any more of the Guinness, either, for now at least.

Cameron returns and starts cleaning up the empty cans, musing to himself, and seeming not-at-all fazed by the amount he's absorbed... "Lessee. That's about five standard drinks in one hour or so. Give or take for time, and the fact that we've had both spirits and beer." He looks up. "You should be starting to feel the effects of those shots sometime soon. Next coupla minutes. That's effectively... one and a half times what you had last time, I think." He looks her up and down, and tilts his head. "Don't drive."

Bernie giggles, somewhat tipsy already. "Already toldja I can't! ...an' nah, that hadda be more'n an hour... though, I guess, maybe not -that- much more..." She crosses her arms on the tabletop, and leans forward, resting her chin atop them.

Cameron sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he picks up the remaining full cans, and moves to return them to the fridge. "Oops." he mutters. "Don't go for any long walks either."

Bernie gives it rather more thought than she usually would. "Soooooo. Probably walkin' back home, not such a hot plan. Right. Okay. Notta hurry..." She glances upward, and studies the ceiling for a little, then smiles, much like she did when she originally arrived at the farmhouse today. Which is to say, she starts grinning like an idiot again.

Cameron notices as he clears off the table and wipes up a bit of spilt tomato sauce. "You're grinning like an idiot again." He murmurs. "I see someone so damn happy, I get jealous, and wanna know what I'm missing out on." He sniffs and heads back into the kitchen to rinse, wash, rinse and wipe the two shot-glasses.

Unsurprisingly, Bernie grins. Well, actually, since this isn't a change, she -keeps- grinning. "I'm drunk!" she declares cheerfully, by way of response, and, as an afterthought, adds, "...wheeee." Giggling, she redirects her gaze from the ceiling, leaning on her arms on the table again.

Cameron scrunches up his face. "I see. Oh, well good. Don't start flying around the room or anything." he mutters. "You'll remember when you wake up and you'll feel real stupid." He grins. "Not nearly as embarassed as you might have been today - and for good reason - but still. Pretty damn silly."

Bernie opens her mouth to retort something, forgets what she was about to say, closes it again, looking confused a moment, and grins again, shrugging. "'kay," she replies agreeably. "No flyin'." Several seconds pause. "...can't fly, anyhow." Another. "...'less I got a plane. But I'd still need lessons or somethin', or I'd just crash, wheeeeeeeeeeeFOOMF." The onomatopoeia is accompanied by her hand doing an airplane imitation and crashing into the table. "Hey, you came alla way from 'stralia, betcha took a plane, yeah? I've never been on a plane. Someday I'll go on one an' maybe I'll go an' see London, 'cause Matt said he'd gimme a tour, so hey, that could be fun, yeah?"

Cameron winces, and finishes wiping the shotglasses. He empties the kettle out and fills it again, then turns it on. Mugs are sought, and found, and coffee-making ingredients too. The Fianna assumes two sugar and white, and stands around waiting for the water to boil. "Yes. I took a plane. All my stuff took a boat. And yes. London might be fun." The boy has cleared his head now, and stands waiting for the kettle to boil, occasionally glancing guiltily at the Gnawer.

Bernie silently watches Cameron for a while, chin still resting on her crossed arms. "You're cute," she announces eventually, in an utterly matter-of-fact tone. "'m sorry 'licia kicked you." There's barely any pause at all before she asks, "what'd ya do while your stuff was on th' boat an' you were here? Or did it start comin' here first? In which case what'd ya do while your stuff was on th' boat while you were still back there? Didja like th' flight, did they have movies an' all? Planes are cool. 'cause, they look like they shouldn' fly, but they do. 'cause the air does over an' under th' wings, an' th' wings, they have this curve t' them, so th' air creates lift an' pushes th' plane up, y'know? 'least that's how mosta them work. I think. Ooh, sugar!" Someone's thoughts are apparently not currently making much of a stop at the censor-station before coming out of her mouth at the moment.

Cameron puts the glasses away, and leans on the counter, fixing the Gnawer with a slightly confused stare. "Thank you. Did she tell you about that?" He sounds slightly uncomfortable.

"Uh huh," the ragabash replies cheerfully, not the slightest bit uncomfortable herself. She grins, "It was pretty damn funny. Only, I guess prolly not fer you, huh? Sorry 'bout that."

Cameron's mouth twists a little at the memory. "Well. It was something I needed to find out." He mutters. Frowning, the twist to his mouth seems to take on a hint of wryness. "So I guess telling either one of you anything, means the other one gets to hear. Like a single entity."

Bernie actually considers that a few moments, tilting her head and glancing upward as she thinks. "....nahhh," she muses, "I don' tell 'lish ev'rythin'. Jus' stuff that's funny, or int'restin', an' no one said not t' tell anyone. Y'know? Like, I di'n' tell her when y'asked me t' put in a good word for ya with her, I don' think, back when." A pause, as her brow wrinkles. "...weren't ya gonna have a birfday?"

Cameron shrugs, and smiles at that. "Birthday? Well. Yes. I had it in secret. Didn't want any fuss." He smiles to himself, and nods. Leaning further forward on the counter, he asks quietly, but in a slightly amused tone, "So what /don't/ you tell Alicia?"

"Tha's no good," Bernie replies, "we shoulda hadda party or somethin'! With, like... food, an'... music, an'.... stuff. Yeah. Huh. Um... I don' tell her... mm. I di'n' tell her I had that crappy insomnia, I don' think... um... lotsa stuff, jus', mosta it's boring..."

Cameron grins, shaking his head. "I don't think so. I reckon, it's those little things that make a person who they /really/ are. Not just the stuff you show people." He chuckles a little ruefully. "Especially when what you show is so different to what you're feeling, or what's really you. Hard to avoid sometimes, though."

Bernie looks kind of lost. Being drunk does not seem to aid her in making these philosophical leaps. "...huh? No, wait... I mean, like whatcha mean?"

Cameron shrugs, and wrinkles his nose briefly. "Oh, you know. Do you prefer smooth or crunchy peanut-paste? How do you generally clean your teeth? Do you have a fear of spiders, or heights? Do you sleep on your back or on your side?" He shrugs once more in a slightly dismissive gestrue. "The little things that there are so many of... You don't really know a person until you can take a guess at, or already know most of these. I mean, /really/ know."

Bernie bursts into giggles. "Peanut-paste!" she exclaims. "....I like crunchy peanut butter. An' I gen'rally clean my teeth with a toothbrush an' toothpaste an' floss. An' no, an' no, an' both, but mostly side 'cause then..." She pauses, brow furrowing again, and regards the Fianna a moment. "How 'bout you?"

Cameron grins, and winks. "Crunchy all the way. I sort of just scrub at my teeth with the brush for about five minutes. With toothpaste, of course. And no, no fear of spiders, but a fear of heights, yes. And I don't sleep well. Usually toss about a bit, sleeping on either my side or my face." He grins.

Bernie grins back. "I useta sleep on my face sometimes, but then I hadda give that up when it started t' hurt an' all... us'ly I sleep great, though, only last like week or so I was all insomniac, it sucked. 's a'ight now though."

Cameron chuckles. "Mmmm. What do you think fixed it?" He asks, appearing to be trying to look into his own brain, the way his eyes look up and to the side.

"Maybe that Matt came back," the girl replies thoughtfully, chin still resting on her crossed arms on the table. "'cause, since then I slept 'kay 'gain. Though, tha's only been one night, so maybe it wasn't 'cause I was worried an' any night now it'll be back 'gain. I dunno." She shrugs a little.

Cameron appears to be pulled slightly from his reverie, and frowns. "I only ever lost a week's sleep over one girl." He murmurs thoughtfully. Darkly. Slowly, his eyes come to rest on Bernie. "Just a friend, huh?"

"She ever dis'pear for like three weeks on no notice with barely a note an' not be able t' call or anythin' t' letcha know 'f she got jumped bya posse of Wyrm creatures or anythin'?" Bernie returns, a flash of anger in her eyes, though which Fianna cub it's really directed at is hard to tell.

Cameron scowls at the agressive tone, and growls viciously, "As a matter of fact, she /did/ run out without a word, and turns out she /did/ get the shit kicked out of her enough for her to miscarry a baby she never told me about." His nose is twitching, and eyes blaze with anger born of annoyance and pain. "Don't you think I don't... I mean... /fuck/" The word is practically spat at himself, and he stands up suddenly, heading for the fridge. "Nevermind." he mutters.

Bernie turns her head to the side, laying it down atop her arms with a soft, deep sigh. What anger had flared up seems to have left again. "I'm sorry bad things happen," she remarks quietly after a few moments. "Everyone I know now, seems like, there's so many bad things. I dunno how come. Maybe I shoulda had the bad things. I don't like them." Behind her glasses, her eyes glisten a bit, though her somewhat wistful tone is unstrained, and no actual tears have fallen.

Cameron lets his head fall against the unopened fridge, hands resting on top of it. "Fuck." He mutters to himself. "Having bad things happen around you is bad enough." He growls. "Just..." The Fianna appears to be struggling with what he's going to say, the problem being that he doesn't actually /know/ what he wants to say... "Just don't... Fuck. I dunno. I didn't tell you that, alright? You're drunk or something, and you just imagined it. You should fucking.. sleep or some shit. I dunno." He throws his hands up in the air and strides towards the back door. "Fucking I dunno." he mutters to himself as he leaves. Letting the door slam.

Bernie sighs again. Ordinarily, maybe she'd go after him, but not now. There's another soft, melancholy sigh, and eventually, long after his departure, a murmur, "...maybe I should..." Some time after that, she stands, and heads upstairs, to take at least the advice of sleeping.