For the Gnawer cub, at least, it's been a nice, lazy Saturday... since she didn't actually get to bed until the wee hours, she slept in until past noon, and is currently curled up, still in her nice, comfy sweats and t-shirt, in the corner of the sofa with several books on hoaxes and evidence of the supernatural... and a notepad and pen. Taking notes.

Matt climbs out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He is wearing only a towel, really, and is about to dart into the bedroom for pants, when one on Bernie's books catches his eye. "Bigfoot: Man or Myth?" he frowns, picking up the paperback with the hand that isn't holding his towel closed. "People spend actual fold on this prattle?"

Bernie manages to be only momentarily distracted, gaze making a quick tour of the Fianna's form before she replies, "...yeah, somea 'em. Th' same people who're comin' outta th' woodwork t' look for Bigfoot 'causea th' publicity 'bout that metis skeleton th' college found, an' people who are int'rested in those kina people, as well. Y'know?"

Matt shakes his head, returning the book to the coffee table and mussing Bernie's hair on his way to the bedroom. Over his shoulder, he adds "There's no such fing as th' supernatural, Books, you =know= that!"

Bernie laughs, ducking away from the mussing. "Y'should see what they got t' say 'bout werewolves in mosta these! But mostly I'm jus' lookin' for inspiration an' technique..." She taps the pad lightly with the end of the pen, "....wanna help me make some crop circles, alien landin' an' maybe abduction or two?"

Matt pulls his dedicated jeans and t-shirt on in the bedroom, looking up at Bernie's question. "Y'serious? Crop circles? Oi suppose we should myutilate some cattle while we're at it, then?"

Bernie turns and leans over the back of the sofa, looking toward the bedroom door as she grins. "Hey, 'f yer up t' it... I jus' haven't figured out t', for 'zample, drain alla blood outta 'em... but we could emulate th' less subtle ones..."

Matt returns to the main room, still pulling his t-shirt on. He seems dubious to the whole idea. "If ye like, Oi'll join ye, but...I dunno, Books. Somefin' about it..."

"Well," Bernie replies, noting the doubt, "it's not like it's for fun... well, not =just= for fun, anyhow..." She grins. "I'm s'posta be makin' weird shit happen t' distract th' weirdos out t' find Bigfoot, an' t' discredit them t' th' resta th' world, y'know? So, I'm thinkin', crop circles, maybe an alien abduction or two, Strange Lights Inna Sky, Elvis sightin's, cryin' statues of th' Virgin Mary, alla that shit. Not too close t' act'ly =us=."

Matt nods, still unsure. "Oi get it, Oi do. Just feels odd ta fuck about and /not/ be arsein' off." He heads for the fridge and get a tall...glass of milk.

That gets a giggle from the Ragabash. "Sorta like someone hirin' you t' go t' Disneyland an' ride everythin' for 'em. Anyway no rule 'gainst enjoyin' your work, right?" She pauses, considering. "Thinkin' I wanna see 'f Max wantsta help too, an' I gotta weird feelin' I oughta see if I c'n get Chia t' help with some Elvis stuff..."

Matt turns from the fridge, leaning against the door. He takes a long drink, resulting in a milk moustache. "That's anovver fing Oi don't get. Don't misunnerstand, Oi like Elvis' music an everyfin'. The King, an' all. But 'e's =stone dead=! Y'doan't see us moonin' over Sid Vicious!" He reconsiders. "Well, y'do, but we doan't have ol' biddies see'in' 'im in the washateria chattin' up Margaret Thatcher."

"I dunno, but maybe 's notta coincidence Elvis an' God both get called Th' King..." Bernie smiles a little at the milk moustache as she continues, "...I dunno, lotsa folks jus' don' wanna b'lieve he's really dead, I guess... an' hey, I guess it's poss'ble. Kina unlikely, but..." She shrugs a little.

Matt shrugs, too. "Oi'm just sayin' these people shouldn't be too 'ard ta fool, roight? I mean, come on. 'Elvis lives in my basement?'" He polishes off the glass of milk, then wipes his mouth with his wrist before setting the glass in the sink for later washing. "So," he says. "What is it then? Crop circles? Tonight? Where?"

Bernie snickers, and nods. "Well, hope not. Still, don' wanna get caught or anythin', y'know? An' yeah... I say we start with crop circles. It'll take some work, an' we gotta get th' 'quipment, but it oughta be kina cool... 'f we bring some lights an' coloured cellophane, we c'n make some eerie lights b'fore we run 'way, too." She unfolds, setting her books aside, and gives an extensive stretch. "Mmmph. Only, after I shower an' change an' all."

Matt nods toward the shower, a sheepish expression on his face. "Ah, ye might wan' ta wait a bit, on that. Oi used most o' th' hot water..." He shrugs an apology, already thinking about 'crop circles.'

Bernie sticks her tongue out at the other cub. "Damn you. Y'keep doin' that, I'm gonna start sneakin' in early an' takin' 'em first. Or simultaneously." She blushes somewhat, looking rather scandalized at herself, and suddenly retrieves her notepad, scanning the apparently intensely fascinating notes there. "...um, yeah, anyway, a'ight, no hurry really, can't do anythin' 'til dark anyhow. 'cept collect th' bits... we need, like, lumber t' flatten th' grain down, an' a lotta string an' a stake t' attach it to t' make it end up symmetrical an' all."

Matt ponders. "It would save on the water bill..." He crosses to her and takes the notepad out of her hands, setting it on the coffee table so he can hug her properly.

Bernie allows the notepad removal with virtually no resistance, and hugs back, cheeks still rather warm. "....'s true," she grants.

"We're bound ta get filthy," Matt grins, arms around her. "muckin' about in some farmer's field. Pr'aps after we'll need ta shower again, an' we can work on this new rationin' system o' yers."

Bernie giggles softly, hiding her residual blush against his neck. "... y'gotta point there, yeah. S'pose it's somethin' t' consider. Economical an' friendly t' th' environment, too, though seems like there isn't such a water shortage here 's there always was back in SoCal..."

Matt strokes her hair. "Well, we should all do our part for Gaia, roight? Fer now, though, you shower. Figured out where we're goin'? Who's field? It's gotta belong ta someone."

"...sorta. I figured out th' basic areas we oughta do it in, an' I checked for onea th' bigger, more c'mmercial farms, 'cause I don' wanna, y'know, ruin someone's life 'r anythin'... so there's a few can'idates 'round an' 'bout, an' we c'n pick which one t' start with, an' still have a couple left 'f we feel like doin' follow ups... an' I d'signed us a pattern, too. So we're =mostly= set...." Bernie plants a very soft kiss on the side of Matt's neck, and untwines herself, standing. "...an' yeah, f'r now I shower. 'f it's still cold, I dunno, might be for th' best..." She blushes a bit again, and smiles sheepishly, pushing a curl back as she heads toward the bathroom.

Matt twirls to watch as she goes, smiling. "Oi'll check on you in a minute," he quips, then heads toward the bedroom for boots.

Bernie disappears into the bathroom for ten or fifteen minutes worth of the sound of running water, and emerges again damp-haired and wrapped in the remaining towel, t-shirt and sweats clutched in front of her to block the area at her hips where the terry cloth doesn't quite meet. She scurries barefoot and shivering slightly toward the bedroom, home of warm, dry clothing.

Matt smiles, now leaning on the back of the sofa, watching. "Oi. Note ta self. Buy bigger towels." He cocks his head to watch Bernie dress in the bedroom. "On second thought, don't."

Bernie dresses as modestly as she can, short of actually thinking to close the door. This mainly consists of having her back to the door and some impressive juggling of the actual clothing, and isn't quite as effective as it might be. "Big towels are good, mmmkay?" she replies, muffled as she pulls her shirt on over her head.

"Oh, sure, from your angle." The Fianna chuckles. Looking is certainly not against the Litany. Steven would be blind in =both= eyes. He busies himself piling up her books and notebooks. He doesn't put them in her backpack, however, not wanting to disturb a carefully balanced ecosystem.

They wouldn't all fit in there, anyhow. She must've made a few trips, if she was carting them solely in there. "Yeah, but my angle is right..." The Gnawer sits down in the middle of the nest of blankets and such to put on her boots, looking around speculatively. "...I still wanna paint th' ceiling in here. Y'think I oughta do that b'fore or after there's a bed in here? Prolly b'fore, so I don't spill anythin' on it..."

Matt comes to the bedroom door. "There's goin' ta be a bed in 'ere?" He leans on the doorframe, just watching Bernie. Somewhere in the back of his eyes, there is a real hunger seeping out, albeit under tight control.

"Keep hearin' that rumour," Bernie replies, looking up from lacing to flash the Fianna a grin, "...but I'll b'lieve it when I see it. I bet it's like th' Mythical Megan..." Her gaze lingers on him a little longer than strictly necessary before she glances back down and ties the bows.

Matt snorts. "Yet another fing Oi won't be layin' down on?" He shakes his head at the thought. "She'd rip out my 'eart and hand it to me."

Bernie bursts out laughing, and pushes up to her feet, shoes now properly placed. "Not quite what I had in mind, but yeah, that too I 'spect..." She breaks into song, not too loudly, o/~ ...at your command, before you here I stand, my heart is in my hand... o/~ A glance at her hand, held out just before her as if holding an orange or something similar, and makes a disgusted face, "....ewww." Continuing, o/~ It's here that I must beeee... o/~ She stops there, grinning again.

Matt frowns, not recognising the song. Still, he indulges himself, looking Bernie up and down. "Ready?"

"'s th' Masochism Tango," Bernie explains, "Tom Lehrer. 's amusin'. An' yeah, almost, gimme a sec?" She slides rather closely past him to head for the bathroom.

Matt smacks his forehead. "Of course! Oi knew it sounded fa/mil/iar."

After perhaps a minute, Bernie returns from the other room. "A'ight," she announces, "=now= I'm ready for whatever. I'm thinkin', equipment collection? We gotta wait 'til th' wee hours t' do th' actual circles, like 2:30 or three or somethin'."

Matt nods, digging in his pocket for a jangle of keys. "Equipment aquisition." He begins to hum as they head out the door. An American kid might hum the theme from 'Mission Impossible'; Matt hums the theme from 'Danger Man.'

Bernie slides on her jacket, grabs her backpack and notes, and follows cheerfully to the door and out.

The ride out to Wal-Mart is not long, but it is cold. Matt puts an arm around Bernie as they enter the Super-center, sharing his warmth. Dubiously, he allows himself to be guided toward housewares.

Bernie slides her arm about Matt's waist, and leans into the warmth. She eyes several shelves in housewares thoughtfully, and shakes her head a bit, continuing to the tools section, where she finds a small but adequate selection of various boards. "This size looks 'bout right," she decides, picking out a two by four about three feet long.

Matt hefts, then hoists the board over his shoulder. "We need ta tie rope through this? We'll need a drill, then, and well...rope."

Bernie nods. "Mmmhmm. Def'nitely rope.... lotsa rope. An' either a drill or onea those really powerful staplers... that way it won't show through on th' bottom..." She pauses, glancing around, and brightens as her eye falls on a long metal stake with a loop at the top, "...an' that. An' at least one morea th' boards, maybe two 'case we recruit anyone else..."

Matt follows the excited Gnawer aroung the Housewares and hardware department, collecting an armload of gear. His expression is one of total amusement. Blackjack would be laughing his ass off.

Bernie pauses briefly at one display, and snags a nice butch-looking tape measure. You never know when that might come in handy, for, say, measuring the rope... various scissors and knives sitting in a case catch her attention too, and she stops to admire them a moment.

Matt would snap his fingers, but he has an armload of stuff. "Umm. Whot about gaffer tape? Handy that."

Bernie looks up from the shiny sharp things to Matt, and grins. "Duc' tape!" she exclaims. "Can't go wrong with that. 's like Th' Force. Gotta light side, gotta dark side, an' it holds th' world t'gether..." The Fianna's laden state makes her laugh a little, and she teases, "...I oughta make y'come carry shit for me ev'rytime I shop, who needs carts?"

Matt gives her a mock frown, and stops in mid aisle, pouting. "You do, if ye doan't apologize, an' give us a kiss ta make it up." He is totally unabashed about how silly he looks.

"Awwwwww," Bernie replies, just as genuinely chagrined as Matt is upset, and glances around quickly for observers. "I'm sorry," she apologises, stepping over and leaning in over the mass of equipment to bestow the requested kiss, lingering a moment. "...yer cute for a pack mule," she adds teasingly as she pulls away, and swiftly disappears around the corner, toward the various industrial strength tapes, grinning.

"Oi!" The Fianna grunts at the last comment. He can't run after her, so he contents himself with the thought that she can't leave without him, and is probably going to need him at checkout time.

Bernie peeks back around the aisle end after a few moments, and returns, wearing a rather large roll of duct tape as an oh so fashionable bracelet. "Think we need anythin' else?" she asks, eyeing the pile collected. "Feel like maybe I'm forgettin' somethin'..."

Matt juggles. "Doesn't feel like yer fergettin' anyfin' on /this/ end, Books." He's carrying three yards of lumber, almost a hundred feet of rope, stakes and a cordless drill, but seems game for more if he can just...not drop anything.

A thought strikes the Ragabash, and she leans in close to murmur softly to Matt, "...y'think we oughta pick up some masks or somethin'? Or jus' go as we are?"

"If ye like," The Pack Mule tries to shrug, but only manages to suggest one by shifting the boards he's carrying. "Blackjack and Tom an' Oi never bovvered."

Bernie nods thoughtfully. "I never have either. Not that I ever did this partic'lar li'l project b'fore... yeah, we'll skip it. A'ight. Then..... I think we pretty much got it handled."

Matt breaths a sigh of relief, and dutifully follows in the direction of the checkout line. "So, Oi doan't suppose the lads let you tap the 'church fund' fer yer project?"

Bernie shakes her head slightly. "Di'n' think t' ask, at th' time. 'S a'ight, though, I think I got 'nough left for this bit, 'least, an' I'll see 'f I c'n get someone t' pay me back an' all..." Also, the highly observant might note, several of the smaller items she'd intended to buy are nowhere to be seen.

Matt isn't /highly/ observant, holding boards with his neck, but adds "get what ye need, eh? My contribution to the hoaxing." He turns so that his rear faces the Gnawer: not suggestively, but so that she may remove his wallet from his jeans, since he hasn't gota free hand to do so himself.

Bernie hesitates a moment. "You sure?" she asks, "I don' wanna be all, y'know, spongey an' stuff..."

Matt nods "Aye. But doan't go spendin' the fold on Elvis costumes, eh?"

Bernie laughs, and accepts, sliding the wallet out. "A'ight. Promise. An' I'll try t' pay ya back, too, first chance I get." She pauses, considering. "This rate, y'know, I'm gonna be all indebted t' ya for, oh, ever..."

Matt looks at the wallet. "So, make sure we 'ave everyfin', Oi'm goin' ta set this stuff down with the nice lady 'ere, and we can pay, roight?"

"Right," Bernie agrees, tucking the wallet into her pocket temporarily and helping Matt to unload items onto the conveyer belt. "Sounds like a plan t' me."

Matt's eyes follow the wallet. His green card is in there. Strange as the idea might sound, he trusts the Ragabash, and allows himself to be unloaded onto the grey belt.

When it's down to the last few items Matt can handle easily alone, Bernie steps over to the proper customer spot and watches as the Walmartian rings them up. "Whatcha workin' on?" the girl asks as she runs things over the code reader, adding, "...seventy-two thirty-seven." The cub open the wallet and withdraws the appropriate amount of cash as she cheerfully replies, "Scenery."

Matt winces, but only briefly. "You wouldn't mind puttin' that in a double bag, then, would you?" He says to the girl. Thinking ahead already to how he's going to get this on the back of his scooter.

The girl pauses a moment at Matt's accent, and then flashes him a quick smile. "Sure thing," she replies almost flirtatiously, and goes about doing it after counting the change out into Bernie's hand. The Gnawer replaces the cash in the wallet, briefly regarding the checker warily. Despite Matt's hands now being free, she replaces the wallet in his pocket herself, reaching around to slide it into his rear pocket, where her hand stays hooked into the fabric somewhat possessively.

Matt is half oblivious and all confused at the exchange between the two ladies. Where he's from his accent isn't sexy in the slightest (if you saw some of the roughshod pubhorses who talk like Matt, you'd understand). Not that he appears to mind the attention from Bernie. "Sandshoe, love," he nods to the counter girl, and loops a hand through the bags as they leave. Outside, he extracts a couple of cigarettes, lights them both, passes one to Bernie and asks "Whot was all that, then?"

"All what?" Bernie asks innocently, accepting the cigarette and utterly failing to be completely convincing. It's the blush that does it, as hard as she tries to repress it.

Matt inhales, eyeing the blushing Gnawer. "In there, wif Polly Sunshine." Not letting her off the hook, he is.

Bernie studiously smokes for a bit before giving in and sheepishly admitting, "...I dunno, she was bein' all flirty." The toe of her boot appears to have become quite fascinating.

"She was?" Matt looks back at the building, as if it will suddenly admit "YES, SHE WAS" on a big banner or something. "How d'ye know?" he asks the Gnawer. Honestly curious.

Bernie runs the hand less likely to start a fire through her curls. "...I dunno, jus', y'know, way she was lookin' atcha, an' her tone." She continues to look embarrassed.

Matt raises an eyebrow. "Oi'm never goin' ta unnerstand this, am I?" He doesn't exactly look concerned, mostly curious. He pulls the helmets out of the Lambretta, and puts everything but the boards in their place.

"...I dunno 'f there's anythin' t' unnerstand... 's jus', tha's how it seemed t' me. Y'know?" The Gnawer blows a cloud of smoke into the chilly air, and watches it float off and dissipate. "...sorry," she adds, quietly.

Matt cocks his head to one side, abashed. "Y'doan't 'ave ta be /sorry/, Books. Just never 'appened ta me before." He shrugs, opening his arms and offering a warm hug to the other cub. "Not used ta bein' a--" he hesitates, "--boyfriend."

Bernie returns the hug fiercely, still a bit embarrassed, but looking pleased at the phrasing. "Me neither," she replies, apparently somewhat thrown, as she corrects herself, "...um. Though I guess I mean havin', rather'n bein'. Either that or I mean girlfriend..." She trails off. "...y'know what I mean."

Matt squeezes. "Oi fink Oi do..." he sighs. Placing the cigarette between his teeth, he absently fiddles with the Star of David around his neck. "Oi fink Oi do...." He shifts suddenly, uncomfortable. "Oi fink Oi know 'ow ta attach the ropes wifout drilling. 'Couse this means Oi just bought a drill fer nuffin'."

Bernie releases the Fianna rather unwillingly as he shifts, and pushes her curls back behind her ears, keeping the warm end of the cigarette outward. "Yeah?" she replies, curiously, "...how? An' we c'n go in an' r'turn it still, y'know. We got th' receipt an' all..."

"Gaffer tape," the Fianna smiles. "Wrap it aroun' th' board, over th' rope. Won't hold forever, but we don't need it to, roight?"

Bernie nods, thoughtfully. "Right," she agrees, "an' we got hella duc' tape t' do it, too." She offers what remains of her cigarette to Matt to hold as she asks, "y'want me t' go in an' r'turn th' drill? Shouldn' take too long."

Matt Smiles. "If ye want to. Oi'm sure the Church could use some tools, neh? It can't 'ave cost more than fifteen bob."

"Well.... yeah, prolly, who knows then th' doors'll need fixin' 'gain... but..." The Gnawer trails off, and laughs. "Y'oughta watch out, y'know. We already wanna adopt ya half th' time."

Matt grins widely. "Everyone does. Not sure whot's so great about me, but hey, bob's yer uncle." He finishes the cigarette, and offers her 'her' helmet. "Should we 'ave gotten some empty bottles? Oi imagine there 'as ta be an abandoned coal car around 'ere somewhere..."

Bernie takes the helmet, giggling. "Nahhhhh, we c'n save =that= renactment for =t'marra= night..." She pushes her hair back as she puts the helmet on, and adds as she fastens it, "...an' lotsa things... but I'm maybe slightly biased. Y'know, jussa li'l."

Matt laughs as he climbs on the scooter, letting Bernie get seated and fit the boards between them somehow. He tosses the butt of his cigarette, before cranking the motor. "Give me directions, roight?"

Bernie has a bit of difficulty figuring out just how to settle the boards, but eventually hits on a satisfactory solution, and leans forward, trapping the lumber between the pair of them and wrapping her arms about him. "A'ight, that oughta do it... so first we wanna turn left outta th' parking lot..."

[...the rest is done via +mail:]

So about 2:30am on March 18th, Bernie and Matt head out of town into the surrounding more rural areas, armed with long two by fours and other appropriate paraphernalia. They find one of the farms Bernie's research determined to be suitably large, far away from anything Garou/Bigfoot related, and relatively unguarded -- preferably just fenced off. Once there, they slip into an isolated field (though the closer to a well-treed area, the better), and proceed to create the crop circle Bernie had designed earlier, by smashing down the grain carefully with the two by fours. The stake, rope, and measuring tape serve as a compass to make the circles nice and, well, circular. There is one very large circle, with a smaller, far off-center circle of un-trampled grain within it. Three arms of five gradually smaller circles each curve off from the main circle, and two other circles, one about 4.5 feet in diameter, the other three, are neatly lined up off to one corner, slightly apart from the main circle. Once the work is done, about 4:30 or 5am, they put everything away and prepare to leave before taking four flashlights, two covered in blue cellophane and two in green, turning them on, and waving them about for a minute or five, creating "strange lights in the sky". Then, they leave... quickly... and go home to sleep.