As is frequently the case, Bernie is on the couch, surrounded by books and papers. She's not curled up in the corner this time, though, but seated on the edge and leaning forward to manipulate a cheesy little unpainted plaster statuette of a gnome which she has on the coffee table. Beside it is a little bowl, with a knife and some viscous white goop in it, and a few candles, as yet unlit.

Matt comes in from a long day at work, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the paraphenalia on the coffee table. He frowns, confused. "Whot the fuck," he begins, closing the door behind him through the expedient of leaning on it.

Bernie glances up, seemingly unbothered to be interrupted, so if it's some weird magical rite, at least it can't depend on silence. On seeing his expression, she giggles. "Home, honey, I'm high?" she suggests, and then grins, shaking her head, "...workin' on s'more ideas for distractions. Current thought, onea those weepin' Virgin Mary statues that show up every so often. Found a good candidate, jus' gotta figure out th' best way t' make it work, now..."

Matt is almost too tired to think. "Doesn't the Vatican send people out to investigate those claims? They'd spot a fraud in an 'eartbea...nevermind, we /want/ 'em ta know it's a hoax, roight?" Cobwebs on the brain.

Bernie grins. "'zactly," she replies, with a slight nod. She stands, wiping her hands on her jeans, and wanders toward the exhausted Fianna. "Y'look, as my dad would prolly say, like ya been rode hard an' put away wet. C'mere, siddown an' all..." She offers a hand to guide him couchward.

"Excuse me?" Matt stops dead in his tracks again, on the way to the fridge, and simply turns. "'Rode 'ard and put away wet?' Does that mean whot Oi fink it does?" An almost-smile plays around his lips, waiting for confirmation.

Bernie blushes slightly. "Um. I'm pretty sure it's got t' do with horses, act'ly. 'cause they get all sweaty when y'ride 'em hard, an' I guess then y'hafta treat 'em special when y'put 'em back in th' stall, or they get extra worn out an' unhappy..." The blush grows somewhat as she offers the explanation, pondering other possible interpretations.

The smile comes out as a quirky grin. With a Guinness in hand, the Fianna returns to the couch. "Oh," he says, sounding disappointed. "Horses, hmm. Your da was a cowboy, then?" Everyone in America who rides a horse is, by definition, a cowboy.

Bernie giggles a little again as she imagines her father in full cowboy regalia. "Nah," she replies, moving back to the couch and cuddling up to the new Cliath a bit, "he does roadwork for th' city, back where I useta live. I think it's justa figurea speech, y'know? He'da been a cool cowboy, though." A quick grin. "Woulda needed a big ol' like Clydesdale of a horse, I think."

Matt leans into the cuddle, smelling faintly of steak. "Oh well. Too bad it's about 'orses, then." He brushes her cheek gently with the back of his hand. "You Yanks 'ave sooch colorful slang."

Bernie smiles softly at the touch, but reacts to the comment with a startled laugh. "What, compared t' =you= guys? Not hardly..." She pauses a moment before glancing sidelong at him and risking, "...so what'd y'=prefer= it t' be about then, mm?"

Matt waggles his eyebrow. "Oh, I doan't know..." His hand slips around to cradle the back of her neck, under her hair. "Food, maybe." His grin is mischievous, devilish.

Looking unconvinced, Bernie arches a brow. "Food, huh?" she replies, a hint of her blush reappearing despite her similar, if somewhat shyer, grin, "an' howzat work, then? Y'in th' habita usin' french fries for transportation?"

Matt shrugs. "=Oi= doan't know. 'S =your= slang." He leans forward and kisses her, just below the jawline. "Maybe there's nibblin'," he breathes.

Bernie closes her eyes, chin lifting a little. "...could be," she replies slowly, and opens her eyes again, looking at him. "Y'know, people spend hours an' =hours= researchin' where phrases come from..." She leans in herself and reciprocates the kiss, lips brushing briefly across the side of his neck. "...sometimes even more."

Matt sighs. "When it comes to research, Books, Oi defer to your experience." He glances to the...experiment...on the coffee table. Returning his attention to the Gnawer cub in question, he twines his fingers into her hair and kissing her softly on the lips. "That's a sandshoe, by the way."

"I am th' Research Queen," Bernie declares a touch self-deprecatingly, cut off -- quite happily -- by the kiss. "Mm? What for?" she inquires, cocking her head at him.

Matt snuggles in a little closer, kicking over the forgotten and fortunately unopened can of Guinness at his feet in the process. He gestures vaguely with his free hand. "For 'avin' faith in me, mostly. Fer bein' my cheerin' section. Fer becomin' friends, and more than that. Lots o' fings." Another kiss, rich with the taste of strong cigarettes and peppermint.

The kiss lingers, Bernie eventually breaking it without moving much away. "Lotsa people've faith in you," she comments, softly. "'s impressive. an'... you're welcome." She smiles, giving him another soft kiss, much quicker. "Anytime."

Matt smiles, his soft breathing warring with the hum of the refrigerator for the title of Loudest Noise in the Flat. "Oh, aye," he sighs, "Oi fink Oi must be a novelty: The Fianna Everyone Likes, as opposed to Echen and Steven."

Bernie nuzzles gently into said Fianna's neck, favouring the curve of it with another kiss. "Y'say that like it's bad thing," she remarks teasingly. "Why shouldn'tcha be pers'nable an' pleasant an' not prone t' loomin' menacin'ly over yer 'lessers'?" The last word has a definite dryness to it. "'spose if y'asked real nice, we could =try= t' like ya less..." She grins.

Matt bahs. "You'd only do it because you liked me. He sniffs, then makes a face. "Cor. Oi need a shower."

Bernie shakes her head, giving him a sheepishly apologetic look. "Nah, I'd hafta be left outta that plan. I already tried t' like you less, an' I wasn' any good't it at all..." Another fleeting kiss to his lips as she sits up a bit, making it possible for him to get up without dumping her on the floor. "...you're in luck. There's even hot water, I s'pect."

Matt unwinds from the couch, and Bernie and slips into the bathroom. His uniform goes in a rumpled pile just outside the shower, and soon a cloud of steam also roils from the top of the bathroom door.

Bernie eyes the door thoughtfully a few moments, but resists the temptation to open it. She does get up and steal the uniform, though, carrying it to the bedroom closet and dropping it there. Hey, no need to make things =too= easy. Too bad about the towels.

Eventually the water shuts off, the shower curtain rattles as it is drawn aside, and..."Oi!" echoes from the tile walls.

"....problem?" Bernie's voice floats oh-so-innocently through the bathroom door as she leans against the bedroom doorjamb, arms crossed loosely over her abdomen.

Matt appears ever-so put upon when he comes out, holding his towel wrapped around his waist. "Oh, nuffin'. 's joost me clothes keep disappearin'. Oi must have poltergeists, or be infected by a plague o' ragabash, or somefin'."

"Oh? I hear that was th' ninth plague God sent t' th' 'gyptians, just 'fore th' deatha th' firstborn, Ragabash was," Bernie replies, maintaining her air of earnest innocence for a few moments longer before breaking into a grin and regarding the visible portions of Matt rather admiringly. "...feelin' cleaner now?"

Matt nods, absently. "Seems a waste ta dress again just ta sleep, too." Bernie gets a considering look. "'s it going ta bovver you if I don't?" He stands near the dresser, ready to spring into boxers at her word.

Bernie opens her mouth as if to say something, and pauses, looking a bit torn as she considers. "...no?" she ventures, some of the earlier blush returning to her cheeks.

Matt nods again, blushing a little himself as he finds a spot in the nest of blankets. A moment later he pulls the towel out from undeneath. "Hmm. Yer welcome ta join me, so long as ye turn out the light first." He tries to imitate Steven's scowl, closing one eye even.

That gets a giggle. "Yes, rhya," Bernie replies in a properly respectful tone, and pads into the other room, switching off the various lights and making sure the door is locked. A few moments in the bathroom herself, and she returns to the bedroom, flicking that light off as well before shedding her shirt and jeans and burrowing in to join Matt in the pile.

Once again, Matt is asleep before she gets back. He wakes, barely, when she climbs into the nest next to him, enough to curl protectively around her. The warmth of her skin on his eases him quickly back into slumber.

Bernie cuddles in closely, resting her head in the usual position, and closes her eyes, listening to the night sounds until sleep takes her as well.