In a flat this small, there really isn't anywhere to hide from the redolent smell of Matt's cooking. Not that one would want to. A tantalizing mix of carmelized onions, roast beef, cabbage and garlic wafts through the place. Surrounding the kitchen table is a collection of empty paper bags from Bishop's market, a local grocer. The remains of produce bags and styrofoam meat trays litter the counter, and in the center of this whirlwind is...Matt. He is barefoot, and wears an apron over his t-shirt, an apron one might buy at an airport, that says 'Kiss the Chef!' The oven is on, and he is focused on the skillet in his hands, but not too focused to miss the deadbolts being thrown.

The throwing of the bolts is followed by the slight squeak of the hinges as the door swings open, admitting one somewhat tired looking Gnawer cub. Bernie leans backward against the rear of the door to shut it, hand touching back to relock the deadbolt, and sighs a little, reviving a little as she closes her eyes and inhales the scent of proper cooking. "Hi, honey, I'm home," she announces in her best sitcom-Dad voice, pushing both hands back to the door to stand herself back up.

Matt grins, happy to see the Gnawer. Perking, his voice goes all falsetto. "Oh, ah," he sqeaks. "An' 'ow was work then, dear? Oi 'eard the best gossip from Missus Dibbuns!"

Bernie plops her 'briefcase' down beside the door and slips her jacket off, folding it neatly over her forearm as she wanders into the kitchen to meet the Fianna. "Tiring but productive; I think I've almost sold Mr. Rockefeller on our campaign for the Woostersen account. And do tell, dear," she maintains the voice and speech patterns, not losing a single syllable. A quick scan of the apron, and she grins, adding, "...don't mind if I do," and leaning in to, indeed, kiss the chef.

"Well, Oi, mmph..." Matt's falsetto is thankfully and abruptly cut off by the kiss. He wraps his arms about her, spatula in one hand, and supplements the smooch with a fierce hug. The kiss continues, far past what network censors would allow, particularly the part where his free hand squeezes her tush. Eventually, after the show would have to cut to commercial, the kiss breaks, and he adds in his own voice: "Oi was makin' supper..."

Despite the difficulty it likely causes with the continued cooking, Bernie remains with her arms about Matt as she replies somewhat breathlessly, "Gathered. Whatcha makin'?" She turns her head to see, eyes travelling over the stove and counter.

Matt maneuvers Bernie until he can still reach the stove to stir the garlic and onions. As the oven and front eye is on, she may be truly in the hotseat. Still, "Jameson roast wif garlic and onion glaze, New potatoes on the side. Sort of a celebration, loike."

Bernie looks impressed. And warm. "Wow. Smells 'mazin', y'know? I'm all famished now. Hey, I oughta make ya a cake... bet we got pretty much alla th' bits now. Ow." The last word still utterly conversational. Then, a little more emphatically, "...ow," as she releases him and slips away from the stove. "All for rump roast, but not when it's my rump in question," she remarks by way of explanation, reaching back to check herself for serious injury. Unsurprisingly, none found.

Matt snorts, then covers his mouth, trying not to laugh. "Sorry," he chokes. "'ere. Lemmee see." He indicates with the spatula that she turn around.

Bernie mostly manages to stifle her own giggles as she rotates obligingly. "Whassa verdict, doc? 'm I ever gonna play th' vi'lin 'gain?"

Still stifling laughter, Matt runs his hand over the seat of her jeans, ostensibly looking for burnt spots. Not above copping a feel, however. "No, Oi fink you'll survive. I prescribe a nice dinner, then we sit down and make lists." He lifts her hair away from her neck and kisses it.

Bernie does laugh, head dropping forward a tad before she lifts it again, and turns to face him. "Thank god. Think my insurance'll pay for that treatment?" She leans down a bit to peer through the oven door at the roast, "...take twoa those an' call ya in th' mornin'?" A quick grin as she straightens, before the second part of the prescription truly registers, "...lists?"

Matt nods. "Wait a tic," he adds. He moves the skillet off the hot eye, flipping it off, then grabs some pot holders. Opening the oven fills the flat with the smell of slow roasted prime rib and baked potatoes. He pulls the pan out of the oven and places it over two of the unheated eyes. The roast is lifted onto a platter, and Matt finds a large chef's knife in the cutlery drawer. "Mwuahahaha!" He laughs, holding the knife serial-murderer style. "Jack the Bloody Ripper stalks his latest victim!"

Bernie snickers at the imminent fate of the unsuspecting roast, and collapses dramatically against the fridge as the smell of the food wafts so strongly through the room. She groans, and declares, "Kill it quick, y'murderer, I wanna feast off th' corpse..." Her nose wrinkles at the image that gives her, and she giggles.

Matt laughs maniacally again, as he cuts thin slices of steak and arranges them with some artistry on a couple of plates. "Clear off those bags, there, that's a gel." He nods toward the mess he made unwrapping the groceries. Potatoes go around the meat, and he retrieves the skillet to spoon a dark garlic and onion gravy over both plates of meat.

Bernie pushes back up from the fridge, with a soft "oof", and rather cheerfully does as requested, bunching all the trash up into a bundle and shoving that into the trashcan. That done, she distracts herself from the meal-in-construction by washing her hands soundly in the sink.

"Lists," Matt confirms, putting the plates opposite one another on the kitchen table. From a cabinet, he draws a fat yellow candle, placing it in the center of the table and lighting it. Two cans of Guinness from the top of the fridge, and the picture is complete. "/After/ dinner."

Bernie looks decidedly curious, but lets it go for the moment. "Okaaay," she replies, warily, and then surveys the meal with obvious admiration. "Damn. That's one hella impressive an' appetizing meal." She grins, glancing over to him, "y'realise, keep this up, you'll never get ridda me?"

Matt grins, knowing that saying nothing about the mysterious 'lists' will drive the Ragabash nuts by the end of the meal. He pulls out her chair, ever gallant, then seats himself. The meal is everything it promises. Tender roast beef, with a taste of herbs and Jameson Irish whiskey, a carmelized onion sauce with garlic bulbs roasted until soft, melt in the mouth, and the new potatoes are hot and buttery.

"Thanks," Bernie murmurs, acknowledging the chair-moving as she sits, and attempts not to salivate on her meal while she waits politely (if a tad impatiently) for Matt to be seated and ready to eat as well. Meanwhile, she admires the food some more. It won't be there to look at long.

Matt, for his part, enjoys the roast thoroughly. "'m glad you're 'ere, Books. Wouldn't 'ave been any fun ta celebrate by myself. There are gonna be leftovers as it is."

Bernie's meal disappears quite swiftly, but not too quickly to enjoy it. "Mmph. Me too, feel sorry for th' resta th' world not gettin' t' eat this..." She grins, and goes back to munching for a little. "...an' leftovers is good. Sure we c'n handle 'em, yeah?"

Matt nods, finishing off his meal. "Aye. Oi should 'ope. Spent two days tipshare, it'd better last at least that long." He clears the table, leaving the candle burning in the center.

Bernie giggles. "So I guess no makin' Dagwood-style sammiches inna middlea th' night, huh?" She moves to clear the table herself, but alas, too late. "Y'shouldn't do that; 's your celebration thing, yeah? I oughta be doin' th' work bits." A sip of her beer, and she grins again, teasing, "...so what's for d'ssert?"

Matt suddenly looks uncomfortable. "Um..." he stretches an arm over his head to scratch the back of his neck. "Well, Oi didn't actually get anyfing specific, but..." a light dawns, and he opens the fridge. "Ice cream an' choc'late sauce?"

Bernie laughs, standing and walking up behind Matt, wrapping both arms about his waist and tilting her chin to rest on his shoulder as she regards the interior of the fridge as well. "I was jus' teasin' ya," she says, apologetically, "..though, hey, 'f y'wanna do ice cream, 's fine with me."

Matt leans back, swaying a little. "Cor, Books, Oi'd settle for th' Choc'late sauce."

"What, all by itself?" the cub asks, considering that as she leans agianst him. "...should I getcha a glass anna straw? Think we gotta few..."

Matt turns, eyebrow arched. "You've never...?" He chuckles. "Whew. Books, Books..." He opens the freezer and pulls out the ice cream.

Bernie looks confused, fairly sure she recognizes the vaguely familiar woosh of something going right over her head. "Never what?" she asks, brow furrowed.

Matt sets the ice cream on the counter to demonstrate. Taking the bottle of chocolate, he turns it over to squeeze some out onto his finger. The bottle wheezes, then complies. "Now," he says, showing her the chocolate coated fingertip. "Watch very carefully." He reaches over and wipes the chocolate in the hollow of her throat. He leans forward, breath hot on her skin, and licks it away, gently.

Bernie's eyes follow the finger-annointing process curiously, slightly wary again. If any of her brothers were doing that, she'd probably end up brown-nosed any moment. "...but I can't watch there," she protests distractedly, cut off by a somewhat sharp inhalation as the sauce it removed again, eyes closing briefly. Reopening them, she says, softly, "....oh."

Matt reaches past Bernie to set the bottle on the counter next to the ice cream, then kisses her, still tasting of chocolate. "But," he says afterward, "We still 'ave ice cream, if you fink it's necessary." He smirks, "...or we could work on those lists."

Bernie returns the kiss quite passionately, taking a few slow breaths to recuperate afterward, as Matt speaks. Self-control is good. Yes. She latches on to the rather less exciting but safer and still intriguing topic brought up in his last comment, "....lists? Letterman recruit us t' help with th' Top Ten, or what?"

Matt smiles, untangling himself to pull down a couple of bowls. "Somefin' loike that. Oi was joost finkin' there are lots o' people who could teach me fings, and you, when you get Rited, and makin' a list might be useful." He puts a couple generous scoops of vanilla in each bowl, then drowns them in a generous coating of Hershey's syrup. He gestures toward the couch, and follows the Gnawer with the bowls balanced in one hand the bottle of syrup and two spoons in the other.

Bernie smiles back, and returns the remaining ice cream to the freezer before heading to the sofa as directed. Dropping into the corner of it and removing her boots, she nods, "...'s notta bad idea. I still dunno for sure when I'm s'posta go, 'cept, seems like soon... 'least that's the impression I get from people, y'know?"

Matt nods. He hands her a bowl and spoon, and sets the chocolate syrup on the edge of the coffee table where they both can reach it. If they need more for their ice cream, of course. "Sure an' it never 'urts ta prepare, roight? Besides, Oi'm goin' ta be asked ta join a pack soon, an' you need ta decide what yer pack is goin' ta be before Oi can decide if Oi can join." He shrugs, apologetic. "'m sorry, Books, but Oi'm not sure Oi could pack under Rat, no matter 'ow much 'e likes me."

"Well," Bernie says, accepting the bowl and curling into her usual position in the corner of the couch, "...far as spirits, I dunno. Kaz hadda few s'gestions, but I'm not real well-schooled on all 'em yet, y'know?" She eats a bite of the ice cream slowly, regarding the bowl. "...pretty sure I'd rather have you in my pack than be under any partic'lar spirit, though."

Matt eats ice cream thoughtfully, the cold stuff making him even more difficult as he talks with his mouth full, trying to be understood with vanilla and chocolate melting on his tongue. He gestures with the spoon as he makes his points. "As Oi see it, packmates do fings togevver, care for one anovver and look out for each ovver. We already /are/ a pack, Books. A pack of two. Still I guess Oi could find a Theurge ta ask about Totem spirits--see if there isn't one we could all live wif."

Admittedly, parsing Matt-speak takes more effort when his mouth is full. But then, Bernie does have five siblings, and they aren't all as good at table manners as she is, so after a bit of thought she does get there. "...sorta what I was thinkin' too, I guess," she replies, "...only, not so eloquently. Just, it feels like it wouldn't be... I dunno, =right=, t' be in a pack with only people who weren't you. 'f that makes any sense. An' seems like there's a lotta spirits who might be good for a park pack, if we're even ='lowed= t' do that, which, y'know, might not be." She pauses, thinking. "Kaz suggested, maybe Unicorn. Or Fog, or Raccoon, or Bear, but 'parently Bear's, like, totema non grata or somethin' 'causea th' War of Rage an' all, so that'd be maybe not so good..."

Matt doesn't follow this last bit about Bear, from his expression. He tries to figure it out, though, while devouring the last of his ice cream.

Bernie is only about halfway through her own dessert, and at this point decides to mix it all together with her spoon to create chocolate ice cream. "So, yeah, we oughta finda good spirity person t' ask for ideas, I guess. Like, I guess we could bug Elan 'f we could find 'im, or Sepdet maybe...."

Matt watches her mix her ice cream, as he sets his own bowl on the coffee table. Hmm. Right next to the chocolate sauce. He picks up the bottle, adding (more clearly) "There's a moot in a few days, fer 'alf moons. Oi'll talk to 'oo Oi can about Spirits."

"Cool," Bernie replies, nodding slightly, and smiles at him before deciding her ice cream is sufficiently homogenized and taking another bite. "...I di'n' know there were.. minimoots. I mean, for auspices, an' all. Won'er what a raggie moot'd be like..." She considers that silently a bit, before returning to the main topic at hand, "...so mainly, what I wanna do's basic'ly protect an' take carea th' park, y'know? Think tha's an okay goal, or...?" She glances up from her dessert to look for an answer.

Matt shrugs. "It's always sounded good ta me, Books. Still, ye might fink about a broader fing, y'know? Like th' park an' riverfront, or th' park an' part o' the city around it, neh?"

Bernie nods a little. "I was thinkin' that, only I think Kaz's pack an' maybe a Get pack have mosta th' surroundin' area claimed... I guess I oughta see 'f I c'n get Kaz t' tell me 'zactly where all th' borders are...." She finishes off the last bite of her ice cream, and sets the bowl on the table.