Max knocks to the rhythm of 'We Will Rock You', lyrics included.

There's the sound of a little scuffling within, and a pause as Bernie glances out the peephole. Then the noise of the bolts being thrown, and the door swings open. "Y'got mud on yer face, y' big disgrace," she greets the other Raggie conversationally, stepping back to let her in. "'sup?"

"... kickin' your can all over th'place.." Max continues, like a secret password, walking in to the one-one two beat, scuffing her boot heels on the floor. Her backpack is slung over her shoulder and she winks at Bernie, passing by her and lifting a boot to lightly kick the other raggie in the rear with the side of her ankle. "Yo, sweet thang." She glances around the apartment, then asks, "Butcher 'round?"

"Matt?" Bernie queries, grinning back as she closes and relocks the door, "He's at work. Sorry. Oughta be back later, think he's closin' t'day, though. So, lots later. Alas. 'chupto?" Judging from her attire and the mess by the couch, what she's up to is probably more research. And possibly eating ice cream.

Max drops her backpack down with a muffled clunk on the floor beside one wall. She runs her knuckles along the painted drywall assessingly, then knocks once or twice. "You guys really want /me/ to get a groove thang goin' on in your place?" Her gaze slides back to Bernie, sidelong.

Bernie snirks, "Yeah, soon's I install th' black lights an' disco ball...." She pauses, considering. "...Okay, so act'ly, that'd be cool, come t' thinka it... but r'gardless, re: paintin' shit, yeah, knock yerself out. Why not?" She heads over to the coffee table and stacks up the dirty dishes, moving them and the other paraphernalia to the kitchen sink and fridge where they belong. "Y'wan' anythin' t' eat or drink?"

Max watches Bernie tidy up as if the mere action were fascinating. Sinking to a crouch beside her bag as if it were an afterthought she pulls out a soft-leaded pencil and sets it, eraser-side, in her mouth, wiggling it between her teeth. "You got any'a them cheese-doodle-puff-o-corn-on-crack thingies?" Now she turns back toward the wall, eyeing it up and down, to and fro for a moment.

Bernie pauses, thinking a moment, and looks over the closed cupboards as if she could see through the doors with her mystical X-ray vision. "I don' think... Oh, hey, wait." She grins and crosses the apartment to the bigger of the two bedrooms, rummaging in the closet a moment, and emerges triumphant, bag of cheesy poofs in hand. "These do?" she queries, tossing them across the room to Max.

Max fairly beams at Bernie. "Like honey, chica." Max catches the bag, muttering around the pencil. Then the pencil is replaced by a handful of the powdery orange puffs. And Max begins what could be described as sketching, but in wide arcing lines that don't look much like anything just yet. She moves up and down the wall slowly from left to right. It's not an even sketch, but it has some larger consistency.

Bernie returns to the spot on the couch she was probably sitting in earlier, and takes an absent sip of the opened Guinness waiting on the table as she watches Max beginning her work. "So, hey," she remarks, "Y'know Matt passed his Rite an' all?"

Max stops and turns around, looking sharply to Bernie. "Yeah? What's the word?"

"'Cliath'," Bernie answers, grinning, and shrugs. "He hadda go t' this place called th' Legendary Realm, an' mediate this dispute b'tween two septs an' shit. Sounded pretty cool. All philodoxy."

Max listens, still crouched, with an almost comically thoughtful expression. "Jay-sus. He's even gotta do rite-shit like fuckin' Paul Bunyan." But there's some measure of admiration to the words. "He gotta new name?"

Bernie pauses, blinking, and thinks about it. "...not's far 's I know, nope..." She snickers, "...'less he takes my comment, I s'pose. I'll hafta ask 'im later, see 'f he got one."

"What's your comment?" Max asks, prying unapologetically as she twists the pencil through her fingers deftly.

Bernie grins, and finishes off her Guinness, setting the empty can aside. "Walks-On-Water," she replies, with just a hint of a smirk in the grin. "'cause, see, he came back all worn out an' said he ran t' Ireland, an' I'm like, hey... neat trick."

Max's lips quirk up in a crooked grin. "Dude. Y'know what that means, yeah?"

Bernie shrugs, still grinning, "'course. Wouldn' be funny, otherwise..." She stretches, and surveys her various books and papers for a moment, not to mention the odd little plaster gnome and candles on the table. "I'm s'posta Rite any time now too, or so I hear, anyhow..." she remarks.

Max shakes her head a little, but the motion turns to nodding by the time Bernie's finished speaking. "Johnny, tell the chica what she's won.." She watches Bernie with a perceptive gaze. "You up for it?"

"Sure 's hell hope so," the cub replies, betraying only a little nervousness about the prospect. "Figure I prolly know mosta what I'm s'posta, at least... just, got abs'lutely no idea what t' 'spect. What'd you an' Chia hafta do, anyhow? He never got 'round t' tellin' me 'bout it. Some Galliard." She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

Max tips her head to one side, grinning a little as she considers reasons for that nickname. "We went all Umbra wit'Eye Shadow 'n chewed this acid gum't made us go trippin'. Alla these rats came'n ate us 'n then we were all somewhere else but still us. Then we hadda save these 'rou from this lava-lamp wyrm 'n plan 'n think 'n fight 'n shit. You's gonna rock, Burn." She sounds very sure of herself.

Bernie considers that silently a few moments. "How profound, Wizard," she comments, then, and grins. "Sounds seriously trippy. Y'all aren't lava lamp phobic now 'r anythin', yeah? An' thanks... guess I better, huh?" A quick glance around the room, and, musingly, "...'s what this place needs. Lava lamps. Maybe not first off, though."

Max watches Bernie's reaction. "Naw. But they's gonna go all wyrm, I's gonna make'm eat it." She smirks a little. "You goin' for a mood?" There's a slightly arched brow there.

"Yeah, early-seven'ies trippy," Bernie replies, deadpan, then shakes her head, grinning again, "...nah, lava lamps're jus' cool, way th' bulb heats allat shit up an' make the shapes an' all. Always liked 'em." She regards the plaster gnome thoughtfully, and remarks, apropos of nothing obvious, "...I gotta find some blood."

Max grins at Bernie. "You gotta get all flowery 'n leather-vest-fringed, babe." Max's gaze drifts to the gnome, then she turns back to the wall, her pencil making scritching sounds now and again against the plaster. "What kind?"

"Human, male, pref'rably non-'rou..." Bernie replies somewhat absently, looking the plaster dwarf over again. It looks like a bad reproduction of one of Disney's seven Dwarfs. Happy, maybe. "Or human, female, also pref'rably non-'rou. ...maybe I could get Marcus t' make a donation..." A thought strikes her, and she looks up to the other Ragabash again, "Oh, hey. Almost forgot. He says, hi, an' y'oughta drop by an' say hi, sometime, by th' way."

Max does not turn around this time. She keeps sketching in sweeping strokes, seemingly unplanned motion. "Yeah?" A long pause. "How 'bout that Walker kin chick? Bet she's into blood."

Bernie seems somewhat uncomfortable with that idea, for some reason. "...yyyeah, poss'bly. I won'er how... mrm... maybe I oughta jus' stick with salt water. But I think th' blood'd be hella more attention-grabbin'..."

Max muses, now on her toes as she sketches something high on the wall, "Think you c'n buy blood from butchers. They sell it for religious shit, y'know?" Max's hand pauses. "Or that coulda jus' been movie bullshit. Dunno. Want me t'find out?"

"Well, yeah, think y'can, 'least for, like, blood puddin' an' shit like that, only when they hear 'bout bleedin' Jesuses or Marys cryin' blood, they take somea it an' test it, so they'd go, hey, 's cow blood, or whatever, y'know? 's why I spec'fied Human, an' pref'rably not 'rou. I dunno 'f we might have diff'rent blood or somethin', yeah?" The cub muses on this a few moments. "...then 'gain, might not hurt t' have it slightly more obviously a hoax, wrong kinda blood, an' all... huh..."

Max nods at the wall but in apparent agreement with Bernie. She's now adding a strange mix of jagged, horizontal lines across the forest of pencil marks she's already made. "Yo, Bern. You thought any more 'bout pack shit?"

Bernie sets the plot pondering aside for the moment, and nods, stretching out on the couch. "Act'ly, yeah," she replies, "Matt'n I were jus' talkin' 'bout it las' night. Thinkin' 'bout doin' s'more research on spirits, an' figurin' out 'zactly who's got what terr'tory at th' moment. How come?"

Max shrugs and erases the first line she's drawn tonight, slowly and methodically. "I jus' know Trouble's gotcha on its mind. We all dig your brand o'bashin'. 'n Matt? He could work too." She leaves it hanging right there.

"...'chis weird, 'cause us'ly I got trouble on =my= mind, rather'n vice versa..." Bernie rolls onto her stomach on the couch, observing the artistic process. "Thanks. I 'preciate that, an' all. 'f I didn' wanna do th' Park thing so much, I'd so be there. Y'all d'cided onna Totem yet?"

Max shakes her head minutely and steps back, heaving a thoughtful sigh before she drops her pencil back in her pack and lifts it up to sling over her shoulder. "I get the feelin' it ain't 'zactly the pack's choice, though we got some ideas."

Bernie nods a little. "Seem t' r'member, Kaz was talkin' 'bout Magpie an' Weasel, while back. They sound pretty cool an' all..." She watches the reslinging of the bag, and inquires, "...y'off?"

Max dips her chin at that, moving toward the door. "Yeah. I gotta scam some paint 'n shit somewhere. I'll be back when I gottit."

Bernie glances curiously down at the broken-banded watch threaded into the strap of her backpack, lying beside the sofa, and nods, pushing to sit up again. "A'ight, cool. Y'need shit, let us know, yeah? We c'n try t' scare it up too, an' all. Thanks, too."

Max hardly meets Bernie's eyes. But her tone is sincere enough. "Yeah." Then she's unlatching the door and heading out without another word.