A lathe-turned wooden railing runs the length of the porch save where the steps are, well-worn with use. To the right of the stairs, a wide swing is suspended from the overhang which shelters this area; to the left, a small table is the centerpiece for several chairs pulled around it, all of which face out to the front yard and the fields and trees beyond. The spring breezes which blow through hold the promise of new growth to come, filling the space with an openness that includes all of the farm. The low shrubs planted in the rich bed of earth beyond the railing hold new leaves and tiny buds which threaten to burst into color at any moment.
An aging screen door newly refurbished stands between the heavy inner door of the house and the outside air. Four steps lead down to the lane, a number of pots with small flower seedling carefully arranged alongside them.
All doorways in the front part of the house lead to the front hallway, a J-shaped area with the short tail starting at the stairs, the front door hitting the bottom curve, the doorless opening to the living room halfway up the long side, and the also doorless opening to the kitchen and dining room at the very top. The hall has a simple wooden floor, and decorated with a generic print of soft-colored flowers hanging on the wall to the right of the front door, and a tall table sitting under the print which serves as a place to toss keys. A closet under the stairs serves as a place to hang coats or to toss shoes.
The doorless opening to the living room is halfway up the side of the hall's J, and the word cozy might spring to mind when looking into is, as it seems to radiate comforting vibrations. A long couch sits against the south wall beneath a large bay window curtained only by sheers that manages to obscure the view in but only filters the day's light. A variety of out-of-date magazines are strewn atop a low coffee table; more neatly presented are the plethora of books filling the small bookshelves which line the eastern wall. Three chairs sit about the room, focused inward, to allow group conversations. Large floor pillows are stacked in one corner of the room, except one, which lies carelessly in the middle of the floor, apparently left out the last time it was used.
An opening in the northern end of the hallway allows access to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, while carpeted stairs twist up at the other end of the hall, leading to the second floor. A door at the base of the J lets out to the front porch.
Cameron is leaning against the porch rail with a mug of something steaming in his hands. The boy has his eye on the horizon, and the light curtain of rain that falls, obscuring it.
Bernie pads rather moistly through the rain, hands in her pockets, looking as though the precipitation bothers her not at all -- except for the annoyance in her expression as she removes her glasses to wipe the many beads of water from them while she climbs the few steps to the porch. "Hey," she greets Camerons, blinking a bit owlishly at him as her eyes attempt to focus, "'sup?"
Cameron gives her a nod and a broad smile in greeting, then straightens up - walking over to meet her. "S'cool. Havin' a bud. Watchin' the grass grow, B'." The accent he puts on isn't bad at all.
Bernie laughs, sliding her glasses back on, and puts on her best Aussie accent -- which is not nearly as good as her Cockney impression -- to reply, "Sounds good, mate." Dropping into her normal voice, she glances over the railing and inquires, "..growin' satisfactorily? Not too fast, not too slow?"
Cameron inclines his head to Bernie and smiles. "Perfect." he replies, then takes a sip from the mug of what appears to be coffee. "So what brings you to this oft' neglected neck of the woods, Bern?"
"Jus' takin' a stroll, comin' t' see 'f y'all're 'bout. You an' 'lish, maybe. Say hi." Bernie smiles, and shrugs a little, leaning against the side of the railing, at the stairs. "Find out how th' flowers went. Y'know. Stuff."
Cameron blushes a little, and runs his fingers through his hair. "Heh. Oh, yeah. That. Yeah." He takes another sip of the coffee, and cultivates a slightly thoughtful expression. A faraway, but still happy, look. "Good. She came over same night." He clears his throat, and adds, "For a chat."
Bernie grins. "'course, for a chat," she replies, as if there couldn't possibly be another option. "Good. Glad it wen' well, an' all. Y'seein' a lotta her now?" Yes, it =could= be a double entendre, but she seems quite innocent of that...
Cameron clears his throat again, and stares into his coffee. The expression of happiness slips slightly and subtly to suddenly become disappointment. "Not recently. She hasn't been around last couple days." He swills the coffee around in its mug. "Weird. Miss her. Well, well, well." he mutters to himself. Looking up at Bernie, he tilts his head and says much more loudly, "So! Come in! I'll get you some hot chocolate or coffee or something."
"...twist my rubber arm," Bernie replies, with a quick grin, apparently agreeing, as she moves toward the door. "An' she's prolly busy doin' th' work or school or whatever thing, yeah? So, what else y' up to lately?"
Cameron opens the door for her, and laughs. "What I always do around here. Chores and pacing. Always with the pacing. I think I'm learning patience, or something, maybe." He gestures for her to enter first.
"Pacing is important," Bernie remarks, this time a little =too= earnestly, and pauses a beat, "....after all, they say timin' is ev'rythin'..." She grins, then, and slips off her backpack, dropping it carefully onto the couch.
Cameron hrms, with a wry twist to his smile, then makes a move for the kitchen. "What's yer poison?" he drawls.
Bernie steps around and drops into the corner of the sofa. "Cyanide," she replies flippantly, "love that bitter almond smell... nah, I dunno, whatcha got? S'prise me. Only, non-fatally, please, yeah?"
Cameron gives Bernie a mischievous grin and a wink, then hoists one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Well, I guess you've given me free reign to do elaborate, exciting things... better take advantage of it." He turns his back on her, and stalks into the kitchen, draining his cooling coffee. Over his shoulder, he calls, "Like chocolate?"
"Pope Cath'lic?" Bernie calls back cheerfully, curling up comfortably in her familiar little nook. "Love choc'late." That seems to evoke some interesting train of thought, as a very slow and somewhat mischievous and self-satisfied little smile spreads across her face for a few moments.
In the back of the house, Cameron makes busy noises and starts boiling water in the kettle. Various objects are pulled out of storage, including a bottle of chocolate syrup, and a little ice-cream. "Yeah, well. Can't be too careful. You might have been dieting or something, and not wanna be tempted." He gets his own little mischievous look for a bit, then falls silent. Working on a couple of drinks.
Bernie glances briefly kitchenward, "...nahhh, dieting sucks..." and then falls silent herself as she waits, the smile going actually rather dreamy as she gets comfortable and stares off into nowhere.
In the back of the house, Cameron eventually says, "Don't see you 'round here that often, anymore." mildly, in the midst of his pouring and mixing.
It takes a second before Bernie registers (a) that she's been spoken to and (b) what was said. She blinks, stretching slightly. "'s a hella long walk," she replies, "...an' 's only been like four, five days since last time I was here, pretty sure." She stops, and then grins. "Miss me?" she inquires teasingly.
In the back of the house, Cameron snorts, and comes out with two mugs. "Hey. I live in a farmhouse which I'm never allowed to leave. I miss everyone and anyone." He stalks over to Bernie and hands her a mug. "Alright, now this is mostly warm milk and chocolate sauce... there's a bit of ice-cream in it, and a sprinkling of cocoa. Ice-cream's melted right through, making it a little thick, and vanilla-ish, I guess. Try. See if it's any good."
Bernie accepts the mug, eyeing the mixture with interest. "=Sounds= promisin'," she decides, and takes a sip, tilting her head up a bit in a parody of wine tasters appraising a vintage. "....damn," she remarks after a moment, "...that's =nice=. Gotta r'member that." She takes another drink of it, and looks at the other cub. "So when d'ya think they're gonna letcha out? I mean, they're not keepin' ya cooped up all th' way 'til ya Rite, are they?"
In the back of the house, Cameron smiles briefly at the compliment and bows a little, then his face falls, and he sits heavily on the armchair. Sighing, and pinching the bridge of his nose, he shakes his head, and mutters, "I really don't know. This is how it's been since I got here. I don't know how, or why it's only me and not the others... and sometimes it makes me pretty pissed off. Jealous. But, looks like them's the breaks for now." He shakes his head again. "Blowed if I know why." he repeats.
[...intended to be continued, but never was...]