10 am, Wednesday morning. The sun is shining -- sorta -- the birds are singing -- such as it is -- and there's a knock on the front door.

It takes Marcus a long time to answer the door. In fact, if the cab wasn't parked right outside, it would be easy to assume the cabbie wasn't there. Just before the knocker might think of leaving anyway, the deadbolt gets thrown back and the sound of the chain coming loose preceeds the door opening. He's wrapped in a dark maroon blanket, and he looks lousy. Puffy eyes, sniffly, a raspy voice and cough. "Hey, Bernie," he says, cheerful despite his condition. "Come on in."

Bernie grins a bit in greeting, eyes squinting a little against the sunlight that filters into the hall outside the door; this despite the large pair of dark, round, sixties-era sunglasses she's got on, sitting on her nose and almost hiding her normal glasses completely. There's just the hint of the wires that go back behind her ears, peeking from under the thick white plastic frames. They're almost glamourous, or might've been once. "Hey," she says cheerfully, though her own voice is just a tad raspier than usual as well, "'sup? You gotta flu or somethin'?" She accepts the invitation, stepping inside and past the door.

Marcus shuts the door behind them and relocks the deadbolt out of habit, though he leaves the chain off. Sniffling again, he nods. "Yeah. Something. You want some tea?"

Bernie grins. "'s not my primary objective, but if yer off'rin', sure, I'll have some tea." She pulls the sunglasses forward a bit and peeks tentatively over them, assessing the light levels in the apartment. They'll do. The sunglasses come off, deftly folded shut and slipped into a jacket pocket. "...y'mind 'f I sit somewhere, too?" She does seem to be limping, and setting most of her weight on her left leg when she stands still.

Marcus waves a hand. "Sure, have a seat." He shuffles toward the kitchen, wrapping the blanket around him a little tighter. Noticing the limp as he sets the water on to boil, he asks, "What's wrong?"

The grin, if anything, widens; it definitely gains an element of pride. "Nothin' much. Jus' hadda couplea freakin' huge green worm-things bore a couplea holes through my calf," she replies oh-so-casually as she somewhat gingerly takes a seat. "Had my Rite, see," she adds.

Marcus nearly drops the coffee mug he's using for a teacup. He recovers nicely though, after another little bout of cough. The last statement earns a blink. "Oh yeah? Wow. Awright Berns! Congrats. A card carryin' member. Excellent."

Bernie continues to beam proudly, and makes a little bow from her seat. "Thank ya, thank ya, no 'pplause please, jus' throw money... so, yeah. I'm pretty happy 'bout it, y'know? An' th' leg oughta heal, 'nother day or two." She pauses, watching the tea-creation, "...an' what've you been up to, 'side from coughin'?"

Marcus shrugs, pouring the hot water into each mug. "Nothin', really. I bought another gun to carry in the cab. These freaks are really worryin' me. You want any sugar, milk?"

"Both," the new cliath decides, with a bit of a nod. "So you're still gettin' major loadsa freaks? Still all lookin' for Bigfoot?" Something about the question seems a little... overly innocent.

Marcus shakes his head, bringing both cups with him, one in each hand, after he puts the milk away. "Not as many, no, but they's out there." He puts the mugs on the coffeetable and flops down on the couch, pulling the blanket over his feet.

Bernie reaches out to take a cup, and sips from it thoughtfully, wincing slightly as it's hotter than she expected. "...y'get many people wan'in' t' go see th' crop circles?" she asks, after she recovers a bit.

Marcus flashes a grin. "Yeah, I had a couple trips out that way. I owe you. Those are some hefty fares, especially the ones straight from the airport."

Bernie makes another mock bow, careful not to spill the tea. "Hey, anytime," she replies, and gestures a bit with her cup, "...by th' way, thanks for th' tea. So." She pauses, regarding him, and considers her phrasing, "...how d'ya feel 'bout drivin' religious freaks around?"

Marcus takes a sip from his cup, letting its sides warm the palms of his hands. He shrugs again, sort of slouching into the couch comfortably. "'S long as they don't try an convert me, I'm happy."

Bernie nods again, sipping her tea as well. "Well. 'f th' next thing I wanna set up works, you'll prolly have a lotta 'em t' cart around..." She trails off again, framing things. "...see, I'm thinkin' a nice bleedin' Jesus in onea th' churches oughta get a li'l attention, yeah? Maybe that porcelain one in Saint Uriel's..."

Marcus blinks, and then starts laughing, which of course leads to a little more coughing. "Oh, that'd be cool, Berns."

Bernie imagines the scene, and smirks, "Yeah.... I think so. Thanks." She goes a bit more serious, and a touch uncomfortable, as she continues, though. "...thing is, though... I almost got th' technique down for it, an' I got a good idea how t' repeat it when people've seen it an' are watchin' it, y'know? But I did a lotta research. An' th' Vatican, seems like these days, a statue bleeds, they check out that sucker's blood, see if th' Virgin's blood tears are a human woman's blood or, say, cow blood from th' butcher's...."

Marcus listens, drinking more tea. He seems a little distracted, like his cold-fogged brain is trying to puzzle out the details Bernie says she's mastered. He's listening though.

"So, uh," Bernie continues, a bit sheepishly, looking over to Marcus, "...how'd ya feel 'bout bein' th' Messiah?"

Marcus was about to take another sip, but the mug gets stopped halfway to his lips. He eyes Bernie over the lip of the mug. "Say what?"

"Well, like I was sayin'," Bernie explains, "I need an appropriate blood donor... I was thinkin'a tryin' t' steal a bag from th' Red Cross, or th' hospital, but so far, been havin' trouble comin' up with a workable, low risk plan for that. I'd borrow somea Matt's, only I dunno 'f 'rou got weird blood, y'know? For all I know it'd show up as odd on th' tests, an' then we might have =more= people lookin' where we don' wan' 'em to, yeah?"

Marcus starts laughing. "No offense, Bern, but I ain't no virgin. And I sure ain't no virgin /Mary/. don'tcha need a woman's blood?"

Bernie blushes somewhat at that, and shakes her head, "Nah, like I said, doin' a bleedin' Jesus. There's no suitable Mary's 'round for th' cryin' thing; I checked alla churches I could find."

Marcus blinks again, then realizes his mistake. "Oh, I see. Bleedin' Jesus." After another thoughtful few seconds, he grins again. "Sure, Berns. I could do that."

Bernie grins again, looking (and sounding) relieved. "Cool. 's kina a weird favour t' ask, I know... shouldn' need a while =lotta= it, though." She takes another drink of her now only pleasantly warm tea.

Marcus starts thinking, once Bernie brings up the subject of how much, and for a moment the kin looks squeamish. "Yeah," he says in answer, but doesn't pursue the subject further with questions.

Bernie nods, and slides her backpack off, onto the coffee table. It's just brimming with junk, seems like. She takes another good drink of her tea, and sets the mug down.

Marcus sets his own mug down, which is mostly empty now. "You got something to take it out with? I mean, you know any doctors or nurses?"

Bernie shakes her head. "Dunno any, no. Y'know any who'd do it? Otherwise, I read up on it a bunch, an' got holda stuff t'do it with..." She tries hard to sound confident about it. "Tried it on me, seemed t' work a'ight. Not so good as a doctor or nurse'd be, though."

Marcus turns a little pale, but then maybe it's the cold. To emphasize that, he sneezes just in that moment. Getting a tissue from the end table, he sniffles a little more, but nods to Bernie. "Well, I trust you," he says, still looking pale.

Bernie nods, and opens her backpack up. Perhaps hearteningly, on the top is a big ziploc baggie that seems to contain all the paraphernalia, and just about everything inside looks to be still in its own sterile plastic wrapper. One might wonder where the heck she acquired the stuff; there's a little clear, lidded plastic container, alcohol, a little pack of cotton balls, some bandaids, and other odds and ends.

Marcus watches this with no small amount of fascination. "You came prepared," he says, a little surprised, but not quite running away yet.

Bernie grins briefly, "Well, 's not like I didn' know I was gonna ask, an' 'f I learned anythin' from Scouts, it's be prepared..." She pauses, pullingo ut her notebook, which she flips open, finding a page. The writing looks almost greek, but it seems like maybe she's made some notes. "...plus, I found out, more I plan stuff 'forehand, less goes wrong, us'ly."

Marcus licks his lips, peering closer to look at the notebook and see if he can decipher any of it. "What's that?" he asks, sliding a little closer to Bernie.

"'s my notebook," Bernie replies, "...this page's got my blood-takin' notes." It's diffifult if not impossible to translate the code on the fly, but there are a few little notes in english, and the occasional little sketch. Plus a little bit of doodling in the margin -- hearts, stars, a few short words, seems like. She opens the bag, and starts taking things out carefully.

Marcus resigns himself, setting the tissue aside and moving the blanket to free up his arm. "Ok. What do I need to do? And leave me enough to live, ok?"

Bernie laughs a little, and nods. "Promise t' take as li'l as I think'll do th' trick... I don' wanna overdo things. Thanks 'gain. 'bove an' beyond th' calla duty an' all..." As she talks she takes a pair of apparently latex gloves from the bag, and pulls them on.

Marcus squirms a little at the gloves, but begins to roll up his sleeves dutifully. "I hate needles," he comments.

Bernie smiles apologetically. "'f I hadda better way t' do it," she replies, scanning her notes once more. "...oh. Right on toppa th' backpack, there, see that squishy earth? Pick that sucker up an' squeeze it in your hand, yeah?" She pulls a strip of latex from the bag; it looks as though it was cut from something.

Marcus leans over, looking at the bag. Finding what she refered to, he picks it up and holds it in his hand. Laying his arm across his lap, he gives the earth a squeaze. Marcus has a nice, thin and muscular body, and so his veins stand out rather nicely.

Bernie is much relieved. Good for the confidence. She applies the latex strip quite carefully above the elbow, as a tourniquet, before cleaning off the area with an alcohol-doused cotton ball. There is a syringe in the ziploc, in its own nice sterile vacuum sealed packet, and she opens that to pull it out and get it ready. That done, she touches the vein, tightening the skin slightly between two fingers, and quite carefully slides the needle in to draw the blood. She's quite definitely concentrating on what she's doing.

Marcus can't help but wince a little as the needle goes in, but he's not a bad patient, as patients go. He keeps his eyes closed, peeking only once or twice as the blood is drawn.

Bernie hasn't had all that much practise, and there is a tiny bit of movement from the needle; it hurts, but at least her hands are fairly steady and she has it stabilized. Not a professional job, but not too bad for an amateur. Once the syringe is close to full, she carefully withdraws it, and opens the little container, setting the syringe down inside. Then she cleans the little wound, puts a cotton ball atop it, and removes the tourniquet. Two bandaids over the cotton ball, and the hard part's done. She relaxes a bit. "Thanks," she says, "...hope that wasn't too bad." She empties the syringe into the cup, puts the lid on, removes the gloves, and starts cleaning things up.

Bernie glances up and adds, "...put some pressure on th' dressing an' hold it up a bit, yeah? Above heart level? Almost forgot 'bout that bit."

Marcus holds his hand over the bandaids. He looks relieved it's done and stares at his own blood with a mix of fascination and revulsion. "Yer welcome," he says, smiling at Bernie. "Wasn't too bad. You sure you got enough to make Jesus weep?"

Bernie grins, lifting the rather warm little container, and regarding the contents critically. "...yup," she decides, "...think there oughta be enough for a couple li'l tests an' two or three full runs. 's perfick." She gathers the stuff together in two groups, some back in the bag, some not. "...c'n I put somea this stuff in your trash? ...an' this," the jar of blood, "in th' fridge?"

Marcus nods easily enough. "Yeah, wrap the needle up good. In fact, we should probably break it up. Leave it. I'll do it. When you coming back for the loot?"

Bernie looks confused for a moment; then comprehension dawns. "I wasn' plannin' on runnin' off jus' yet, 'less y'wan' me to." She reclaims her mug, drinking what's left of her tea, though it's barely lukewarm.

Marcus blinks. "No! No, I didn't mean that. I just meant...how long am I gonna have to be careful and remember that's not barbeque sauce in there."

Bernie laughs. "Mmm, these ribs've such a unique flavour... nah, I'll be takin' it with when I go home. Gotta get goin' on this, get it started. I'm a couple days b'hind, 'causea th' Rite."

Marcus grins at that. "Call me Hanibal Lechter." He gestures toward the fridge, inviting her to put it away if she wants to. He looks a little woozy and decides to stay put himself."

Bernie nods, and pushes to her feet, picking up the jar and limping over to the fridge. The rest, she leaves in place. "Hey," she remarks, flashing a grin at him over her shoulder as she opens the fridge, "...keep th' Earth, by th' way."

Marcus looks at the ball he holds in his hand, smile warming considerably. "thanks," he says, squeazing it again. "I ain't got nothing for you, unless you want more tea." Looking around, he notices--maybe for the first time--the apartment is incredibly sparse.

Bernie closes the fridge and makes her way back across the apartment. "Nahhhh," she decides, taking a seat again, "...you got blood for me, for one thing, yeah? Not a whole lotta people y'c'n borrow a cuppa blood offa. 's not like sugar." She giggles, probably imagining how people would react.

Marcus considers this and nods. "'S true. In fact, you owe me." he winks, showing he's teasing.

"Hey," Bernie teases back, pointing a finger at Marcus, "I'm promotin' ya t' Sona God, what more d'ya want?" She grins, and stretches a bit, shifting into a comfortable position.

Marcus chuckles quietly. "I wonder if there's any profit to be had in that."

Marcus pulls his feet up on the couch. "What other tricks you got planned?"

Bernie nibbles her lower lip, thoughtfully, "...well, I'm still tryin' t' figure out how t' pull off an alien abduction, an' maybe some cattle mutilations, though, y'know, feel kina bad 'bout doin' that t' a innocent cow. Though, I eat 'em, so I guess I shouldn' feel =too= bad 'bout it..."

Marcus considers the alien abduction thing and then just shakes his head, curling up on the couch. "What else has been going on? How's everyone else?"

Bernie thinks about that. "...good, I think. Lotsa figurin' out packs an' shit... dunno 'f y'know Matt? But he jus' Rited too... 'side from that... not a whole lotta new stuff, I guess, 'least I'm not hearin' 'bout it."

Marcus shakes his head. "Heard'bout him. From you. But I ain't never met him," he says aout Matt.

Bernie nods slightly. "...well, y'oughta some time. Lessee. ...no, tha's really 'bout it. Huh. 's kina sad, really." She grins. "Oh, people're tryin' t' de-icky-thing th' sewers..."

Marcus asks, "ain't sewers s'possed to be icky?"

"Yeah, but not th' kina icky =our= sewers are," Bernie replies, making a face. "We got all sortsa bad stuff."

Marcus makes a mental note. "Check, stay outa the sewers." He didn't look like he had any plans to go near them anyways, so he smiles.

Bernie laughs. "Yeah. Cancel th' underground picnic. With th' world famous uniquely flavoured ribs..." She shakes her head, and refills and closes her backpack, then pushes to her feet. "I prolly oughta get goin', I guess. Got hoaxes t' perpetrate an' all. Remind me t' come by an' show ya carrot pie someday, yeah?"

The idea of said picnic makes him pale again, but the offer livens him up. "How about later today? I wouldn't mind the company. I hate bein sick and miserable all alone."

Bernie considers, and nods. "Yeah, a'ight. I'll try t' do that then, maybe bring s'more people by, yeah? Getcha some proper social interaction an' allat." She retrieves the blood from the fridge, checks it to be sure it's well sealed, and slips it very carefully into the smallest pocket of her backpack. The sunglasses come out of her pocket as she limps toward the door.

Marcus grins, curling up on the couch. "Deal. See ya Berns."

Bernie slides the glasses on, and grins again. "Deal. Later, Jesus." With that, she unlocks the door, and is gone.