In the back of the house, Cameron can be heard quite clearly in the kitchen, whistling cheerfully. No particular tune, just a random canon, but it's a happy, perky tune that suggests it doesn't care if there's no reason. The kitchen's a bit of a mess, the evidence of cooking and baking lying about. Gradually the mood seems to improve with the mixing of cake mixture, and the Fianna even starts to sing lightly, "Every morning, there's a halo hanging from the corner of my girl-friend's four-post bed..." It's a pleasantly smooth bass voice, touched with that accent of his, despite the mimic.

The front door opens, and Bernie bounces in, pushing it closed behind her. For a moment, there's a clash of songs, as her soft alto is currently somewhere in the middle of "Why Don't You Do Right," purring along a la Jessica Rabbit; though quiet, she's really =quite= good, though songs like that coming from her might cause a bit of cognitive dissonance. She breaks off as she hears the other song, and grins, heading directly into the kitchen and joining in softly, "I know it's not mine but I'll see if I can use it for the weekend or a one-night stand..." She sets her backpack down on the table, and leans against the counter, flashing a smile at the Fianna, and seeming overfilled with nervous energy. "Hey."

No-one has any right to be as cheerful as this. The Aussie manages to convey the impression of a spring in his step, even though he's not moving. Something intense about him, something happy, being burnt up in the frenetic action of mixing the ingredients in the cooking bowl before him, spatula whipping about madly. His jacket rests over the back of one chair, and it's just as well. There's a few flecks of chocolate mixture adorning his bare, well-toned arms - no doubt more than if he'd been using an electric mixer. When Bernie enters, Cameron looks up and flashes a wide, toothy smile. He probably doesn't know what affect those even, white teeth have on his appearance, or he'd show them more often. "Hey yourself!" he says, cutting off the singing after the brief stereo effect.

Bernie keeps far enough back to avoid the spattering batter, especially given that she's dressed relatively nicely today, and watches the cooking with interest. her eyes scan the visible ingredients on the counter before she asks, "...cake? 's th' 'ccasion? You win th' lottery or somethin'?" A grin to him, teasing a bit. She shifts position often, weight moving from leg to leg, looking rather wired.

The front door creaks open and in steps Helen, looking quite awake for one at eleven thirty at night. "Hey," she greets, leaning against the kitchen's doorway, regarding Bernie and Cameron curiously. "Yeah, he won the lottery. I don't think he's old enough," she muses, and adds, eyes upon the mixing bowl and the chocolate cake mix, "That looks good. Let me lick the bowl when you're done; that stuff's good." She grins crookedly.

Cameron laughs lightly, and runs a finger along the spatula then licking off the mixture happily. "Hello, hello. Just in a good mood, that's all. Nothing quite like baking a cake to keep you sane on the full." He brings his other arm up to his mouth to start licking off bits of chocolate cake-mix that are spattered over the slightly hairy fore-arm.

"If I knew you were comin', I'da baked a cake," Bernie sings, suddenly, and giggles. "Pretty sure you're old enough t' do th' lot'ry 'f y'want, aren'tcha, Cam? Di'n' you turn eighteen a bit ago?" She traipses over to the table and slips her jacket off, dropping it on her backpack and sitting on the edge of the table, feet swinging.

"I was bein' sarcastic," Helen announces, watching Cameron with a sort of amusement in her eyes. Almost eighteen herself, she'd say, but she doesn't.

Cameron shrugs lightly. "Dunno why you'd have to be eighteen to be in the lottery anyway. Besides. It's just money." he says happily, and starts whistling again. Money can't buy me love... The Fianna drags over a square cake tin, layered with grease-proof paper, then carefully tilts the mixing bowl so that the mixture starts to pour evenly into it. Lacing the edges and corners first, to weigh the paper down, then spreading it evenly.

"Gamblin'," Bernie explains. "Onea them evil vices we gotta protect th' kids from, like alcohol, t'bacco, an' sex, until they reach th' magic age of eighteen when poof! they suddenly become r'sponsible an' all..." The sarcasm is less than subtle, but the tone is light.

Fingering her hair, Helen laughs out loud at Bernie. "Yeah, 'cause you're an adult when you're eighteen and otherwise you're a stupid snot-ass kid who wants t' try and be eighteen and don't get away with it and get thrown in the room with bars 'round it," she concurs, smirking briefly.

Cameron murmurs thoughtfully as he pours, and with a sublime smile on his face. Mmmhmm...

Bernie leans back, planting both hands on the tabletop, and glances up at the ceiling, then over to Cameron, contemplatively. "Act'ly if it's with drinkin', you even gotta wait three more years. God forbid y'have a beer." She pauses, considering that, and then pushes off the table and heads toward the pantry, "...but I'm gonna. Woo, watch out! Rebel withoutta cause..."

Helen whistles. "She's a rebel," the ragabash sings of Bernie, voice hitting the right tones at the right time with those three words. "C'n you get me one?" Her voice fades out and fades in with a belated, "Please?"

Cameron's tongue sticks out with concentration as he pours, and finishes; using the spatula to wipe the last dribble out of the bowl. Flipping the now-empty bowl carelessly onto the table, he scoops up the tin and heads for the oven. When he opens it with one hand, a small blast of heat fills the room, but it's a matter of moments before he's dumping the tin onto the rack, and closing the oven. "Mmm? Sure... fridge or cupboard, we've got a few. Take your pick." he says with a happy grin, then heads for the table to clean up his mess.

"Sure," Bernie's voice comes from within the pantry, "...catch." A can of Guinness comes sailing toward the other Ragabash as the Gnawer saunters back out of the alcove, carrying her own. She reclaims her comfortable spot on the table, pulls her legs up crosslegged -- boots just off the edge -- and pops it open, smirking slightly at Cam. "So. That's one hell of a good mood y'got goin' there, Cam-o."

Helen, being ever so suave, grabs the can of beer with her left hand and pops it open; the Fury takes a long gulp. "Indeed," she monotones, and grins crookedly at Cameron. Murmuring sidelong to Bernie, just loud enough for the Fianna to hear, she says, "I think he got laid."

Cameron looks up at the two Ragabi with a wry smile. An attempt to look scandalized and indignant failing through the sheer force of his good humour. "You're not baiting me that way, you two. And /no/, I didn't." The older teen ignores his Elders and continues to clean. He even offers up the bowl and spatula. "Want to lick it clean?"

Bernie tries not to blush at Helen's suggestion, and does a decent job for once, nodding slightly as she takes a drink of her beer. "Mmm," she agrees, as the other girl suddenly realises she's late and scurries off. The Gnawer grins at Cam, teasing, "...so which way =can= I bait you, then? An' ooh, yes please..." She holds out a hand for the spatula.

Cameron shrugs. "Well, that's your job to find out. Don't want you to, though. I'd rather be in good spirits on the full, wouldn't you?" he asks cheerfully, passing the spatula over. "There's the bowl, too, if you want." he adds, and continues to clean. Dusting off flour and wiping down the counter.

"Rather be in good spirits anytime," Bernie replies, adding after a moment, "beats th' cheap stuff, yeah?" She grins, and licks the spatula. "Mm. 's good. Well done. So what's new an' thrillin'?" Her head tilts a bit as she watches him clean.

Cameron grins, and pauses in the cleaning. "Nothing, as far as I know." he says happily, eyes looking thoughtfully up to the heavens in recollection. "Nope." he confirms, and continues putting things away.

Bernie arches a brow, watching him as she cleans off the spatula. After a few moments, she remarks mildly, "Liar."

Cameron's mouth quirks and he grins at her. "Well." he says, admitting the lie. "You're not going to tell anyone if I tell you, right?" He's obviously bursting to tell someone, but he just wants that one little reassurance...

Bernie grins, scraping the sides of the bowl with a fingertip now. "Scout's honour," she replies, "...an' I =was= a Scout, so, y'know, I c'n say that with meanin'. Spill!"

Cameron looks about for a moment, with a stupid grin on his face, and sighs happily. "Summer told me she loves me." he says dreamily. He's like a big puddle of goo, leaning against the counter with a damp cloth to wipe away the spilt ingredients. There's a hopelessly happy expression on his face.

Bernie pauses, eyes widening behind her glasses, and grins slowly. "No shit?" she asks, after a moment, "Oh, kickass! No wonder you're all, like, floaty an' shit. 'grats, an' stuff." She takes a moment to clean the batter off her finger, and adds, curiously, "...so d'you love her?"

Cameron looks off to one side, eyes bright and a crooked, shy smile. "I reckon..." he murmurs in the affirmative. He leans further against the counter, and just sighs happily. "She is just so great. We were talking about what we were going to do with our lives, and stuff, and she got real worried at the thought of me leaving... and, I..." He shrugs. "I guess I just realised that if I was going to go anywhere, I'd want her to come with. And she said she never wanted to leave me, because..." he trails off to look at Bernie. And sighs again. "She's so great."

"That's so..." the girl begins, still grinning, and shakes her head a little, picking up her beer to take a sip. "I mean, wow. That's really cool for y'guys," she continues, the smile going just a tad wistful. "So I guess you guys are, like, officially an item an' all now, right?"

Selfish in his happiness, perhaps, he misses the wistful edge to her smile, and just shrugs in that maddeningly cheerful way. "Don't know. I guess so. I don't know how we're supposed to do this. Just I always think about her... and love having her close. And she feels the same way!" The resultant grin of that surety, that knowledge, is... bright? Deleriously happy? Idiotic? Perhaps all of the above.

Bernie regards her can with a soft, slightly sad smile for a moment, and nods once, the smile back almost to completely sincerely happy for him again. "That's so cool," she repeats. "...lemme know 'f I c'n do things t' help, yeah? Like th' flowers sorta thing, I mean."

Cameron catches the sad smile this time, and his face falls. No, not quite right... changes in texture, perhaps. Another small sigh, this time sad. "I'm sorry." he says a little more quietly, with genuine sympathy. "I didn't want to rub anything in your face... I just wanted to..." he looks a little stuck for words, unable to convey the feeling.

Bernie lifts her chin slightly, shaking her head; the curls bounce. "Nah," she says, with a tiny shrug, the smile remaining sincere, "nothin' t' be sorry 'bout. I mean, ...at th' risk of not bein' real eloquent... 's really cool, an' I'm all thrilled for ya, y'know?" She brandishes the bowl, adding, "AND I got cake batter!"

Cameron searches her eyes for a moment, suspecting deceit under the apparent sincerity, but thinks for a moment. And grudgingly lets it go to smile softly. "Yeah. Cake batter rocks. I think one day, I'm going to mix up some really good batter, and just eat it. Fuck the cake!" His voice brightens as he speaks, and he lets the thought behind it and his residual buzz light up his face. A wink, and he finishes returning various items to the fridge. "Ah well. Now I've got to wait for an hour. Wonder how I'll spend the time?" he muses thoughtfully, already heading towards the sink to wash his hands and arms.

"Long's that's not some kina American Pie sorta concept there..." Bernie remarks dryly, with only a hint of a blush; apparently she's getting a little better about that. She scoops up another fingerfull, and offers the bowl over toward the Fianna, so he can have some too if he wants. "Well. So what're th' options, time-spendin'-wise?"

Cameron gives a small, cheerful shake of the head and a smile to her offer of the bowl, and wipes his hands on a tea-towel before heading over to his jacket; lying on the back of a chair. Slipping it on, and shrugging about to get comfortable, he mutters, "Beats me. Guess I'll just sit around and think." He starts to reach into his pocket almost unconsciously.

Bernie sings, still quiet as before, "'LeFou, I'm afraid I'm been thinking...' 'A dangerous pasttime!' 'I know...'" She grins, and shrugs, settling the bowl in her lap for now; luckily there's no batter on the outside of the bowl. "Nah, I'm all in favoura thinkin'. People don't do it nearly 'nough, overall, yeah?" She takes another sip of her Guinness. "So, not like I figure anythin' else 'll show up on your radar right now, but anythin' else new an' int'restin' 'round here?"

Cameron pulls his sketchpad from his pocket, and loosely flops it onto the counter. Reaching for a pencil in the other pocket. There's quite a few designs on the page, small doodles, or just exercises in the human face. Guess whose... One image shines out, though, the use of light and tone so that it's meant to. A full facial sketch, easily recognisable as Summer, even from this distance. He looks up into his head again, thoughtful, and murmurs, "Mmm... nope?" as he pulls the pencil out, then just starts lightly dusting the page with it. Almost not touching the paper with the graphite at all.

"Too bad," Bernie replies, taking a final scoop of the batter and setting the bowl aside. She leans in a bit to see the sketch pad, and half-smiles again. "You really do draw well, y'know? Talent, an' all. Geez." A shake of the head, and she reclaims the can on beer, to work on that, now. "Mm. New things. Lessee. Well, y'met th' cub already. Oh," she grins, "an' I went with Yi t' get Matt an actual bed; we were gonna do that as a suprise while he was Ritin', so it'd be there when he got back? Only he was too quick, so we jus' did it th' other day instead. Still worked out well." She eyes the picture again, "...how d'you do that from memory?"

Cameron smiles sheepishly as he dusts the girl's hair with a few extra shades of light and dark, filling it in slowly. He's listening, really! "Uh..." he manages, then looks up. "She's got a really recognisable face?" he suggests, then goes back to that light dusting of the page with the soft graphite. There's something about the time he takes to do it... it's like a caress on the page, almost.

Bernie decides that conversation may not actually be possibly. Ah well. "Mm, s'pose," she replies, and leans over, moving her coat to open her backpack and pull out her own notebook and pencil, flipping to a half-empty page, with maybe ten lines on it, none of which go further than halfway across the page, and copious doodles and very short words scribbled in the margins. Well, one assumes words; everything that isn't a doodle is in what looks a lot like greek. She taps the tip of the pen lightly on the page, taking a sip of her drink.

Cameron sits there drawing for a little while, and sighing happily. Sickeningly so. He doesn't say much.

Gradually, as Bernie very, very slowly writes something out on the page, she, in contrast, looks less and less happy. Not miserable, nor even close, really, but thoughtful, with an edge of the wistfulness returning. She absently sips every so often, the can otherwise sitting beside her.

Cameron studies the page carefully, adding details here and there with time-consuming, loving care. For a moment he just sits, staring at the likeness with a faraway look in his eyes. Soft and warm. With Bernie so quiet, it's as if Summer were actually in the room, pushing his awareness of others out the door.

They're alone together in more ways than one; Bernie's similarly distracted by what she's writing at the moment, working in fits and spurts. Like the other text on the page, whatever she's writing now is comprised mostly of short lines, all in that weird greek-like printing. She finishes the Guinness, pushes the can aside where she won't grab it again.

Cameron does come around, though. Just a quick glance Bernie's way for whatever reason, and he notices the absence of what /should/ be, to his view of the world, an intensely happy smile. He twists his mouth and gives Bernie a nod. "Hey."

Bernie glances up looking, fleetingly, as if she's just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar or something, eyes startled behind the lenses. Relaxing, she asks, "Mm?"

Cameron spends another brief moment staring at the page, then reluctantly folds it back over, and stuffs the pad into his jacket pocket. Shifting away from the counter, he stuffs both hands into his front pockets and strolls over to her. "So. What're you doing?" he asks with a small smile. Significantly subdued.

"Ohhh..." Bernie starts, glancing back down to the page, "...nothin'. Just scribblin', nothin' important. Y'know." In a movement that doesn't seem quite intentional, one of her hands comes to rest on the page, obscuring a good portion of the coded text.

Cameron tilts his head with a growing smile as he approaches. "You know... my little brother's a quiet one. A bit geeky. Only a touch more intelligent than me, perhaps. It's difficult to tell when both consistently get A's in class. Still." The Aussie eyes Bernie with a glint in his eye that transforms his deliriously happy energy into a spot of shrewdness. "He kept a a journal of sorts, bit like that." A brief gesture to the book. "Except his code looked a little more like nordic runes. Still. Easy enough to figure out if you've got a good eye and some time." The Fianna grins at Bernie. "Journal? Poetry?"

"An' if y'don't mind gettin' your =ass= kicked," the girl replies in a tone that strongly implies he would, one way or another, if he tried it. The book gets pulled in a bit closer to her chest, protectively. "'s not a journal. As such. 's just my notebook." She sighs, then, a slight blush rising, and grudgingly admits, as if it's physically painful to confess, "but yeah. Poetry. 'mong other things."

Cameron blinks a little at the vehemence, but decides to keep smiling anyway. "Mmm." he looks a little thoughtful. "Share some?" he asks - tentatively hopeful.

Bernie winces, with a brief look of horror. "God, no. 's bad enough I =write= th' shit without inflictin' it on anyone else..." She shakes her head, shivering slightly. "You really don' want me to. I vividly r'member everyone sharin' theirs in English Freshman year. An' I stuck t' silly topics 'cause I vowed there was no way I was gonna be so... self-centered an' melodramatic an' lacking in perspective an' inflict it on helpless listeners. Maudlin whining and bitching with no sense of meter or scansion..." She shudders. "You don't wanna subject yourself to it."

Cameron grins at her vivid description, sitting himself down next to her. "Yeah, but why'd you write it then? It's you isn't it? Your thoughts? Feelings?" His mouth twists a little, and he reaches for the sketchpad in his inner pocket. Pulling it out, he dumps it on the table. "I suck with words most of the time. I need to think about how something's going to be phrased, capture all the subtle nuances of each word I use, scrambling madly through a vocabulary that often doesn't seem big enough for what I need to express." He inclines his head at the pad. "So I do this. Which is... a bit different. I can hide my message like you can, but it doesn't preserve it for me, then."

"I guess..." Bernie agrees dubiously, "but it's so.... embarrassing. Cliche. Every teenage girl in th' freakin' world writes so-called poetry, an' it ALL SUCKS. We should prolly be required by law t' burn anything we write b'fore th' agea, I dunno, twenny or somethin'." She glances over at the notebook, "...that's =diff'rent=. It's not a damn cliche. An' you're =good=." She glances back at her book. "I mean... 'f someone's gonna see you naked, 's bad 'nough as it is without what they see bein' not only ugly but ugly in a boring, trite kina way, too." She blushes suddenly and specifies, almost certainly unnecessarily, "...metaphor."

Cameron grins and gives her shoulder a brief prod. "You're not every teenage girl in the world. You're different. Very different. And besides that, you're smart." A moment's thought, and Cameron flips open the sketchbook. "See how skinny this thing is? That's from ripped out pages. I only keep the stuff that means anything to me. And it's not all good." He points to a fairly out of proportion crinos. It's obviously been drawn shakily, but the texture and toning looks about right. It's grossly ill-proportioned though, and looks hideously evil. It hovers, dripping blood, over an unfinished bit of sketch. The outline's there though. Drawing the eye in it's sparseness, lack of detail. The mangled corpse of a girl. While undefined, it's still obvious that she probably has a beautiful face, and short hair. Small, and lean. And very dead eyes. They've been worked on, but the rest is like... he was afraid to finish it. There's rubbed out sections all over the sketch, and a smudge or two. "S'me." he says quietly. "Ugly. And not drawn very well. Know why I kept it? Meant something to me. S'not intended to mean anything to anyone else, but if I'd finished it, and they knew what I looked like in the war-form... they'd know, too. There's my point. S'not meant to be seen, but..." He leans back and makes a dismissive gesture that encompasses the two of them, and the room. "You've seen it."

Bernie nods slightly, looking the sketch over pensively for several seconds. She chews a little on her lower lip, turning her attention to her own notebook again, and tipping it away from her chest as she glances down at it. "...I could show you one from a couple months 'go, maybe. If you wan'ed," she offers, hesitantly.

Cameron looks at her measuringly for a few moments, inclining his head in the affirmative. "Spill your guts."

Bernie flips a few pages, arriving at the one she wants, and pausing. her eyes scan the text, and she opens her mouth, but instead of anything coming out, she just flushes, and shakes her head. Glancing over the page again, she yanks a blank sheet out of the back of the book, and begins to write on it. In English, apparently.

Cameron frowns a little. "Hey! No cheating!" he mutters.

"Not cheatin'," Bernie mutters, and the letters do seem to come too swiftly from the pen for her to be doing anything other than translating. She flips the notebook shut, and eyes the result... probably never having looked at it in the proper alphabet before. A soft sigh, and she hands it over, without looking. The paper reads, in surprisingly neat printing, given the speed:

Like all wounds
(I suppose)
it will heal
in time;
the knife-sharp pain
of the raw edges
will cease to burn
will deaden
to a dull ache
to a blessed numbness
until the edges
knit
you can barely see the scar
and it only acts up
when it rains

Cameron takes the paper and reads it through. And becomes very still. Some time passes where it becomes obvious that he /must/ have read it by now (no-one could be that slow a reader!), but he still just looks. Mouth twisting slightly, and wetting his lips, he still just looks. Silence hangs in the air.

Bernie runs a hand through her curls, adjusts her glasses, flips through a few pages in her book, slowly, reading things over, as the silence extends. She seems about to say something, after the pause begins to be uncomfortably long, but changes her mind, reaching over to pick up, wiggle, and put back down the empty can on the table.

Cameron looks up eventually, a vague, sombre thoughtfulness in his eyes. "This is about you and Matt?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the piece of paper.

For once the particularly unruly curl isn't acting up; Bernie moves to push it behind her ear anyway. "Yeah," she replies softly, still not looking. "'s from mid-January." As if that would explain anything, particularly to someone who wasn't around at the time.

Cameron nods quietly. "It's good. Cuts deep when you know what it's about. Most people wouldn't get it, though." he says after a time. He wets his lips, looking at the sheet of paper again. "What happened in mid-January?"

Bernie sighs a little. "...was sorta early January when we... I dunno... kina... got together, I guess." The fingers slide through the curls again, as she finds herself having trouble coming up with a proper explanation, the right words. "..anyway. So we were kind of together for... not all that long, really. A week. A bit more. And then he... we... he decided we really had t' just be friends. Because, what kind of future could we have anyway? An' it was better to just... stop there. 'cause it would only hurt more later otherwise," she says very quietly, and pauses, jaw clenching a second, before swallowing. Almost inaudible, "...and I didn't want to... but I knew he was prolly right... so we broke up, I guess..." Another breath, and she sounds closer to normal as she continues, "...that was mid-January."

Cameron sighs sympathetically. "And now you're living together, and, it looks like, back together stronger than ever." His face shows an expression of hopelessness, and pity. "And walking a /very/ dangerous line." He sighs again, then slides the paper back over to her. "What'd you just start writing now?" he asks quietly. Sombre now.

Bernie takes the paper, looking down at it as she folds it in half, then half again, then half again... running her nails along the edges to crease them. "We tried," she whispers helplessly, "...we tried so hard..." Her eyes close a moment, and she swallows, jaw tightening with, apparently, determination. "What I just wrote..." The folded paper finds its way into her pants pocket, and she reopens the notebook, glancing at the page she'd been working on. "...it's not done. And I... don't even know 'f it's right. 'f it's what I mean t' say."

Cameron nods as he stands up, and moves over to stand behind the girl. His hands come down onto her shoulders, and neck, and start to gently work at the muscles there. Easing into a gentle massage. "Maybe. Flick the next two pages of the pad, though, if you need some reassurance." he says quietly, as his hands continue to gently knead at her shoulders.

Bernie tenses up at the touch at first -- tenses more, perhaps, as she wasn't exactly a wonder of Zen calm to start with -- but then relaxes a bit, and nods once. A hand reaches out, flicking the pages as instructed.

Cameron keeps his touch light and easy, working the stress out of her muscles more through the attrition of a soft, deft touch, than any forcefulness. He peers over her shoulder to look at his pad as she flicks the pages. There's only one sketch there, taking up most of the pad. And it's... somehow wrong, somehow right. As a piece. In intricate detail, a woman is drawn, from behind. She's wrapped around someone, leaning on them, her head in their chest. Her curves mingle with the harshness of her jacket, and the pencil strokes vary to convey somehow, the tight black PVC jeans, combat boots, mixing with a hard leather jacket. The jacket covered in pieces of circuit-board. The short-haired woman's skin is light, perfect, and there's something beautiful about the graceful line of her jaw, meeting with her neck, and extending to her ear. It manages to convey beauty and vulnerability through her harsh exterior. The posture speaking of helplessness and dependency. But the rest of the sketch is all wrong. Clashing terribly. The figure she's holding... is Cameron. Probably. There's something about the image that doesn't gel. The lines are all hard, and wrong. He's out of proportion again. It's like he was fighting the shape as he drew it. It's unfinished. only a few bits of shading here and there. A little tone on his face, and that's it. Eyes stare blankly into space. "I had a go at it. Didn't feel right in my head." he murmurs. "Keep it for that reason, I guess. Real life feels the same way."

Bernie studies the image awhile, partly deciding whether she recognizes the woman, partly just... thinking. "...I wrote down two things," she says, eventually. "One of them wasn't mine. Lyrics..."

Cameron nods, murmuring an encouraging, "Mmhmm.." He continues to massage her shoulders and neck, and as he starts to feel a little of an effect, just eases the touch to a gentle rub. "Just cause someone's already written it doesn't make it any less relevant to you." he adds.

Bernie nibbles her lower lip lightly. She doesn't have to check the page for this one, knowing the words already, and swallows to clear her throat before singing softly, "I'd sacrifice anything, come what might / for the sake of having you near / in spite of a warning voice that comes in the night / and repeats and repeats in my ear, / 'Don't you know, little fool / you never can win? / Use your mentality / wake up to reality.' / But each time that I do / just the thought of you / makes me stop before I begin..." She trails off there, and it feels as if there's a next line that ought to be there, like it isn't quite the end of the section, but she doesn't sing it. Possibly merely because she didn't write that part down. "...Cole Porter," she says.

Cameron continues to rub her shoulders gently and carefully, and tilts his head behind her. "The rest." he says softly, but almost commandingly. Understanding, though.

"Of the song?" Bernie asks, "..or you mean, what else I wrote?" She resettles her glasses again.

Cameron mutters. "Whatever you left out." His voice isn't harsh, but it's a little firm. He wants to know if there's something he's not being told.

Bernie sighs and opens the notebook again. "I di'n' write down th' resta th' song," she says, "...just that bit. Th' rest..." She trails off, shaking her head. "It's... I'm just... not sure it's what I mean yet," she repeats. A hint of a smile, and dryly, "I probably oughta say no jus' t' make sure y'don't get useta tellin' me t' do things." Though it's fairly clear she doesn't mean it.

Cameron smiles too, hands still massaging her lightly. "Maybe. But you know I only do it when it's important." he says, quietly amused. "Maybe you should just say stuff without being sure what you mean? That's how you solidify thought or opinions. By putting it together to explain to someone else. Or by pouring it out in a poem or a drawing and watching it. Judging it."

Bernie nods a bit. "'s what I was doing. I just... didn't judge it yet." She glances it over again, and adds, in a tone of some surprise, "...but I think maybe it's finished after all. Might need editing. Or burning. But." Another sigh, this one resigned. "'kay. So." A breath, and she starts in, managing to read it aloud this time, though very softly:

"She said
it was so romantic
'like Gambit and Rogue
or Romeo and Juliet'
I said
I hoped not;
Romeo and Juliet died.
And it was their fault
for being dumb.
Which it was;
all they had to do was
run off together,
forget the death part,
and there you go.
And I think,
what if we ran off?
Found a place no one cared
how much we cared
for each other?
But I know
we could never escape
ourselves."

Done, she closes the notebook, though she doesn't look up from it. "That's it."

Cameron's hands stop moving as she reads it out. And for a bit longer, after. Eventually they slowly start moving again, tenderly rubbing away at least some of the tension. "Yep." he says, thoughtfully. "S'about right." A hint of wistfulness in his tone. "Don't go Romeo and Julieting yourselves on me though, Berns. You guys are too good for that."

Bernie half-smiles, not that is can be seen from that angle, but it perhaps is evident in her tone, "...heh. Not likely. 'm serious 'bout them bein' idiots. Play always bugged me, for that anna couple other reasons..." She shakes her head, another soft sigh escaping. "I dunno."

Cameron also makes a useless gesture in the form of slow nodding. "Yeah." Another pause, and he says quietly, "I'm not one for reassuring words, or putting them together the right way, on the spot. But... I know a bit about pain. Love, and that. When it's not enough, and you get..." he pauses, and his hands do, too. A brief swallow, and he continues. "Separated, I guess." he manages. "Death, or the litany. They're both the same, I guess." he murmurs more quietly. Realizing he's slipping, he speaks a little more loudly, now. "So... s'cool. Don't haveta worry about hiding anything from me. If you need anything... You know." It's awkward, with his wording, but the feeling is there. He's there for her. And understands, or can try to.

"....Dayenu," Bernie murmurs, seemingly to herself, a thought striking her. "...Thank you," she says, next, a bit louder and sincere, if hesitant, this one directed to the Fianna. Just those two words, simply that and nothing more.

Cameron nods, and lifts one hand to her cheek. A quick, smooth rub, and two gentle pats, then he's pulling away and closing up his sketchpad. "Check on the oven." he murmurs neutrally, keeping his face turned away from her, mostly. It doesn't look too unnatural. Really.

Bernie nods. "...wouldn't want th' cake t' burn," she agrees, unfolding her legs so they dangle over the edge of the table again. She makes a quick note in her book before returning it to her backpack, zipping the bag closed. "...how's it look?"

Cameron opens the oven up, and another gust of heat fills the kitchen briefly. He prods it with a fork. "Not done." he grunts, and closes the oven up again. A swallow and possibly wiping his brow with his jacket sleeve, then he turns around with a very sombre expression on his face. Nothing at all like his good mood from before. He stalks quietly towards his sketchbook and scoops it up, replacing it in his jacket.

Bernie watches Cameron quietly as he stalks, and looks a bit guilty. "Sorry," she says, after a bit. "Di'n' mean t' spoil your mood..." She gives him a rather weak smile. "Should do somethin' t' fix it, or somethin'..."

Cameron looks vaguely puzzled, but not at anything she's said. Just his own thoughts. "Nah. It's probably appropriate. Someone ... some things I hadn't thought about. Lettin' myself get caught up... When, yeah. Should think properly a little." he murmurs, folding his arms. "No, it's all good, Berns."

Bernie nods slightly in response. "...A'ight," she replies. "I mean, like I said. Thinkin', good habit. I try t' stay in it m'self. Us'ly do pretty decently..." The smile this time is a bit stronger, though not up to her usual levels.

Cambot smiles a little in response. "Nah. Gotta 'do things', too. Can't be sitting around thinking all the time so nothing happens." He shrugs lightly, and turns to fetch a coke from the fridge. "Won't be too long now." he muses.

Bernie nods. "Yeah... think =b'fore= doin', not insteada. Won't be too long 'til what?" she queries, "...and toss me somethin' t' drink too?"

Cambot gestures at the oven with a thumb. "Til the cake's done." he grunts with a small smile, and heads for the fridge. "What's your poison?"

Bernie shrugs amiably. "Whatever. Somethin' that goes well with cake, 'f I get t' try it. Y'know. 'less it's all reserved for someone," she adds, teasing.

The Fianna blushes a little. "Well, I didn't make it for anyone specific, so yeah. You can have some." He grins. "But she likes you, anyway, she'd let you have some. She'd let you have some even if she didn't know you, actually... she's so generous..." Lost in his own little world, that boy.

That gets a giggle out of her. "'s nice t' have such lovely people litterin' th' world, huh?" She looks over toward the fridge, trying to see what options there are. It doesn't work too well. The Gnawer pulls her knees up toward her chest, the merest sliver of her soles teetering on the very edge of the table. "So tell me all th' wunnerful things 'bout her..."

Cambot grins and pulls out a bottle of milk. "Milk and chocolate cake. Heaven on Earth." he says laughingly, quickly regaining his good mood. "Nah. I only got soppy shit to say about her. Forget it." he says with a hint of blush, pulling down a glass to pour milk into for Bernie.

"Th' horror," Bernie comments dryly, "...ooh! Milk an' cake. Yeah, midnight snacka champions... an' honestly, I'm a'ight with you bein' soppy, 'f y' feel th' need. So."

Cameron chuckles ruefully. "Uh... yeah. I'd rather not. Poetry, at least, you can correct and think about before someone hears it." The blush remains, and he takes the glass of milk over to Bernie. "Cake's not done yet, but won't be long. Have to let it cool, though. Think I'll whip up some icing, maybe." A sudden worried expression. "Buggered if I can remember how... hot water, milk icing sugar and cocoa? Fuck." he mutters, thinking as he starts to pull ingredients out onto the nice clean counter.

Bernie nods. "Yeah, 'bouta cuppa sugar, like four tablespoonsa choc'late or cocoa, three tablespoonsa milk, an' onea water.... 's th' easiest one, I think. Though, also there's butter icing, 's richer..."

The Fianna slaps his forehead. "Duh." he mutters, and pulls out a small, ceramic mixing bowl. "Yeah, I got it now... I know what I'm doin'..." he says, more reassuring himself, than her.

Bernie sips the milk, and extends her legs again, stretching, then hops down off the tabletop and paces a little, getting the blood flowing properly in her legs again. "So, you wanna hand with anythin'?"

Cameron tilts his head, considering for a moment, and then jerks his thumb back at the oven. "Dunno. Watch that for me? I like my cakes slightly moist and warm, best. Not dry and with a burnt taste." He grins as he says it, and starts mixing ingredients into the bowl. He stops briefly as he remembers his jacket, which he slips out of and tosses over the back of a chair.

Bernie leans against the table and watches the cake exaggeratedly, as if it might do something untoward if not closely monitored at all times. Her brow furrows a bit as she squints at it suspiciously.

Cameron turns around to watch her watching the cake, and rolls his eyes before turning back to the mixing. "Maybe poke it with a fork and see if it pushes back, once in a while." he adds, wryly.

Bernie's eyes open far too wide. "Pushes BACK?" she queries, "what kina cake're you =makin'=?" She grins, and gets a fork and a pot holder, checking the cake for doneness. Not quite ready, but close.

Cameron nearly giggles as he whips up the icing. "Get a cooling tray or something to put on the stove, yeah? I'll be ready to ice it pretty soon."

Bernie gets a plate from the cupboard as well as a cooling rack. The reason becomes clear as the next test shows a cake of doneness -- she turns the cake out onto the plate, removes the paper that's lightly stuck to it, and then flips that onto the cooling rack so it cools the right way up. The plate, she sets aside, probably to put the cake on again once it's cool. "Houston, we have cake," she declares.

Cambot flicks his head back to have a look, and mutters, "Gah. Not ready after all." He whips a little faster, and adds a little more water, to make it a touch runnier. "Okay, /now/ I'm ready." he says, bringing the bowl over. "Hot. All hot. Ow." he murmurs with a smile.

Bernie steps aside, gesturing toward the cooling cake like Vanna White displaying the washer/dryer the contestant might win. "Go to it, then... 'less y'wanna let it finish coolin' completely, first..."

Cameron gives a satisfied smile as he lifts the spoon out of the bowl. "Better get it before this thickens." He leans over, and starts to lay it out with the spoon. Using the flat of it to try and spread, while scooping out more. "Fucking mess." A grin on his face.

"Long's it tastes good, who cares? Not goin' for th' gold medal in presentation, right?" The Gnawer leans back against the table, staying out of the way, but watching. After a moment's thought, she goes to get a couple plates, forks, and a knife to cut the cake once it's iced.

Cameron chews his lip for a moment. "Well... maybe." he admits. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth in concentration as he works. He pulls his hand back, and says "Knife." in the manner of a surgeon asking for a scalpel.

Bernie slaps the knife into the offered hand in the appropriate manner, replying, "Knife."

He takes it, and sticks the spoon into his mouth as he starts to scoop up the icing running over the edges where it shouldn't. He pays a lot of attention to the rapidly-thickening icing, and soon it starts to smooth out. Nice, and even.

"Beautiful," Bernie declares admiringly, "a worka art. Now, let's destroy it. I'm starved. An' I prolly oughta be startin' th' walk back t' town, soon, alas..."

Cameron laughs, and sticks the knife into the middle. Steam shoots out, scalding him nicely, and he mutters under his breath about the pain, quickly pulling the knife back. "Wait a bit." he suggests, a little sourly.

Bernie tuts. "Naughty cake..." She gets two pancake turners from a drawer, and slides in to scoop the cake up with then and deposit it on the plate. As long as they're waiting anyway.

The Fianna twists his mouth ruefully and runs his hand under cold water at the sink for a while, watching the steaming cake. "Idiot. Every single time I cook anything, without fail, I will burn myself. I'm sure of it. Eggs are the only exception."

Bernie grins, though she looks sympathetic. "Well, 'least you're consistent.... an' heal fast. Maybe you oughta cook in gloves!" She giggles, and blushes a bit. "Coverage is good. This one time, like two years ago, my whole family went away for mosta a weekend, t' see family? Except my brother Clarence had just gotta job, an' he hadda work that weekend, so he stayed home. An' we come home, an' he's all lyin' 'round groanin' in pain, 'cause that mornin' he'd d'cided t' boil some eggs for breakfast, only he di'n' bother t' put any clothes on first, since no one was 'round, an' he managed t' spill th' pot of hot water all over his groin..." She snickers a little. "He r'covered, though. Or 'least he 'ventually quit bitchin' 'bout it."

Cameron's mouth drops open and his eyes squeeze shut in sympathy. "Ahhhhahahaow." he drawls out. "Baaaad. Paaain." he adds. "Ooh, have some sympathy, girl. That's like, /serious/ trauma."

Bernie snickers some more. "Oh, I do," she assures him, though the laughter doesn't exactly boost the sincerity level, "...but it's still funny. Lola was friends with his girlfriend then, an' she said she was totally pissed off at him about it, which, on th' one hand, is kina more'n I ever wan'ed t' know, ='specially= then, but on th' other hand, was pretty funny too..." She glances at her now empty glass of milk, heading toward the fridge for a refill.

Cameron laughs a little in between wincing with imagined pain. "Gawd. I wonder if Summ..." he trails off. "Ahyeah. Hmm. We'll see." he mutters to himself.

Bernie blushes a bit, still giggling. "Just don't cook in th' nude an' be careful cookin' clothed an' it won't be an issue, I'm sure," she remarks, shaking her head. Another glass of milk is poured, and she glances over to see how Cam's glass is doing before putting the carton away.

Cameron blushes intensely now. "We've never done anything like that." he says firmly, and moves over to cut into the cake again. Determined.

Bernie blushes harder as well, closing the fridge back up. "Well, I wasn' sayin' y'were, or anythin'. I mean... no hurry, right?" She takes a drink of the milk. "Um. So, cake behavin' now?"

Cameron slices into the cake, and it's hot, but the steam is free, and it's not baking itself with its own heat anymore. "We should have ice-cream with this, you know? Hot cake and ice-cream. And chocolate syrup. There are very few things in the world any better than that. But only a little ice-cream, of course..." He avoids the previous topic, and concentrates on slicing up the cake.

For some reason, the reply only seems to increase Bernie's blush, and she blinks, pausing a moment as she sips the milk. She swallows, then, and nods, "...yeah, def'nitely. I'll see 'f we got any." The glass is set on the table, and she disappears back into the fridge and freezer, hunting down the ice cream and syrup.

Cameron puts away the two flat plates, and pulls out two bowls instead. "Yep. Good stuff." he murmurs to himself, and moves them over to the cake. Using the knife to try and lever a piece into each bowl, the cake crumbling a little with its moistness.

Bernie sets the ice cream and syrup bottle on the table, pausing as something catches her eye. "Oooh! Whipped cream, too. We got th' works!" She pulls it out, closing the door, and looking much less pink as she's revealed again.

Cameron stares at the whipped cream, numbly. "I'll just have... ice-cream." he says semi-cheerfully, giving the bowl an odd look. Maybe he's wondering whether it's off or not.

Bernie pauses, noticing the expression. "...what, y'don't like whipped cream? Or's it been in there a while or somethin'?" She takes her plate, and starts with the ice cream, serving up a nice dollop of it and holding her hand out for the other plate to serve him some as well.

Cameron eyes the bowl of cream. "N-nooo, just lost the taste for it. Just a little ice-cream'll be fine, thanks." He smiles weakly and looks a little pale. Off, alright.

Bernie arches a brow slightly. "Mmmkay...." she replies, scooping a good portion of ice cream atop Cam's cake, and offering the syrup. "You eat too mucha it sometime an' get sick?" She puts the ice cream back in the freezer; can't let it melt.

Cameron accepts the syrup gratefully, and just nods. "Maybe. Haven't had it in a while, perhaps. Er, I mean... enjoyed, er. It's... yeah. It makes me sick." he manages weakly. "Sickly little me." he adds.

"Too bad," Bernie replies, taking the syrup next and applying some, then a spoonful of the cream atop it all. Mmm. The toppings return to the fridge, before she sits, wielding her spoon. "...'course I'll blame you 'f this isn't as good as it looks, y'know."

Cameron laughs a little. Well, makes an attempt at it, anyway. "Yeah. And I'll blame /you/ for distracting me." That thought gives him a little more cheer, a cheeky grin appearing. "So, we'll be even." he dips his spoon and takes a mouthful.

Bernie fixes the cub with a steely gaze, but really can't keep it up for more than a moment before grinning and taking a bite of the dessert. "....a'ight," she says as gruffly as she can manage once she's swallowed and washed the bite down with some milk, "you're in luck, this time. Good cake."

Cameron throws his head back and laughs, after he's swallowed his. "Bern, I love you, you know that, but... you can't do tough. It's really not your style. Just manipulate people or something." he laughs some more and enjoys the dessert.

Bernie giggles. "Damn," she replies mildly. "...how 'bout 'f I got some tats an' piercin's, an' maybe a bike?" She gives him an exaggerated, squinty-eyed glare, and adds, "Grrrrr!" by way of illustration. Sort of. Then she grins again, and goes back to eating. "An' I'll have y'know I'm th' terror of th' preschool set. Two year olds hide under tables when I so much 's read 'em a story. Fear my might!" Another giggle.

Cameron stares at her for a few moments, then bursts into laughter again, forced to put down his spoon for a moment. "Oh God, Bern... or you could just slay 'em with the comedy routine." He gives her an amused look, combined with a wry half-smile.

"Thank ya, thank ya, I'm here all week," Bernie replies, grinning, and goes back to eating her cake in earnest. A refill on milk is needed; this time she just leaves it on the table, just in case. "I don' think I c'n be gen'rally intimidatin' unless I'm really pissed, an' even then 's prolly pretty hit or miss. Hmm."

Cameron smiles and nods. "Never been able to intimidate folks too easily myself, either." he adds cheerfully. Taking another mouthful, he muses. "Nah. I just had big friends. That's it." he laughs a little at himself, some joke she won't get. "Yeah. Big scary friends, and wholesome little 'ol Whitey, me." he giggles some more.

Bernie nods a little, not asking, and enjoys the dessert. "Alas. Cursed t' be nice an' personable an' stuff. Th' horror. Th' humanity of it all. No pun intended."

Cameron snickers. "Yes. Nice and personable." He seems to find the idea incredibly funny, along with his wholesomeness. In fact he takes a moment to put his spoon down and have another really good laugh. Wiping a tear out of his eye, he looks across the table at Bernie with a genuinely amused, but wry expression on his face. "You know, if you'd told me last year that one year to the day I'd find myself in the US, living in a sort of commune near the woods, in love with a innocent young hippie child and baking a cake and sharing it with a female friend who's younger but superior... you know what I'd have said?" He waits expectantly.

Bernie considers this for a few moments, tilting her head as she sips the milk and regards her companion. "Hmm. Lessee. 'You're insane,' or some variation on th' theme?" she suggests, taking another bite of the rapidly disappearing dessert.

Cameron mocks looking disappointed through what is clearly amusement. "Coulda done better, Bernie. No, probably, 'He's off his nut. Get his wallet!'" The Fianna uses an extremely coarse Australian accent, ocker in the extreme, and bursts into a fit of the giggles when he's said it.

Bernie laughs. "Y'know, that was my second guess, act'ly... though I woulda phrased it diff'rently. Bein' a Yank an' all." The grin remains, and she finishes off the snack, pushing the bowl slightly away for now.

Cameron hoes into the remains of his heartily, giving Bernie a quick wink. "Well, you'd be closer to having me pegged than some, then." he says cheerily through a mouthful of cake and ice cream.

Bernie leans back in her chair, sipping the remains of her milk, and shrugs cheerfully. "I'm not, like, th' world's =most= observant person 'r anythin', but I'm good at patterns an' c'nnections an' shit... an' mosta us, seems like, we weren't 'zactly model citizens in our callow youth," she remarks, the last bit in particular in an airily pedantic tone.

Cameron chuckles on his mouthful and swallows. "Nono, I never got caught, see. I don't count." he giggles some more. "No, really, you're looking at a soppy White Boy, here. Always brushed my teeth and polite to women." He face falls briefly for a moment as his words rebound on him, but he soon cheers up a little and continues eating. "It's probably a Garou thing. Insert Garou-gene, here... combine with human DNA... whoha, we have a prechange cub. With a 'fuckup' gene the byproduct of the mixing."

"I =alllllmost= never got caught," Bernie responds, with a rather satisfied grin that turns a bit sheepish, "...'cept for fightin'. Which was kina hard not to 'cause th' jerks kept pickin' th' fights in th' middlea th' quads at school, but hey, they weren't too bright." Another shrug, "...but yeah, always brushed my teeth an' p'lite t' my elders, or I woulda gotten in a lot more trouble for, for 'zample, puttin' that chunka sodium in th' water fountain..." She pauses, grinning at the memory, "damn, it looked cool, though."

Cameron grins at her. "My senior chem teacher and I were pretty close. She tooks me out to a cliff at night one time. Wanted to show me something."' He waves his spoon in the air idly. "Yo think sodium in water's good... geezus. You should see nearly a kilo of waste cesium thrown into the ocean at night." He smiles wistfully at the memory. "She let me hurl it as far as I could into the sea, off this cliff. The explosion was amazing. Fireworks for ages."

Bernie's eyes widen behind her glasses. "...ohhhh, I wish I coulda seen that..." She half-smiles, "I only got caught on that one 'cause I di'n' know I was th' only student who had access t' that particular cupboard... oops." She runs a hand through her curls, and now she looks slightly wistful too, "...I di'n' get t' do senior year. Jus' halfa sophomore. I gotta r'member t' sign up t' take th' GED so I c'n apply t' th' college here for next s'mester..."

Cameron shrugs. "Don't know if I'm actually going to go to College. I was thinking... well. Life's a lot shorter now than I thought it was going to be. I might as well just get a job. I /do/ have a decent intellect, and can work hard..." he muses.

Bernie half-smiles. "Yeah, I was thinkin' job, also. Somethin', y'know? I don' wanna just be all... spongey, livin' off other people alla time. But I'm =doin'= college. I was always s'posta be th' first one in my fam'ly t' go, an' damed 'f I'm not gonna, just 'cause Ya Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry." Somehow that comes out sounding capitalized.

Cameron waves a hand dismissively as he shovels more cake and ice-cream into his mouth. "Feh. Forget the ragey stuff. I know how to keep my cool. I'm thinking... like, I'm going to die soon, why waste the few years I have on learning stuff I'll only be able to use for such a short time."

"'s not what I meant," Bernie replies, shaking her head a bit, "I don't blow up. Hell, I'm calmer'n I was =b'fore= I changed... but goin' t' college was my PLAN, an' I don't see why I should hafta give up on it. Thassall. AN' learnin' things is never a waste. =Never=." Emphatic on that point.

Cameron smiles slightly. "Well, actually... yeah. I guess you're right." He chews thoughtfully, a slightly sheepish expression on his face at her rebuttal. "Never say die and all that. Hell. I don't know any old Garou, but my life plans haven't actually extended beyond thirty, anyway. Maybe I will make it that far, if I don't do anything stupid."

Bernie nods once, finishing off her milk, and grins. "There ya go. I don' plan t' die anytime soon 'f I c'n help it..." She trails off, and puts hte carton of milk back into the fridge, partly, it seems, to cover the sudden dimming of her expression. When she turns back, it's normal again.

Cameron tilts his head, thoughtful for a moment. Finishing off his mouthful, he swallows and looks speculatively at the last remaining bit of cake and half-melted ice-cream. Seemingly about to say something then deciding against it, he just scoops up the last of the dessert and stuffs it in his mouth.

Leaning back against the now-closed fridge, Bernie glances toward the window, and sighs a little. "Prolly I oughta head back. 's really gettin' on, now."

Cambot smiles sadly. "Yeah. You gonna walk it in homid?" he asks after a moment's silence for chewing and swallowing.

Bernie considers. "Yeah, prolly. Might do lupe or hispo, parta it through th' wooded areas, y'know? Mostly go in homid, though."

She gets a nod from the Fianna, who continues to smile - but brighter, now. "I mainly just do lupe or homid. It's harder to cover the ground in homid, so you push yourself harder. Which is never a bad thing." A hint of cheerfulness returning to his tone. The typical Aussie, 'She'll be right, mate.' attitude fighting back at the melancholy.

Bernie grins at that, and nods. "Yeah, 's easier, 'cept for carryin' my backpack in my jaws, tryin' not t' let it drag too much. An' I gotta watch out where people might see my, y'know? 'side from that... yeah. Cover more ground, quicker."

Cameron mock-frowns. "Hey, I wasn't /recommending/ the lupe form! I was suggesting you gotta /work/." he breaks into a grin as he finishes, winking playfully at her, and standing up. He picks up his bowl and starts to head for the sink.

A slight smirk at that. "What, it's not 'nough work as it is? I need more work?" she asks, shaking her head. "'cha tryin' t' do, kill me?" A slight exaggeration there.

Cameron chuckles as he rinses the bowl and spoon, and finds a bigger plate to put the cake on. "Well. Up to the point where you think you're going to die sounds about right to me. That's how all the muscles get built up. By damaging them. Weird, but true."

Bernie pauses, and looks down at herself, then back to Cameron, before something occurs to her. "...you never saw me when I first got here..." she murmurs, as much to herself as the cub, and leans over to rummage in her backpack a few moments. Well, quite a few, really. From within a book, she produces a photograph, slightly bent at the corners from being carried around, and passes it over. "...last September," she says, by way of explanation, "...first daya school. 's me in th' middle." There are seven people in the picture, all dark haired, dark-eyed, and definitely related-looking -- except the hairless baby in the tallest (and prettiest) girl's arms. She's farthest to the left, dressed in tight blue jeans and an equally tight and low-cut white tanktop. Next to her is a guy, all in black, tall and pretty good looking as well. Then Bernie, one assumes -- looking like, well, Bernie, except with absolutely no make up, even less attention paid to her clothing, and she's at least fifty pounds heavier, maybe more. Baggy clothes really don't hide it. Next to her, another boy, as tall as the first, but more gangly, with a wide grin that matches the Ragabash's, and an unremarkable t-shirt and jeans. The only other one with glasses. Then a slightly younger girl, pretty, in a sweater and jeans, and holding the hand of a young boy in overalls. He's maybe five, at most.

The Fianna whistles lowly. He looks up from the picture and tilts his head, a mischeivous grin forming. "Anyone ever tell you you're a /fox/, Bern? Genuine Steggles no.21 chicken."

Bernie blinks, and bursts out laughing, at the same time as she blushes slightly. "No," she replies, fairly firmly, "people don't us'ly lie 't me. 'm moreva ugly duckling. 's okay, though. I got th' brains; decent trade. Not that they're =dumb=, but." She stops, since it sounds arrogant enough as it is. "That's Lola, with Penny, then Clarence, me, 'course, Bobert, Naomi, an' Sam. My sibs, 'case it wasn't blindingly obvious. But point bein'. Been gettin' my exercise."

Cameron snorts again. Looking between her and the picture, he smiles mischievously and mrrrowls. "Before and after. Well, I'm telling you now. You're a fox, Bern." He chuckles to himself as he looks at the picture. "And God, don't introduce me to your sisters anytime soon." he adds. "Summer'll be pissed."

Bernie laughs, still blushing slightly. "An' they're prolly Kin an' all, too," she agrees, adding, "though, Lola's got Penny already, which def'nitely cut inta her datin' schedule, an' Naomi's way too young for ya an' I'd be forced t' kill ya if you tried anythin' with her. So overall, 's prolly safe." A slight pause, before she adds, "...an' I am not. But 's nicea you t' say anyhow." She reaches over to reclaim the photo.

Cameron snickers quietly, and lets go of the photo. He heads for the sink, and eyes it sadly. "Ah, the one problem with cooking." he murmurs, then turns to give her a crooked grin. "Well, I'll let you get away this time..." he mock-growls. "But you gotta run in homid. I want you able to get down and gimme twenty by the time you're done." He looks thoughtfully off to one side. "Except of course, I wouldn't be there to see it. So I'll have to trust that you've done it." he finishes firmly, and flips a salute. "Dismissed."

Bernie slides the picture back into the book, the book back into the bag, and zips that up, slinging it up over her shoulder. "An' who promoted you t' Sergeant?" she asks, grinning. "...A'ight. Just for you, I'll at least be either in homid or runnin', th' whole way. But not necessarily both. I do wanna get home b'fore dawn, an' all." She heads toward the door, once her jacket and bag are settled. "G'night, Rembrandt," she calls back, as she opens it to step out.

He continues to grin after her, and after she steps out, she can just hear an amused exclamation. "Rembrandt. Hah!"