From off near the firepit -- specifically, one of the logs generally used for sitting on -- comes the sound of Kaz playing that flute of hers -- a slow, contemplative sort of melody that's evidently going somewhere, though not very fast. There's a chicken cooking, meanwhile, on a rather odd contraption made mostly of wood. It seems to serve as spit and turner, even if it's somewhat inefficient.

Bernie is seated on another of the logs, feet on the ground, knees together with her arms about them and her chin resting atop. She seems to be listening to the music thoughtfully, periodically leaning forward to help the turner do its job. Rather subdued.

There's a few not-so-stealthy sounds from just outside the clearing, the sound of someone making themselves obvious in their approach. After a time, Cameron steps into the light, dusting off his jacket and looking thoughtful. "Private party?" he asks with a broad smile.

Kaz swivels just enough to get a good glimpse of him, and then she's gesturing with the flute (while still playing), encouraging him to come on over. Her song seems to fit Bernie's mood. Subdued, just this side of sad, staying away from the further reaches of it. Eventually, she winds it up with an even slower coda.

Bernie glances up from the fire, and flashes a quick smile to the Fianna. "Hey," she greets him, quietly, "nah... pull up a log, tap th' keg. Dancin' an' et cet'ra t' follow...."

Cameron softens his smile to something more appropriate, too, and instead looks optimistically thoughtful. If vague. "Didn't expect to see Urrah folks around here." he says in a quiet voice, the edge of playful teasing in it. In just as subdued a voice, he adds, "Don't predict much dancing at the moment, either."

Kaz starts breaking the flute down. "Wanted to visit the Caern. Mebbe update folks on the sewer shit an' some other stuff. Wasn't anyone there, though, so I played f'th' Caern f'abit. An' then decided I needed dinner, y'know? So. Dinner." Raising an eyebrow at him, under her hair, she asks, "How goes with you?" She sticks a handkerchief on a small piece of wood and starts cleaning the inside of the flute.

Cameron tilts his head at Kaz, still smiling softly. "Been spending a little time in the umbra. A nice quiet spot." He flicks a finger at the sky briefly, and looks for a place to sit. "Good time to do it. Calming." The Fianna gives Bernie a a measuring look, then sits himself down, cross-legged before the fire.

Bernie nods. "'s nice, this timea month. I mean, not like it isn't other times, but." She doesn't seem seriously depressed, just... well, subdued. Maybe a touch melancholy. The chicken gets absently tended to again, though it would probably do fine left alone.

Kaz herself doesn't seem particularly subdued, though her music certainly was. Perhaps she bled all her emotion into it. "Yeah. I tend t'hang out there a fuck've a lot, Citywards, this time've month. Since I can't, other times." Finishing with her cleaning, she puts the flute carefully away in its case. "Glad you been able to, Cam. It's totally where y'belong."

Cameron grins widely at that. "You're telling me." he says quietly. "It's..." he stops himself before he begins. "Not for words." he says simply, turning to stare at the chicken, and the fire.

Bernie smiles, still watching the flames. "'s some particularly nice bitsa it t' hang out in," she offers. "Even in th' city."

The metis brandishes her flute case, before putting it gently down beside her. "That's what music's for, Cam. T'say th' things you can't. Or don' wanna." The chicken would seem nearly done.

Cameron twists his mouth at Bernie. "Maybe. Precious few, I'd imagine, though. Last time I was there, there was no way I was stepping through the Gauntlet. The Realm was dirty enough." He seems to ignore Kaz for a moment, until he gives her a nod and a wink, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He pulls a sketchpad out halfway, so it's visible, and then nods again. "Much like the little doodles I do." he murmurs, sticking the thing back into his jacket, and smoothing it down.

"Sometimes you'd be s'prised," the Ragabash replies, and falls silent again a few moments. Apparently considering the music and drawing, since she comments offhandedly, "...'s too bad I only have words t' work with, then, I guess. Oh well."

Kaz says, mildly, poking at the chicken with a stick, "I'll have t'show you some spots, then. When you gotta chance. It ain't /all/ bad." Her grin rises. "Just most of it." She considers the young man and his sketchbook. "Didn't realize. It's kinda less... ephemeral'n my music, too." She swivels to give Bernie a dubious look. "Did you just say /only/ words?"

"Stop that." the Fianna snaps at the elder Raggie. "We've talked about this. Your poetry... cuts deep, Bern." He only looks vaguely annoyed, but annoyed, nontheless. "You and 'lish, fucking selling yourselves short all the time." He gives Bernie a rueful look.

Bernie's eyes widen a bit, and she shoots a look back at Cam -- not rueful, closer to mortified. She opens her mouth to say something, but words (appropriately enough) fail her, and she closes it again, shaking her head and looking back to the flames. And blushing.

Kaz looks from Bernie to Cameron and then back again. There is immense curiosity in her eyes and in her posture, but for once in her life, she holds it in. (For now.) Dryly, she asks, "Chicken, anyone?"

Cameron's stare stays on Bernie, firm and rueful, until she looks to the fire. Whereupon he has the decency to look a touch guilty, and shakes his head a little sheepishly. "Nah. Caught a couple rabbits only half an hour ago." he says, declining the offer. He looks up with quickly regained good humour. "Thanks for the offer, though."

Bernie still looks upset; hurt or angry or both, despite the apparent compliment. Still embarrassed. She sounds close to normal, though, when she speaks. "....yeah, sure. There an unclaimed drumstick?"

Kaz produces a knife. "I," she explains, as she manages to get the chicken off the spit without burning herself once, "Don't eat darkmeat." Maybe it's the metis healing factor, since she puts it down on a clean piece of tinfoil and proceeds to cut it using the knife, a fork, and occasional fingers. Eventually, she produces a leg, only slightly battered from all that haphazard cutting. "Madame," she offers, gesturing towards it.

Cameron tilts his head at Kaz, folding his arms, and lifting his knees up. Finding a more comfortable positiong than just cross-legged. "Why-ever not?" His tone is curious, and slightly incredulous.

Kaz saws off some white meat (and skin!). "Too rich," she explains, looking around absently for her backpack.

"Why thank you, my dear," Bernie replies, accepting the leg. "...too rich? R'mind me never t' make you choc'late desserts or anythin'..." She seems to be ignoring the earlier exchange for now.

Kaz sits bolt upright. "Did you say... /Chocolate/?" She sounds as if someone just mentioned the holy grail. The chicken remains in her hand, forgotten.

Cameron too, it seems, would rather talk about meat than chocolate or the previous conversation. He continues on the Bernie's track, murmuring, "Huh. Yeah. Wouldn't have liked that rich, dark chocolate cake I baked yesterday. Especially not the way we had it. Waaay too much icing and chocolate syrup with our ice-cream." He manages to keep a straight face, sounding genuinely disapproving. "Bloody... way to rich. I'd rather eat dry, salty crackers any day." One eye does give Kaz a quick, curious look, then goes back to studying the chicken intently.

Kaz is, eventually, mobile again, and finds her backpack. She produces some bread from it to make a handy chicken sandwich, but eyes it sadly. It is, evidently, not rich, dark, chocolate cake. With waaay too much icing.

Bernie can't help but giggle at Kaz's expression. "But you wouldn't've liked that at =all=," she chimes in. "Wayyyyyy too rich, def'nitely." She takes a bite of her drumstick, not seeming the least bothered by dark meat.

Cameron nods quietly, trying unsuccessfully to keep the grin from his face. Instead, he transforms it into something of a wistful flashing of teeth. "Yeah. I mean, there's so much of it left in the fridge, obviously no-one wants it." he says with a forced sigh. "May as well just toss it out." he muses.

Kaz finally chomps into her improvised sandwich, and mutters something about chocolate being the source of all wisdom in the universe, in between bites. She swivels to stare at the Fianna, sandwich still in her mouth. Taking it away, she says, quite clearly, "Don't. You. Dare."

Bernie just giggles harder, trying to supress it so she can gnaw on her chicken, but not doing all that well, really.

Cameron has to try and hold in laughter, now. He converts the toothy grin to a more malicious expression. "I don't know if that's healthy, though... You /know/ chocolate cake goes off quickly. Might be posing a health risk to the occupants of the farmhouse." It's no use. He starts to giggle, and has to look away.

Kaz mutters, "Torturer," and starts in on her sandwich again.

That, for some reason, seems to just about kill Bernie's giggles, returning her to something close to her state pre-Cameron's arrival. She focuses on finishing up her chicken.

Evidently, Kaz has mostly been a companionable presence, tonight, one not attempting to poke into her packmate's mental laundry. Also evidently, this is changing. "So," she says, conversationally, cutting some more meat, "Who pissed in your Wheaties, anyways?"

Cameron's laughter is stifled as Bernie quietens, and he draws a line mentally between Kaz's muttered word and her mood. And his mouth twists ruefully. "Thinking /too much/, perhaps." he says quietly.

Bernie smirks slightly at the questions. "I dunno," she replies, glancing about for the best place to put the bone, "but when I find th' fucker I'm gonna kick his teeth in an' send him t' get some potty training..." A nice, flippant, utterly uninformative reply.

Cameron mutters. "Kick 'is teef in? You've been around Matt too long. He's warping your speech."

Kaz gives the young woman a long look. "That wasn't quite what I meant."

Bernie has the grace to look slightly sheepish, briefly, and sighs. "I guess I just get moody 'round this timea month sometimes," she replies. "...an', I dunno, I kina had plans for earlier that fell through. No biggie. Just a li'l disappointed." She shrugs.

Kaz glances up at the moon. "Well, ok, I'll give y'that one. Although from everythin' I've been able t'notice, th' moon gen'rally just makes y'more energetic, kinda." She shrugs. "I jus'... wanted t'make sure I wasn't missin' somethin' I oughta be pickin' up, is all."

Cameron snorts lightly, and just stares at the fire, with the beginnings of a grin on his face again.

"Us'ly," Bernie grants, "tend t' go more manic. But 'parently not t'day." She makes a face at herself, and shakes her head once, "...I'm just bein' babyish; I'll deal. That other drumstick unclaimed?"

Kaz glances at Cameron. "Well," she tells Bernie, "/I/ ain't eatin' it."

Bernie glances to see if Cameron's claiming it, then reaches over to snag it, and brandishes it vaguely in his direction, just to be fair about it. She did have the other one, after all.

Kaz grins faintly at this, and rises to her feet. "Left m'coat'n the Caern. Bern, why'n't I meet you at th' Farmhouse? Rach's truck's there, after all."

Cameron shrugs, and waves a hand dismissively. "Like I said. Two rabbits. Not really hungry." He eyes Kaz with a smile. "Though, that cake /is/ still in the farmhouse, if anyone's up for desert. Maybe I should go ahead and make sure Kaz leaves at least a little for Summer."

Bernie nods. "Fair 'nough," she replies to her packmate, "I'll catch ya there, then. Might even leave somea that cake. If y'hurry." She grins, sitting up straighter in prepartaion for standing.

Kaz mutters, "I don't eat /that/ much," and heads down the path, backpack in hand. She's not even rushing.

Cameron tilts his head, watching the Galliard leave. "Maybe, maybe not. But there'd /better/ be some left for Summer." There's a laughing tone to his voice, as if he's not terribly concerned about it at all, actually. He looks over to Bernie and makes to rise, himself, giving her a wink.

Bernie stands as well, nibbling on the chicken leg, other hand slipping into her pocket as she also heads back toward the house. When Kaz is out of range, she glances sideways at Cameron, and mutters, "Told ya not t' TELL anyone 'bout th' damn poems, Cam."

Cameron looks guilty, briefly, and mutters, "Surely they're not /all/ about you and Matt. You could've made some up, at least." He looks more guilty than annoyed, but it's still there. A hint of self-righteousness. "I'm sorry, but when someone's cutting at their form self-expression, their feelings and what is effectively the closest glimpse to their /soul/ that you're going to get, then you naturally get a little annoyed."

"'s not that, 's that writin' poetry in general's =embarrassing=. I mean, forget showin' people poems completely, I don' like people t' know they =exist=. 's all just adolescent doggerel. 's like readin' romance novels or watchin' Jerry Springer, y'don' wanna =admit= that t' people..." Bernie finishes off the chicken leg, dropping it where something can appreciate the remains.

Cameron twists his mouth. "Yeah, well, some people do it well. Maybe you do." he murmurs, straightening himself up and dusting off his jacket. "I wouldn't know." he adds, pointedly.

Bernie pushes the eternally recalcitrant curl back behind her ear, and shrugs. "You'd have a better idea than anyone but me an' maybe Bobert," she admits. "...anyway."

Cameron stands quietly for a moment, then offers his arm in a gentlemanly manner with a rakish grin. "Care for an escort, m'lady?" he asks in a remarkably good 'posh' English accent. It's closer to the Australian accent than some might suspect.

Bernie laughs, and accepts the arm. "Why thank you, my good man," she replies, accent not nearly as good, "you're too kind."

Cameron inclines his head. "Nice night for it, indeed, whot whot." he continues, escorting her out of the compound with a crooked half-smile. "