Matt lounges on the couch, his empty plate on the coffee table coated with the last bits of alfredo sauce. He has a thick book, which he has apparently just started.

Key in the lock, bolt clicking... second lock, second click. The doorknob turns, and Bernie enters, pushing the door closed behind her, and relocking it by touch. Her eyes scan the scene, briefly, taking in the plate. "Damn, too late," she remarks, sliding her backpack off and setting it by the sofa as she wanders over, "...hey. Whatcha readin'?"

Matt looks up, still scowly. He hold up the spine of the book: Collected essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson. "Too late fer whot?"

"Dinner," the Gnawer replies, gesturing at the plate. She doesn't sound =too= upset about it; it isn't as though there's nothing around to eat. The jacket slides off to join the bag on the floor, and she sits on the couch beside him, leaning down to untie her boots. "...an' cool. Y'enjoyin' it?"

Matt shrugs, noncommittally. "Interestin.' An' there's more on th' stove."

"Mm," Bernie replies, with a slight nod, "a'ight. I'll get some, then." She doesn't move to do so, though, as she finishes undoing the boots, and pushes them, too, neatly aside. In fact, she curls her feet up onto the cushion beside her, getting comfortable, and leans in slightly against the Fianna -- rather tentatively, given his apparent mood and the moon.

Matt doesn't stop reading, but as she cuddles he reaches an arm, to put it around her, setting the book down in his lap so he can turn pages with one hand.

With that tacit encouragement, Bernie cuddles in the rest of the way, giving the curve of his neck a small, soft kiss before resting her head on his shoulder, eyes scanning the book's text. She couldn't avoid reading it if she tried; she doesn't bother to try. Her hand rests comfortably on his thigh, just by the book, and she seems, overall, content.

Matt reads in silence for a while. Self-Reliance. Then he asks, "So, th' new cuib like 'er present, Oi take it?"

Bernie's smile widens a bit, pleased with herself. "Yup," she replies, "'pparently I lucked out an' found a good one, even. ...I like her. She's a good cub."

Matt nods. Still a bit out of sorts, distracted. "Aye. Better than the last one."

Bernie half-smiles, fingertips lightly tracing no particular pattern on Matt's leg. "...an' th' one b'fore that?" she asks, a hint of playfulness in the slightly too casual question.

The barest hint of a smile curls the corner of Matt's mouth. "Oh, that one? She'll do."

Bernie tries not to grin. "Mm, I dunno 'bout that one, m'self. Potential, maybe. Guess we'll just hafta wait an' see, yeah?" She lifts her head, free hand gently touching his cheek as she steals a quick, light kiss, and returns to using his shoulder as a pillow. "So I get th' feelin' t'day wasn't th' besta all possible days, huh?"

Matt smiles more. "Aye. We'll see 'ow she does." The kiss brings the smile out completely for as long as it lasts, which is unfortunately not long. Her question brings the cloud back posthaste. "Too bloody roight. Th' corn was a roight clanger."

Bernie wrinkles her nose. "What happened? Anythin' in partic'lar? ...I'm gonna go see 'f I c'n find anythin' people'll pay me for, y'know, now that I'm not a cub anymore an' all. Then maybe you won't hafta work there so much?"

Matt nods, to both questions apparently. "Th' pitch is leavin'. New bloke gets 'ere by plane on Mondee."

"...ew. This one seemed like a pretty decent guy, from whatcha said, an' all..." Bernie's fingertips continue their gentle tracing. "Know anythin' 'bout th' new one?"

Matt shrugs. "Not a clue. Suspect Oi won't be able ta just get steaks for th' Church. An' Oi'll 'ave ta show up on time fer a change."

Bernie lifts her head again, and looks at Matt for a few moments before kissing him again, a little longer, if still gently. "Maybe," she suggests, "he'll turn out t' be a good sort, or you'll be able t' persuade him t' be. But no point worryin' 'bout it 'til next week, I guess..."

Matt isn't convinced. "Oi fink Oi may 'ave been part of the reason the old one's movin'. He said 'e was goin' to a more peaceful store..."

"Oh," Bernie remarks, considering. "...an' were you makin' things un-peaceful, or's it just how things are, there?"

Matt finally looks at her, with a rueful expression. "Well, Oi've got rage enough ta convince most not ta fook wif me, an' Oi'm there often enough, Oi'm surprised it doesn't affect business."

Bernie's mouth opens slightly, and a touch of colour rises to her cheeks as she closes it again and shakes her head. Lovely straightline or not, she just can't say it. Instead, he gets a serious reply. "...but 'side from that... 's it act'ly diff'rent, day-t'-day, things-happenin'-wise, than other places'd be?"

Matt sets down the book, open-faced on the coffee table. "Dunno. Sales are down from this time last year, a little. Maybe the Curse, maybe not."

"Well. That's not so much. 's barely a thing, even if it =were= causea th' Curse... an' it's not like that'd be your =fault=, anyhow." She moves her arms around his waist, one snaking its way with a little difficulty between him and the couch in order to do so.

Matt leans up to let her put her arm around him, then back. "Dunno," he repeats. "Ought ta ask a theurge, Oi reckon. Still feel bad the boss is going."

Bernie nods, nuzzling a bit. "'f it'd make ya feel better, yeah, should ask one. But even 'f it =is= causea you, 's not like there's anythin' you coulda done 'bout it, y'know?" She leans up to kiss him again, adding, "...don't dwell on it, 'kay? 's not gonna do any good."

Matt leans his head against hers and sighs. "True enough, Oi suppose. Still, I 'ope the new pitch isn't a wanker.

Bernie giggles, suddenly. "On th' bright side, if he is, I bet 'f we =tried=, we could run anyone off real damn quick..."