Matt has turned the kitchen into a disaster area again, but an eye for detail shows a sort of organization to it. A big bowl, surrounded by flour and splashes of milk, contains rising dough, a couple of plates on the kitchen table contain half-grated cheese (there is still a block of mozzarella for the industrious helper), and the Fianna himself is busily dicing tomatoes, mushrooms and other fresh vegetables.

Bernie is, in fact, helping industriously, and the remaining block of cheese is rapidly shrinking as she grates it onto the pile. She's turned the radio to an oldies station, and is happily, if quietly, singing along with the Beatles while she works.

Matt also does the Beatles pretty well, having a considerable head start on the Liverpool accent. "...an' Oi wanta be a paperback writ-er, paperback writ-errr..." He has a portion of the tiny counter cleared, and is busily dividing the dough into three pieces, then flattening them.

Kaz knocks merrily on the door, rather loudly, actually.

"If you really like it, you c'n have th' rights..." Bernie breaks off, at the knock, and sets the grater and cheese down, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel. "Ooh. Guest." A quick look through the peephole, and she narrows the group down, "...Kaz!" The bolts are thrown back, and she pulls the door open. "Hey!"

Kaz brandishes some sparkling cider in Bernie's general direction, and says, "Yo! This where the pah-tee at?"

Matt nods to the housguest, but doesn't take his hands out of the dough. "Oi, Tens! Glad ye could make it. Just put that in the icebox, then, there's a good lass. If ye like, Oi've no finished choppin' all the toppin's yet. 'ave at some mooshrooms."

Bernie makes a sweeping gesture of welcome, and shuts the door behind the Galliard after she enters, locking the locks again. "Or 'f y'don' feel like it, th' couch is, of course, particularly comfy t'day." She takes the bottle, and puts it into the door of the fridge on her way back toward the waiting cheese, "..an' yeah, that's th' rumour, anyhow!"

Kaz grins at Bernie. "Nah. I sing f'my supper. Metaphorically, I mean." She looks around and then grabs a knife with perhaps excessive glee, settling to chopping mushrooms as if they had, in some fashion, offended her.

Matt takes one third of the dough and plops it into the middle of the flour, flattening it with his palms. He works it out, then takes the flattened piece and flips it in the air, spinning it. The first time it doesn't do much, but on subsequnt tosses, it looks more and more crust-like.

Bernie pauses in her grating to watch the process, impressed. "....damn," she comments admiringly after a few moments, and goes back to shredding the mozzarella, a job luckily requiring much less talent and dexterity. "So 'snew, Kazarino?"

Kaz's mushroom cutting slows as she watches this. "Dude. You're creatin' miracles've food just by tossin'." She shrugs at Bernie. "Not much. I swear, Elan must've dropped off the face've the earth or somethin'. Oh, and Rotem's off in Wendigo-land."

Matt is puzzled by everyone's reaction. "Whot? Ye just give it a twist as ye toss it, an' bob's yer uncle. Here, you want ta try, Books?" He places the first, finished crust on a baking sheet, reflours the counter, then steps aside for Bernie.

Bernie regards the opportunity warily. "...I dunno. I mean, I'd like t' try an' all, I jus' dunno 'f there'll be 'nough food after I manage t' stick onea 'em t' th' ceilin', or drop it onna floor..." She does step over, though, adding absently, as usual, "an' Bob's my =brother=, =Frank's= my uncle..."

Kaz chortles quietly. "If you drop it, we can just go get more -- some goober gave me a $20 bill for playin' sappy songs f'him." The metis shrugs, and her chopping slows even more, as she watches Bernie closely.

Matt shows Bernie how to flatten out the dough, then steps behind her, putting his hands along side hers. "Now, we're goin' ta tossit, gently...see 'ow Oi 'ave me mitts crossed? So when ye toss it, just straighten 'em out an' you'll be set to catch it." He helps her the first time, a wobbly toss and catch, a little less so the next, by the fourth toss, he's stepped back completely. "Get the Paki's on th' dog, girl's got a knack."

Bernie looks as surprised as anybody that she's anywhere close to getting it right. She has, apparently, improved in coordination without quite realising it. The surprise gradually turns into a grin, though, as the dough gets closer to the proper size and shape. "...hey, cool..."

Kaz watches this with a grin rising, entirely stopping in the mushroom cutting. "Dude. You're a star."

Matt quickly rubs butter on the second baking sheet, preparing it, like the first, to receive Bernie's crust. He grins. "'m serious, Books. You were talkin' bout gettin' work, makin' pizza pays."

Bernie giggles, depositing the crust on the sheet once both seem ready. "'s a thought," she muses, looking the finished crust over critically, and moves back over to finish with the cheese.

Kaz starts chopping again, with vague glee. "Sure gotta be better'n what I'm doin'. In the sense that an actual, y'know, guaranteed salary don't suck at all."

Matt goes on to prepare the last baking sheet, re-flour the counter and begins to flattne the last crust.

Bernie grins at Kaz, and nods. "Yeah, well. I don' like bein' all sponge-like, an' plus I gotta pay for th' GED an' school an' stuff, so. I was thinkin' I might try t' see 'f I could, like, tutor people or help 'em with computer shit or somethin', I'm a'ight at that. But, y'know, I dunno they'd want me for that or anythin', so." She grates the last of the cheese, and looks over toward the toppings to see what needs chopping there.

Kaz finishes up with the mushrooms and asks, speculatively, "You got any... Spinach?" To Bernie, she nods. "Computer shit'll get you a buttload've money, although I don't guess it would if it's a school job."

Matt nods, tossing. "Fridge. didn't 'ave anywhere ta put it, but it's fawin'. Probably still taters."

Bernie's nose wrinkles at that. "...Spinach?" she asks, and takes a closer look at the ingredients, gesturing at the chutney, "...an' what... =is= that? 's a pizza toppin'? I roll t' disbelieve..." She picks up a can of black olives, and goes hunting for the can opener. "...an' it'd hafta not be a school job, 'cause I gotta get it b'fore I c'n go t' th' school... y'know?"

Kaz says, blankly, "Taters?" but goes to rummage in the fridge. She comes back with spinach, and some broccoli. "Yeah, ain't you had spinach in your veggie pizza before? It works good." While chopping the broccoli, she says, "Yeah. Well. You're gonna go f'scholarships'n shit, I assume?"

Matt looks over to the source of Bernie's disbelief. "Orange chutney. Goes good wif tuna."

Halfway through the can opening, Bernie stops, and looks at Matt. "Tuna," she replies, flatly. "A'ight, you're yankin' my chain, right? I can see chicken, I guess I c'n see spinach, but..." She shakes her head, going back to her work, "...though I did read like Pizza Hut or somewhere did Lamb Curry pizza once in th' eighties. However, note it failed! An' yeah, gonna go ask 'em what I c'n do far's that goes."

Kaz shrugs. "Hey, Bern, no one ever said the American public had /good/ taste, y'know?" She adds, still chopping broccoli, "I've had mustard an' chives in tuna. 's good."

Matt pokes the package of spinach as it goes by. It crunches as it gives, still frozen in the middle. "Yep still taters. 'Taters in mould,' by th' way, Tens. 'S 'cold.' Sorta loike 'Tens' is short for 'Ears.'" He finishes the third crust, and begins clearing off the countertop. Men at Work comes on the radio, and he begins to..well, 'dancing' isn't an accurate description, really, but it'll have to do.

Light dawns as Bernie finally gets the 'Tens' <-> Kaz relationship, and she giggles a bit at Matt's dancing, setting the now open and drained can of olives aside. Of course, given her own dancing aptitude, she doesn't giggle =much=. "An' 'cricket' is short for Matt?" she suggests innocently.

"Aha," Kaz says, grinning a little, "Gotcha." She fills a bowl with hot water and sticks the spinach package into it -- not efficient, but evidently it's habit. "Fred Astaire," she observes, starting unconsciously to sway to the beat herself, "Is entirely safe from you, m'boy."

Matt shrugs, unself-conscious. "...'oo can it beee now..." te counter is quickly cleared, and Matt sets out the three crusts. He flicks the back eye on the stove to OFF, and takes the pot of warm tomato sauce off. "'ere. See if Oi put in too much basil." He holds up a saucy wooden spoon for Kaz's approval.

"Too much basil'd make for fawlty pizza sauce," Bernie murmurs, leaning against the counter and resting for the moment, seeing nothing in particular that needs attending to.

Kaz, just about to experiment with the sauce, stops and stares blankly at Bernie. "Doing puns. On obscure British tv series, no less." Firmly, she says, "I sentence you to /dishes/." That said, she takes a sip of sauce. "Works," she concludes. "Y'don' ask me on basil, though, my pesto's ridiculous, when I make it."

Matt snorts at Bernie's comment, stifling a laugh. "Oi. S'not obscure. Oi've seen every episode. Bloody turkish, Oi get."

Bernie grins. Acceptable reactions. "'s a'ight, I had that sentence anyhow. 's like doin' consecutive life sentences. 'less you're a cat." She gives up on Matt's sentence, after a while, and asks, "...a'ight, got me. Turkish?"

Kaz says, cleaning the counter reflexively, "Ain't a life sentence technically like 40 years anyways?"

Matt rolls his eyes as he returns to the crusts, spreading the sauce evenly and thickly over each. "Turkish baf, laughter. 'ad a marathon of Fawlty Towers on BBC-2 once, Oi 'ad sooch a side stitch, least til /Carolyn/ shut it off." His mood dampens somewhat.

"Oh!" Bernie seems much enlightened by the explanation. "Yeah. We useta watch it on channel twenny-four, 'til they ran out an' started showin' Are You Bein' Served? instead. An' I think technic'ly it's life, only us'ly you're eligible for parole, 'ventually..."

Kaz, ever polite, asks, "So was Carolyn th', like, asshole?"

Matt focuses with manic intensity on the pizzas. Quietly, eyes never leaving the counter, he explains. "Carolyn...was my stepmother."

It would be possible to change the subject less subtly, but maybe not easy. Bernie pushes up from the counter and crosses her arms on Matt's shoulder, lightly leaning there and asking, "...so, how're we sortin' out the toppin's? One pizza each t' do with as we wish? Or are we waitin' for everyone t' be here 'fore we do that?"

Quietly, Kaz says, "Right. Gotcha," and leaves it at that. "Well. Nev's patrollin', an' Max said she'd be here when she could, so... Well, depends on how long they take t'cook."

Matt nods, more or less to himself. "There's six of us, roight, so Oi figured we each do 'alf, or whatever. Veggie, roight kaz? Oi prefer meat." He nods toward the other eyes of the stove: ground beef, sausage and pepperoni.

Bernie rests her chin on her crossed arms for a second or two before straightening up, stretching, and nodding. "Sounds like a plan. So waitin', then. Meanwhile. Anythin' else still need choppin' or any such?"

Kaz looks at the products of her chopping. "I appear, yeah, ot be goin' veggie tonight. M'hands decided f'me while I was busy thinkin' about other shit."

"We can wait," Matt shrugs, "or we can make 'em as we go. Oi 'm for meat, as Oi said, but Oi don't much care beyond that."

Bernie notes the lack of requests for further chopping, and shrugs. "A'ight..." She starts putting cheese on the first sauced crusts, and pauses after covering about half of it, "...we do want cheese on alla 'em, yeah? No weird vegan pizzas or anythin'?"

Kaz makes a warding motion. "Cheese. Way the fuck cheese. I mean. Jesus. That's like, heresy."

Matt nods. "Aye. Oi bought enough for oh, eight pies."

"That oughta do it," Bernie replies, returning to liberally covering the crusts with mozzarella. "...so I'm still workin' on th' whole alien abduction plan... I'm kina s'prised th' last couple things di'n' make th' paper, though. Y'think they're gettin' sicka it? Or maybe I jus' missed th' articles..."

Kaz offers, "Want I should make salad or summat?" She adds, wryly, "Yeah, if I'm gonna suck blood all over the place, I want some recognition, dammit."

Matt blinks. "Obviously, you two've been =busy= while Oi've been at work, then." He pulls a Guinness down from the top of the fridge and fishes in his pocket for his Union Jack bottle opener.

"Well, while y'been dead asleep, anyhow," Bernie replies, glancing over to him with surprise, "I thought I toldja 'bout it all, though. I must be losin' it... Sunday 'fore last, Max went an' did Bleedin' Jesus part two, an' a while back, Kaz an' I went out for some cattle mutilation." She looks to Kaz, adding, "...an' 'f you wanna have salad, go f'r it, just save room for d'ssert, yeah?"

Kaz says, "Yep. Bleedin' shit, that's my specialty." There's a short pause, and she asks, carefully, "I think it depends on what dessert /is/. Don't it?"

Matt grins mischeivously. "Well, as the only Fianna in th' pack, Oi took it upon myself ta make a traditional dessert." He gives Bernie a wink. "Blood Pudding. It's coolin' in th' icebox now."

Bernie nods solemnly. "I made th' whipped cream!" she volunteers proudly. "...so it's kina funny we were tlakin' 'bout blood, really, come t' thinka it."

Kaz says, cheerfully, "Hey, more blood ain't never amiss," but adds, after a moment, "I gotta admit, though, I don't even know what the fuck that stuff /is/..."

Matt grins. "'s pig's blood, suet, barley, oatmeal, breadcrumbs... all good for you. Mint for taste."

"Seriously treyf," Bernie remarks, leaning against the counter, "so y'might 's well add th' whipped cream anyhow. I was like, I dunno, but he made it last week an' it's really good."

Kaz looks immensely dubious, though she starts grinning after a moment. "See. This is what a pack is. Trustin' people not to /kill/ you with their /weirdass food/."

Matt nonchalantly sips his beer. "Well, if it's /too/ strange, ye could always 'ave some o'th' chocolate cake Books made. It's on the top shelf."

"...but you wouldn' want anya =that=," Bernie chimes in on the heels of Matt's sentence, "'cause you don' like choc'late, as I recall. 'spec'ly not choc'late cake." She grins, then, and steps over to snag one of the beers herself, popping it open with a glance and offering it to the Galliard.

Kaz's attention is drawn rather inexorably to the fridge, but she says, stoutly, "Yeah, well, I can have some've both..." She even seems to mean it. She shakes her head at the offer of beer. "Makes me go glabro, more often'n not. I kinda go f'abstinence, instead."

Matt heads over to the couch, chuckling. "Books, if you'll preheat th' oven, neh? 'bout three fifty. Then we can talk about pack shite until it's time ta put 'em in."

Bernie blinks at Kaz's explanation, but nods. No problem, she'll be happy to drink it herself. "Funky," she remarks, and adjusts the oven as requested with ehr free hand, gesturing living-room-ward with the bottle. "Feel free t' get a glassa whatever," she adds, "an' make yourself at home an' all. Though, not lit'rally, 'cause we can't talk t'ya that far away."

Kaz shrugs. "It's kinda annoyin', but hey, I figure, know my own limitations and shit." Suiting invitation to word, she fetches, big surprise, some Coke, and pours it into a glass. "Y'know, it's sorta weird. I dunno if I've had somewhere I'd actually call /home/ since I left West Virginia. But th' Rialto, an' St. Claire'n gen'ral, 's a pretty good description, I think."

Matt glances in the direction of the far wall, and squints, once again trying to figure out what the mural is going to be. "Oi know a bit 'ow ye feel, Tens. Oi miss London, sometimes, but 'ere is...good."

Bernie heads over to the couch, and drops down beside Matt on the cushions, getting comfy and taking a sip of her beer. "Well, we still gotta go there sometime, seein' as y'promised t' give me a tour someday. No weaslin' outta that. I kina miss SoCal, sometimes, but mostly 'f I miss anythin' 's just my fam'ly. I like here."

Kaz plunks onto the living room floor, leaning against a wall. "Well. You got about five billion brothers'n sisters, so no wonder. Me, I din' have any, an' my mom, she died when I was about 10. So, I mean, I had /friends/ in West Virginia, but family? Ain't got a born one, really. So it's a Richard Bach thing, most've the time."

Matt sips his beer, turning to Kaz. "Richard Bach?"

Bernie looks over curiously to Kaz as well. "Well, 'f ya take off th' 'billion'," she grants, "...an' yeah, Richard Bach?" Her brow furrows a little, hunting for references. "...th' Jonathan Livin'ston Seagull guy?"

Kaz looks, suddenly, embarrassed. "Yeah. He wrote that one, which's utterly famous for some reason I don't quite get, an' a bunch of other sorta... Well, they're kinda flaky, free floating spirituality things. Y'gotta kinda dig through the bullshit t'get to th' gems, but it's often really worth the effort. Th' quote I was thinkin' of is from one've 'em called Illusions, which I actually still ain't read the whole thing yet. Anyway, it don't apply /completely/ or anythin', 'specially given as Bern here's got family comin' out her ears, but... In /general/, with Garou, who often as not have completely fucked up family lives, an' form int' packs f'more'n just strategic reasons..." She trails off, and her next words are slightly more formal, with an intonation that's not recognizable as hers. Evidently, she memorized the quote when someone else said it. "The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof."

Matt absorbs that for a moment, then nods. "Hmm. Oi'd agree. Emerson wouldn't necessarily, but Oi do."

"Prolly," Bernie suggests, "'cause it's a funky name. Pretty sure that's why I r'member it; haven't read it. But th' quote... I'd prolly 'gree too, I think." She sips her beer, considering.

Kaz looks into her cup. "Yeah. Kinda how I deal with..." She trails off. "Stuff in general." She shakes her head faintly, and then asks Matt, "What'd Emerson say, then?"

Matt waggles a hand. "Oi was finkin' of 'Self-Reliance.' 'e's of th' opinion that ovver people are around ta make us doubt ourselves. An' Thoreau. Don't wind me." He pauses to sip his beer, still occasionally squinting at the almost-mural.

Bernie grins. "Can't have people doubtin' 'emselves an' Thoreau," she declares seriously, following Matt's gaze to the wall. "I mean, where'd we be then? ...not Walden, at least..." She takes a drink, and adds, "...I dunno. I like other people. Be damn borin' without 'em."

Kaz takes a swig of Coke. "I'd have to read his actual book t'know what he was really sayin', but personally, I can doubt myself just fine on my own. So I'd just as soon have other people around t', y'know. Help."

Matt shakes his head. "No, no. Emerson's point wif 'Self-Reliance' is that we /shouldn't/ doubt ourselves. 'To be Great is to be misunderstood.'"

Bernie laughs. "We must be great, then. I'm pretty sure we both got that. I was jus' teasin' ya for th' sentence structure, an' Kaz was sayin' as long as she was doubtin' herself =anyway= she might 's well have th' other people 'round too. Since you said he said other people made ya doubt yourself. Yeah?" Her brow furrows slightly as she retraces that comment, then nods and sips her drink, satisfied she made sense.

Kaz says, dryly, "I'd like NOT to doubt myself, yeah. It'd make for an easier life. But yeah. What Bern said..."

Matt reaches up to rub his temple. "Well, it's a goal, hey? So. Um. Oi 'aven't found any 'andsome alternatives to Racoon or Weasel, so Oi guess they go on th' short list." He takes another draught of his beer, then gets up as he hears the oven click.

"Most people who never doubt 'emselves are pains in th' ass anyhow," Bernie opines, watching Matt head off before pulling her sock-clad feet up beside her on the couch, comfortably. "An' I dunno any other totems t' s'gest either, so."

Kaz puts her Coke down and cracks her knuckles. "Well. You wanna dissertation on Magpie, an' why she /might/ be useful, or did I already do that?"

Matt looks dubiously at the knuckles. "this doesn't involve hitting, does it?" Two pizzas, one veggie, one meat meat and more meat, go into the oven.

Bernie giggles at that. "Yeah, no fisticuffs inna house... but I dunno... I think I vaguely recall somethin' 'bout her... but, y'know, wouldn't hurt t' go over it 'gain, yeah? Related to our partic'lar case an' all."

Kaz shakes her head, grinning. "Nah. I just got weird habits. Anyway. Thing is, Magpie's totally an information kinda Totem. People don' think of Magpie as anythin' much, cause she's always chatterin' an' shit, but the thing is, she may talk a lot, but she /listens/, too. An' she finds information. An' she encourages her packs t'do the same. Listen, find shit out, an' tell people -- and th' Totem -- about it. People packin' under her, they get sneakier, some, so they can get alla that information." She shrugs. "So it fits the informational part, but not the asskickin' part, really."

Matt frowns, returning to the couch after setting the kitchen timer. "Enh. Always natterin' on. Not 'ow Oi envisioned th' pack, me. S'whot about Weasel, then."

Bernie shrugs. "I'm a'ight with it, prolly, but I'm still not real strong on any partic'lar spirit, y'know?"

Kaz's grin widens. "Oh, y'ask me about Weasel, do you? Me that went an' packed under him f'two years? I'll talk y'ear off, I will. Thing is, Weasel, he's /aggressive/. That's the first thing you gotta realize. He ain't gonna just let you get away with shit, he's /proactive/. He wants y't'/deal/ with shit, an' you gotta at least /act/ like you ain't afraid of shit. B'cause that'll give 'em an in on you, y'know? You can still /feel/ the fear -- you'd be a fool not to -- y'just can't show it. So, 'cause of that, and 'cause they're willin'a go up against pretty much anything in a fight, lotta people think Weasel packs is reckless, but Weasel, he gets y'quicker, faster, harder t'hit. So there's a little edge've reckless there, but you c'n also /hack/ that kinda shit, y'know? An', well, it's just kinda fun t'pack with a six foot tall tube sock."

Matt's dubious look grows. "Tube sock, eh? Well, 'es got agressive down. But 'e doesn't hunt for information? An' whot about Racoon? 'E still under consideration?"

Bernie grins at the tube sock description, but just stays quiet for the moment, drinking her beer slowly, and listening.

Kaz blinks at Matt. "Well, it was an affectionate description. Ain't you never seen a ferret? Weasels is like ferrets. They're kinda long, and they're really... Flexible. Weasels is meaner'n ferrets, but they're like... Furry slinkies, kinda. They can bend in all /kinds/ of weird directions." She shrugs. "Check out a picture in the library sometime. Anyway," she says, finally slowing down her slew of words, "Weasel don't do much f'information seekin', no. We'd have t'do that part on our own. That's why, much's I love Weasel, I think Raccoon's still /my/ first choice f'a Totem. 'Cause he's sneaky, /and/ a fighter."

Matt waits, drinking, and gently prompting for more info with an eyebrow.

Bernie has developed that slightly worrisome musing look she occasionally gets. "Furry slinkies," she murmurs as she sip her drink, "...tha'd be cool..."

Kaz shrugs. "Well, y'know. Raccoon. Adaptable, sneaky, an' a badass fighter. He's all int' survival, an' knowin' what you /need/ t'survive. So it kinda fits alla what we want, I'd think. Yeah?"

Matt shrugs. "Oi fink Raccoon is a fine choice. An broad. We may be doin' all sorts of fings."

Bernie nods. "Yeah," she agrees, nodding. "Sorta sounds like th' best fit then, so far...."

Kaz says, "We better be doin' all sorts've things, or this ain't the pack I think it is. S'that's cool. We c'n go lookin' in a couple weeks -- once y'all's set on patrollin' an' know the area better an' all."

The timer rattles it's anemic alarm, and Matt gets up again, pulling the pizzas out of the oven. He brandishes a cutter and slices the pizza deftly into eighths. Setting the pizzas on the counter, he gets a couple slices of meat pizza and heads back to the couch. "Aye. An' Oi know the streets aroun' 'ere all roight. ride 'em offen enough."

Bernie sticks her tongue out at Matt when he returns. "Hmph. Don' offer us any, or anythin'..." She stands up herself, and heads over to the pizzas. "Y'wanna couple slices, Kaz? Veggie, yeah?"

Kaz nods enthusiastically, and gets up from the floor to grab a piece or three. "Veggie, dat's me."

Matt shrugs, mouth full of pizza. "You want ta be waited on, find me on th' bloody corn."

There is a muffled but jarring bump against the front door, not unlike the sound a knee would make in an attempt to 'knock'.

Bernie turns around, actually looking annoyed for a moment, but whatever she might've replied is cut off by the sound at the door. She heads over to it instead, glancing through the peephole before throwing the bolts and pulling it open.

Kaz takes a long swig of Coke, glancing over at the door with only vague interest.

Once Bernie opens the door, Max can be seen standing there holding a flat that holds at least two dozen previously used tubes of paint, a few resurrected 'palettes' along with at least half a dozen brushes of various sizes and a metal container next to some very used looking rags. "Miracles-Is-Us. We deliver." Max singsongs. Then steps in and nearly drops her burden near the drawn-upon wall before brushing off the front of her overalls and turning around to spy Kaz whom she meanders over toward. Matt earns a grin. "Yo, Butcher-Boy." The nickname doesn't sound anything but pleasant.

"Oh, hey, cool!" Bernie exclaims, looking over the paint paraphernalia as she recloses and locks the door, "...an' you're just in time for pizza. Meat or veggie?" See, =someone= in the house has manners! She steps back ot the kitchen, pulling down a couple more plates.

Kaz, who'd returned to leaning against the wall once she got her pizza, seems, somehow, to get more alert as Max appears. She quirks a grin up at her. "Hey, if it ain't the Easter Bunny. How ya' doin'?"

Matt smiles with approval at the palette of paints near his wall. Maybe he'll figure out what it's supposed to be sooner than looked for! In the meantime, there is home-made pizza.

Max settles her shoulderblades back against the wall Kaz is beside and pushes her hands into her pockets, her gaze following after Bernie as the smell belatedly settles into her consciousness. "Do I look like a lover-o-the-green-n-slimy to you, Burn?" she asks in a congenial drawl. "But I ain't hungry jus' yet." Her gaze slides back to Kaz. "S'up?" she asks quietly.

Bernie shrugs, putting the third pizza -- hers -- into the oven, and dishing out some meat slices on one plate, a couple of each on the other. "Hey, th' veggies one's Kaz's fault, so don't ask me," she replies, carrying the plate with both with her back to the couch, and flumping back onto the cushions.

Kaz admits, grinning over at Bernie, "Yeah. I had this veggie cravin' for some reason I can't figure out." Looking back to Max, her grin quiets a bit. "Nahmuch," she answers. "Made sure that kid didn't do nothin' stupid, earlier. Been babblin' about Totems. So I gotta go somewhere an' not talk at all, soon."

Matt yawns, holding his mouth shut by force of will. "Oi. Eat an' run is it? Ah well. Oi should probably catch some bo peep soon mesel'. Oi've 'ad ta be on me best be'avior at work these past few, an' tomorrow Oi open, so lah."

Max regards Kaz sidelong, then looks over to Matt. "There some time in partic'lar you wan' me smearin' you guys' walls?"

Bernie makes a face at opening, looking almost disappointed. "...most times're okay, I think," she replies to the other Ragabash, glancing sideways at Matt to make sure he's not about to violently object or anything, "...daytime's prolly best, though. Night's not so great. What with th' sleepin' an' all." She half smiles, and starts in on one of her slices.

Matt finishes his pizza, and leans forward, pondering more. "Anytime's fine, Max. If ye like, there are sleeping bags an' pillows in the spare room, Ye can sleep 'ere if ye need ta."

Kaz holds Max's look until she turns it over to Matt, and then rises to her feet, to put her plate in the sink. "Awright. Max -- 'Less y'busy creatin' masterpieces, I'll see you back at th' Rialto? I'm gonna go check th' Park f'abit."

"Yeah?" Max asks. "So, like, jus' knock-knock 'n see f'tsgood?" She looks from Bernie to Matt and shakes her head. "I ain't gonna crash here f'night-paint's gonna be all bustin' your style."

Bernie nods, leaning back into the pillows. "Yeah, bas'c'ly. Oughta work." She smiles to Kaz, waving a hand. "Make sure it's all good, yeah? Thanks for comin', an' all."

Max purses her lips and nods. "I's with you, Zee." Pushing away from the wall, she circles around past Bernie and bumps her shoulder against the other ragabash's before following Kaz to the door.

Kaz says, "You betcha. See y'all later." She doesn't seem to have any trouble with the locks as she heads out, already starting to whistle something only half identifiable.

Matt smiles. "Nah. Oi can sleep frough planes landing."

"I can't," Bernie replies, as the door shuts, "...'least... I don't =think= I can..." She stretches a little, setting her plate down with half a lsice still on it, and gives Matt another sideways look. "So. Openin' t'marra, huh?"

Matt nods, ruefully. "Aye. Gotta be there by nine, ta set up." He gets up, helping to clean up, put pizza in the fridge.

Bernie tidies things as much as neccesary for the night, the last pizza going directly from oven to fridge. "...I c'n do th' washin' an' all in th' morning," she decides, looking over what's left, and reaches out to take hold of Matt's hand and draw him vaguely in the direction of the bedroom. "...c'mere."

Matt follows, dutifully, obediently, slowly, and not without the tiniest grin.