Collin knocks on the door. Bang, bang, bang.

There's a moment or two before the locks a thrown, and Bernie half-opens the door. "Shhh," she greets the other Ragabash, "Matt's asleep. Work in th' mornin'. Hi. Y'wanna come in or should I come out?"

"Oh, well. I come bearing gifts." Collin lifts the large bag he's carrying and pulls out the box of liquor. "I stole it. Hi."

Bernie giggles. "My people!" she exclaims, though still quietly, and steps back, opening the door further. "Come in, jus' keep it down, yeah?" She crosses the room to close the open bedroom door, leaving Collin to close the main door behind him. "Gotta metric =shitloada= stuff here, too, leftovers from th' moot..." A vague gesture toward the kitchen, where, indeed, food and beverages seem to be spilling across the counters.

"Of course. I thought we could have fun and drink heavily and chat about Ragabash stuff and sewer stuff." Collin says, cheerfully, though quietly. He's not going to wake up the sleeping Fianna if he can avoid it.

Bernie grins, and nods. Another sweeping gesture, this one to the couch beside the seriously cluttered coffee table. "Sounds like a plan. Sit, be comfy, et cet'ra. I'll get glasses. An' maybe some other stuff." Heading into the kitchen, she starts collecting a few carefully chosen items.

"Mmn. Drinking." Collin does indeed sit down, allowing Bernie to go her own way and do her thing. He folds his hands together behind his head and does his best to make himself comfortable.

Bernie returns to the couch rather laden. There's a bottle of quite good, and apparently barely touched, scotch, as well as the promised glasses, a couple bottles of Guinness, and a fair selection of munchable things. "I figured, hey, variety," she comments by way of explanation as she makes room for it on the table and then plops herself down in the corner of the couch. She curls her legs up around her, stocking feet on the cushions.

"Variety is a very good thing," agrees Collin, firmly and belatedly. Apparently, he was distracted for a long moment there, studying the bottles of potent looking liquor he has stolen from some poor person. They are going to miss their liquor. He opens the first bottle, though, and pours it. "This is going to eat through the glass. I can tell."

"Personally," Bernie comments, watching this, "I tend t' be against drinkin' anythin' caustic enough t' eat through glass. I mean, 'cast iron stomach' 's just figurative, an' all..." She leans in slightly to see just what's being poured, and whether she can tell how worried to be.

It's malt liquor. Dear god. He stole Malt Liquor! Collin wiggles the bottle a little, then says, "I always wanted to try this stuff. Colt 45. Didn't you know it's good enough for Billy Dee Williams?"

Bernie's eyes widen a bit at the bottle, and she arches a brow. "...Well, hey," she says, dubiously, "'f you say so..." She reaches up to push a regrowing, too-short-for-the-ponytail curl back toward her ear, where it doesn't really reach.

"Well, hey. He was one of the advertisers." Collin points out, cheerfully. "Billy Dee Williams endorses Colt 45 Malt Liquor. We do have to make sure we have a clear path to the bathroom, though, in case we decide that this is not good stuff for us and mutually agree to vomit it up." He offers the bottle over, gesturing to a glass. "Go on. Pour yourself some."  As he already has done for himself. It hasn't eaten through the glass. Yet.

Bernie eyes the bottle skeptically, but takes it, pouring herself a small portion and wrinkling her nose a little at the smell. "...Right. Bathroom's over there," she points out, as she sets the bottle down again.

He looks towards the bathroom for a moment, noting it's location, before he looks back and picks up the glass of malt liquor he poured. "Well, here goes nothing. Here's to long life and happiness. And at least we heal quick, even from acidic corrosion." Gulp! Down the hatch it goes. A few seconds later, if even that much, he looks like he really wishes he hadn't done that.

Bernie can't help but giggle a little at the expression. Of course, the amusement dissipates as she looks at her own glass. On the one hand, she can already tell this is unlikely to be pleasant. But then, it hardly seems fair not to... plus, she's curious. She takes a breath and drinks it fast. And winces. "...ugh," she manages after a moment, "...I gotta learn t' leave th' drink choices to th' Fianna."

"Yugh." Collin agree,s firmly. "Well, I wish I could've stolen some better stuff, but I am betting you that it's going to start tasting better before the night is through. Maybe we should water it down with the Scotch?" Collin eyes the scotch.

Bernie eyes Collin. "I =hope= you mean wash th' taste out, an' not actually =mix= 'em. 'cause that'd be, like, blasphemy or somethin'." She reaches over to claim the bottle, and takes the top off, giving her glass a skeptical look. "I almost feel like I oughta go wash this out, first. But nah, overkill..." She pours some into her little glass, and then leans over slightly to pour about the same into his. "There."

"Ah ha. Well, no. But now that you mention it, mixing the two would likely be a toxic combination." He picks up the glass, then downs *that*, exhaling a little afterwards in a hiss. "Now that's the shit," he says, firmly.

Bernie meanwhile drinks hers as well, pausing a moment afterward, eyes closed. "Mmm. See, this's why," she agrees, reopening them, and leans into the cushions, snagging a small bag of chips from the table and popping it open. "So... 'f you wan'ed t' talk 'bout that stuff? Prolly be good t' do it while we're still mostly coherent, yeah?"

"Yeah, well, that was the thought," Collin agrees, idly. "We won't be coherent for too long at this rate, though." He eyes the scotch, then moves to give himself a little more of that strong, wonderful stuff. "I was wondering if there was anything new on the sewer front, first of all."

Bernie considers, munching on a few chips, and pours herself another too, once the other Ragabash is done. "Mmm. Nothin' I heard, yet, nah. I think everyone's been focusin' on other things mostly for a li'l. Prolly be another trip down there soon, though, I'd think, but that's just me guessin'."

"Yeah. I really do think hitting the Sewage Treatment plants is a good idea soon too." Collin ponders this for a moment, then nods hi head. "Yeah. I think I'm going to do that if I can get the right people together for it, you know." He leans back a bit, puts his feet up.

"Sewage treatment plant?" Bernie queries, tilting her head a little before emptying her glass again. This, of course, forces a short pause. "...mm. 'sup with th' sewage treatment plant?"

"Well, we don't know. Isn't that enough of a reason to check them out? If the sewers are bad, what about the places that are supposed to be cleaning the sewer water? What if there's interference there too? What we don't know really can bite us in the ass in the end." Collin points out.

Bernie nods. "This," she declares, "is true. An' not quite redundant although it =almost= sounds like it..." She grins, and nibbles another chip, offering the bag over. "Yeah, never hurts t' check things out, def'nitely. Lemme know 'f I c'n be helpful an' all, yeah?"

"Of course." Collin proclaims, nodding at this. "You are most welcome." More scotch. Coherence is going to go quickly at this rate, but he doesn't really seem eager to stop, either.

Well, at least the scotch is one of the nicer ways to attack that pesky soberness. Bernie actually takes her next one more slowly, sipping it rather than just drinking it down, but the end result is about the same, really. "God, I have sooooooooo many things t' do," she half-groans, looking over the messy table, and shakes her head. "Oh well. Better'n bein' bored an' useless an' shit."

"Christ, I know how that is." Collin agrees. "The 'too much to do'. Not the bored and useless bit. Never since my change have I been bored, I'll give you that. There's always more to do, more to kill, more places ot run and more things to see and sniff and piss on."

Bernie giggles again, leaning her head back against the couchback. "Hee... I'm still gen'rally stickin' t' keepin' th' latter t', y'know, bathrooms, an' all, pers'nally..." She reaches up and works the elastic band from around her ponytail, freeing the curls and running a hand through to separate them. "Yeah, though. I mean, gonna go down an' visit my fam'ly soon, for like a week, maybe two? An' it's hard 's hell t' figure out when it's gonna work, not gonna miss anythin' important t' deal with, y'know?"

"Oh yeah? Where's your family live?" Collin tilts his head a little, seeming curious about this. "Not missing anything important is good. You know, I actually haven't bothered to go see my family since my change. It gets harder with every year. Someone told me I should go see them and maintain contact with them and I agreed with them, but never did it." He bobs his head a little, then has more scotch. Soberness is fading with the shots. He stifles a belch quickly.

Bernie pours another, and almost spills it when she gestures vaguely with that hand. Luckily, only almost. "SoCal," she replies, "kina nearish L.A. 'bout you? an' which gets harder... goin', or not goin'?" She regards her shot a few moments before downing it, and sets the glass down and aside for the moment.

"Goin'." Collin explains. "It gets easier to not go, harder to work up the effort to go. Which is why it's good you can see your family. Because you won't get to that point where I am." He waves a hand, idly.

Bernie considers that a moment. "....y'oughta go, then. 'fore it gets any harder. Y'know?" She reclaims her glass, filling it again, and admires it briefly. "'s such a nice colour... an' yeah. I'm glad I get t' see 'em. Plus, we're gonna visit places I haven' been before, or 'least not, y'know, awake... like, San Francisco, an'.... other places." She can't quite remember what they are, just now.

"Mmn. Scotch. Well, maybe I should." He doesn't sound particularly committed to the idea. "But I'm a Strider. My feet aren't going to stay planted, Bernie, for very long. That's all there is *left* to us. You know what they say? You can't go home again. I couldn't go back to them, talk to them after having been gone so long, and then just up and leave again. They wouldn't understand and it'd hurt them *worse* for me to do that rather than consigning me away. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. That's one of them. It just wouldn't do them any good to see me now. I'm hardly the person they raised now anyways." His lips peel back from his teeth in a grin. "Killing things for a living does that to a man, you know."

"...'s a point," Bernie grants, "...yeah. Kaz says, she checked, an' 'pparently, all my sibs're kin, so prolly onea my folks is 'rou an' stuff... so I figure they'll prolly deal, my parents anyhow. Plus I, y'know, write an' shit anyway." She shrugs slightly. "...killin' things for a livin'," she echoes quietly, with a little sigh, and drains the glass again. "Well. Like t' think there's more t' it than that. Or we might 's well be Ahrouns."

"There is, but when it comes down to it, it's still a war, Bernie, even if it's one of the rarest things in existence: A good war. A war worth everything to fight for because the fate of the planet depends on Our Powers Combined. Go Planet." Collin lifts his cup in a toast.

Bernie snorts lightly, but echoes, "Go Planet. But, yeah, but see, pointa a war, 's not t' kill things, 's t' win. Lossa times tha's gonna be who kills lossa people 'r things 'r whatever until th' other side can't fight, but, th' killin', 's not th' =point=. 's th' winnin'. An' th' killin', tha's jus' 'cause i'sa way t' win." Her brow furrows as she considers that assertion, replaying it in her mind. Seems to work. "Anyway. Changes. Yes." Another shot of the scotch is poured; it seems the thing to do.

More alcohol is taken by him as well. It's going at a steady, if not the fastest, pace. "Well, of course. Not all the time, just most, is there killin' and shit, yeah. I mean, it's just the way things are. Lot of violence, Bernie. We're violent bastards. But we can hope we can, you know..channel the anger into constructive uses or something. Or we can just hit each other with nerf bats all day." Collin snickers a bit at the image.

Bernie snickers as well, and reaches over with an imaginary nerf bat to bonk Collin lightly atop the head. "Bop," she declares solemnly, and then starts giggling again.

Collin starts laughing, leaning back. "Hey. No hitting me in the head. At least not without a bat." He hmphs, looking all offended. More scotch follows, of course. He's had a lot. He may puke later, but at least he knows where the bathroom is. "Ah, now this is better."

Bernie dissolves in giggles again, resting her head on the sofa back for a bit before she pours the next glass. "But I don' have a bat! I s'pose I could maybe getta rat, but whappin' ya with it'd be, like, disr'spectful an' shit..."

Giving Bernie a weird look, Collin says, "Probably just a bit!" He shakes his head, then starts laughing, "But, hey. You're a Gnawer! And a Ragabash! Disrespect away!"

Bernie snickers more. "I meant t' th' RAT!" she exclaims, and starts laughing in earnest. The glass is set down again, since it won't do any good while she laughs.

"Hmph!" Collin looks all offended, but he's laughing too hard to really pull it off. He flumps back on the couch and kicks his legs feebly. He does not, however, commit the travesty of spilling any scotch.

With all the less than muffled laughter, it's a wonder the Fianna's still asleep in the other room. This seems to continue to be the case, though, as Bernie manages to calm down barely before making herself sick from laughing, calming enough to pour another shotglassfull.

That poor Fianna. He waits for the Gnawer to be done with the bottle before he steals it for himself to get another shot. Mmn. Alcohol. He drinks, of course, then shifts a bit.

"You're a freak," Bernie comments, apropos of nothing in particular, "....I like you. Did I mention I like you?" Presumably, she means, 'prior to just then,' but it's definitely getting to where she =could= mean 'did I actually say that just then or just think it?'. She empties the glass again, and studies the bottom for a few moments as if it might reveal and Great and Important Secret.

"Of *course* you like me." Collin says, cheerfully, saluting with his glass. "You think I'm the studliest, most awesome, cutest, and most buttkicking Garou around. I rock Gaia's world, baby." He snickers again.

Bernie snickers as well, tilting the glass to look at him over it. "An' so damn modest, too. I dunno, I don' think I'd go =that= far... an' far as rockin' Gaia's world, hey," she smirks a bit, and continues exaggeratedly gravely, "...I b'lieve ya where thousands would'n'."

"Of course you do." Collin wiggles his fingers, "You have realized the Greatness of the Me."

Bernie giggles some more, lowering the glass. "'swhy I'm th' one true prophet an' allat shit. 'cause, like, AH have SEEEEEEn th' Laaht!" She rests her head on the cushion again, still giggling. "An' course I'm sure y'c'n see th' vast benefitsa havin' such a.... such a..." She pauses, unable to laud herself in the same style just now, being (a) unused to it and (b) drunk, and laughs, "...me! assa represennative. Sorta thing."

"Of course there are benefits, oh prophet of the Way of Collin." The God nods his head up and down, swaying a bit. "There are many benefits to being my prophet. Not the least of which is, uh.. Malt Liquor." He holds the bottle of liquor up.

This gets another bout of snickering. "I =tasted= that stuff, it =better= be th' leasta 'em! But, but I was sayin', benefits t' =you= of havin' a prophet like =me=." A gesture toward the scotch and, "...for one. But, y'know, like, um..." she tries again, and ends up taking the easy way out: "'cause I'm th' studliest, most awesome, cutest, an' most buttkickin' Garou 'round. An' I rock Gaia's world, baby!" She tries very, very hard not to crack up again. And is partially successful.

"Pfft. You haven't rocked *my* world yet and that's the only one that matters." Collin waves his hand, idly. "'Coz, y'know, I'm god and all. Yeaaaaah." He quiets down after that louder last word and glances over towards where the Fianna is sleeping. HE doesn't want to wake the guy up and have him find out he's been left out of the boozing.

"Well," Bernie replies, "...drink 'nougha that an' your world'll prolly rock... well, rock, spin, hey, what's th' diff, yeah?" She stretches out a bit on her half of the sofa, and eyes the scotch consideringly. To drink, or not to drink.... what was the question?

To drink! That seems to be Collin's answer. So he drinks one last shot of scotch. "You're right about that. I feel we are approaching that point."

That settles that; Bernie has another too, and then sets the glass down, and tightens the cap on the bottle, which has very noticably gone from barely to quite substantially drunk. Sort of like Bernie, actually. She hums something quietly to herself as she arranges those things neatly and then plops back into the cushions.

"Ahh." Collin just sort of kicks back and enjoys the drunkeness. He appears to be a lazy drunk. Who'd have figured?

Bernie settles in comfortably, and giggles again, being a generally happy drunk, it seems. She murmurs a little exchange softly to herself, in an unconvincing British accent, "'...it's unpleasantly like being drunk.' 'What's so unpleasant about being drunk?' 'You ask a glass of water...'" and giggles some more.

Snickering, Collin reaches over and pats Bernie on the shoulder. It's a sloppy pat, but then again, he *is* drunk. So he missed a couple times and clips her shoulder.

Well, the intent made it through all right, at least. Bernie grins and lists to the side, leaning against the other Ragabash companionably. "This," she decides, "was not pr'ductive. Fun. But not pr'ductive."

"Pfft." His words are slurring contentedly. "Productive enough."

Bernie nods a little. "Mmm. Yeah, s'pose. 's notta... yeah," she agrees oh-so-eloquently.

"Mmhmm." He rests his head on her shoulder. It's companionable leaning time.

Bernie sees his head, and raises him another head... well, actually that's just a rather silly way of saying that she rests her head on his, in turn, and closes her eyes, stifling a yawn. Mmmm, nice and relaxed.

And no oral sex anywhere to be had. Collin just sort of...rests there.

What a shame. Bernie rests as well, giving the distinct impression, after a reasonable period of resting, that if the resting continues much longer, it may segue all the way into sleeping.