Once again, Matt is awake before Bernie. He has apparently slipped out of the sleeping bag before dawn. It is even likely he's been hunting in lupus, as Bernie wakes to the smell of cooking rabbit, which Matt has skewered on a thin green sapling to roast over the fire.

The scent draws Bernie from her slumber, and she quickly gets over her disorientation as she sits up, undoing the braids. The curls are much less tousled for having been cooped up like that. "Mmm. If that's a pop-tart they're gettin' better on th' flavours," she remarks, wriggling out and stretching. "...G'mornin', you."

Matt notices and mocks a pout, briefly. "Hmph. Oi quite fancied those braids, actually." Looking toward the re-built fire, he turns the rabbit again. "Nah. Found these coneys in a culvert an' chased 'em down. Hopefully better than skittles fer breakfast."

Bernie laughs, pulling her jacket on against the morning cold as she moves over to sit beside him and the fire. "I'll put 'em back, I think... worked really well for th' trav'lin' an' all. But I figured it could use a brush anyhow, y'know?" Not that she's bothering quite yet. "...an' they smell d'licious, if not 'zactly a rainbow of fruit flavour."

Matt smirks. "'opefully, it'll be a rainbow o' rabbit flavor. Anyway, It'll be ready in a few minutes."

"I await with bated breath," Bernie asserts, and holds her breath a while in illustration. Letting it go before she risks unconsciousness, she asks, "...anythin' I c'n do t' help?"

Matt nods. "Want ta start packin' everyfing away? Then we can 'ave our jim, and be off, neh?" He pokes the stick experimentally with a finger, apparently oblivious when the hairs on his arm singe a little.

Bernie pushes back to her feet, with a mock salute, and ruffles a hand through Matt's hair as she starts away. "That, I c'n do. See, I knew I was good for somethin'!" she declares cheerfully, and starts by zipping, folding, and rolling the sleeping bag.

A few minutes later, Matt reaches into the fire for the stick, which he breaks in half, handing one (with cooked rabbit included) to Bernie. The other he bites into, before warning Bernie: "It's a bit peasy."

Bernie takes the branch, and looks at it, laughing again. "Rabbit onna steeeeeeek," she announces in a silly voice, and finds a place to sit while she regards the meal. "Does smell great, by th' way," she repeats, before starting gingerly in on it.

The rabbit is very hot, and very tasty. Matt munches on it with abandon, juice dripping down his chin.

"My compliments t' th' chef," Bernie mumbles, barely intelligible through the rabbit meat, which she seems to be enjoying just as much. Just being hot and filling would probably be enough; tasty is a bonus.

Matt nods, eating. "Fanks," he mumbles around a mouthful of coney. "Beats 'ell out o' fast food, eh?"

Bernie nods emphatically, though after some thoughtful chewing she adds, "Though, I still think french fries are onea th' world's most perfick foods."

Matt gives this some though, then nods, seeming to agree. As he finishes his rabbit, he heads over to the Lambretta, offering Bernie her helmet. Clambering aboard, with Bernie behind, they head out for San Francisco. Two hours later, they are crossing the Bay bridge.

As promised, Bernie's hair is corralled back into the plaits before they head out, and they fly behind her like little flags where they emerge from beneath the helmet. She's quieter this morning, watching the scenery, and grins broadly as they reach the bridge. "Woo, we're not lost," she remarks lightly.

Matt snorts. "We were never lost... 'swhot th' maps're for." Across the Bay bridge into the city proper, and Matt head immediately for that Other bridge.

Bernie giggles. "You're so easy t' tease, sometimes..." She leans in closer as they move through the city streets, and takes in the passing sights.

Matt smiles. "Cor, too serious ta make a decent no-moon, eh? Ah well, Oi guess Oi'll live." He guides the scooter easily through traffic, skirting the edge of Chinatown and the Presidio, he finds a parking area with a good view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"I'll jus' hafta take up th' burden for th' botha us," Bernie agrees long-sufferingly, and, by way of demonstration, perhaps, tickles him as they come to a stop.

"Shite!" The Lambretta wobbles as it stops, Matt being unable to defend himself and drive at the same time. "Bollocks! Books! Oi'm tryin' not ta kill us, aye?" He braces with his feet, and stops, yanking off the helmet to favor the Gnawer with an eyebrow. His eyes scan up, though, past her, toward the massive red structure crossing the Bay.

Seeing as he's been successful and they're not dead, the Ragabash continues to find it funny, and has to fight back some giggles. With a bit of a smirk, she murmurs, "...I coulda done worse..." but trails off as she regards the bridge as well.

Matt cranes his neck. "Cor...Makes the London Bridge look bloody wee."

Bernie nods, more in acknowledgement than agreement, since she's never seen =that= brigde in person before either, and stays silent for several seconds longer. "...'s even bigger'n I imagined it. Y'know what we oughta do?" She glances up higher than the bridge, briefly, estimating the time, "We oughta watch sunset there. I saw this photo of it once."

Matt nods, mouth agape. "Aye. We'll come back tonight, then, neh?"

Bernie nods. "Maybe bring dinner with, or somethin'," she replies absently.

Matt finally gets off the scooter; not an easy thing to do without looking. He helps Bernie down, and stashes the helmets. He looks back at the Embarcadero. "Some lunch, milady?"

Bernie accepts the help in an unusually ladylike manner, and nods, pulling her gaze to follow his. "Lunch would be lovely," she replies in her most refined manner, ruining it with, "...'cause now thatcha mention it, I'm freakin' famished."

Matt pauses to run a bike lock through the saddlebags, then offers an arm to guide them toward the Bohemian neighborhood ahead. Shortly they find a nice seafood restaurant, with a bar outside. The food is good, especially the pacific marlin Matt has with rice. "This is excellent."

Bernie has salmon, and fries, since they happen to be offered. She really is hungry, and doesn't talk much for the first five or ten minutes after the food arrives, just nodding her agreement with the assessment. About halfway through the fries, she suddenly says, "So first we should find onea th' hostels t' check inta, an' then we c'n go... be touristy. Yeah?"

Matt nods, with a mouthful of fish. He swallows, then adds, "a directory ought ta 'ave some addresses..."

Bernie grins, washing a bite down before replying, "Don' hafta. Toldja I researched this. So we got sev'ral choices." She slides a hand into her jeans pocket, and sets a somewhat rumpled piece of paper on the table between them, "...these're th' ones that got okay reviews an' don't cost, like, a million a night."

Matt looks over, curious. "Aye, well, Oi should 'ope not. Fer that kinda fold, Oi'd want a proper inn." He examines the addresses, then looks up toward the ceiling, furrowing his brow. He then points to one. "Oi fink this is the closest."

Bernie smirks. "For that kina money, I'd want th' =White House=. With full service breakfas' in bed an' everythin' all-inclusive, too." She leans across to see which address is indicated, and nods. "A'ight.... we c'n check there first, then."

Matt leaves a healthy tip, then offers a hand. Meandering toward the address, he suddenly stops up short on Haight. "Oi. We need ta go in here, eh?" The pair stand before a small book store. The City Lights.

Bernie is surprised by the stop, but breaks into a grin as she looks toward the indicated store. "Def'nitely!" she agrees, squeezing his hand as she starts toward it, lightly pulling him along.

Matt opens the door, and holds it for Bernie. "Had ta stop 'ere. Fought ye might like it. Oi 'ear the section on Ferlinghetti is good." His face is cut with a big, lopsided grin.

Bernie leans in and plants a fleeting kiss on that grin as she passes by and into the shop, pausing several feet inside -- and out of the way of the door -- to look around and take it in.

The City Lights Bookstore has been a bookstore for almost sixty years. The heady smell of paper, book glue, ink and coffee fills the lungs, and the polished wood of the shelves hold volume after volume. Current displays include topography, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Charles Bukowski. There is a largish room devoted to Beat Literature, and a small coffee bar. The store is spacious, showing signs of occasional expansion.

Bernie closes her eyes and lifts her chin a little, inhaling the bookstore aroma, and grins again as her eyes reopen and look to Matt. Then she's off, though not too quickly, wandering through the aisles, absently fondling the spines of books as she passes, scanning the titles.

Matt smiles and lets her go. He walks over to the coffee counter and says something to the girl there, nodding in Bernie's direction. The girl giggles, covering her mouth, then nods, walking away. Matt finds a comfy chair and rests.

The wandering, unsurprisingly, takes a while -- long enough that one might begin to wonder if Bernie got lost, or more likely, found a book and got immersed. She emerges with only a few books, no doubt having exercised great restraint, especially as it seems like most of what little she's carrying may be to show, rather than to keep.

Matt raises an eyebrow, from his lounging posture in the chair. "You feelin' awroight? That's only whot? Five?" His grin has an edge of sneakiness to it.

"Well, I figure th' scooter c'n only haul so much," the Gnawer replies innocently, and then seats herself lightly on his lap, teasing airily, "that an' I figured we'll jus' buy th' whole store." She grins at him, then makes as if to get up while she gestures with her books, "...thought you might maybe be int'rested in lookin' at somea these."

Matt does look, pulling her back down. Quietly, into her ear, he says, "Y'know, they ship."

Bernie doesn't resist being pulled back down, and the quiet comment gets both a giggle and a soft smile, before she glances down to the volumes in her lap, and leans against him. "Oh, well in =that= case," she replies, teasingly again. "...how much bubblewrap d'ya think th' building will take?"

Matt frowns, reaching across her to rub his stubbly chin. "Hmm. p'raps we may 'ave ta settle fer joost the top floor, eh?" Smiling, he nods toward the checkout. "They've got me new Visa. Buy what ye want."

Bernie's eyes widen slightly in surprise. "They gave you a credit card?" she asks, less than necessarily, "...whoa. Cool. How'd that happen?" This is apparently impressive.

Matt shrugs, not understanding the awesome of this occurrence. "Joost visitin' campus t'ovver day, an' signed up fer one. Imagine moi surprise when they fookin' sent it ta me."

"Cool," Bernie repeats, and changes the subject a bit, reminded, "...'s prolly time t' register there soon, yeah? Think I r'member readin' it was in th' summer, sometime... you know?"

Matt nods. "Next week or two, if I remember right. Very soon, if ye want aid from th' state."

Bernie wrinkles her nose, and nods. "Not sure Washington's gonna wanna aid me, but, yeah. A'ight, another thing on th' lista things t' do =after= vacation." She shifts position slightly as she continues, "...anythin' else on t'day's lista =durin'=? Y'wanna wander s'more?"

Matt ponders. "Coit Tower's not far, an' Chinatown, an' Oi 'ear Ghirardhelli Square has some chocolates that are passable." He shrugs a little. "Ovver than that, no ideas."

"Can't go wrong with choc'late," Bernie agrees, "...I wanna check out Chinatown too, an' 'course th' Park, an'..." she shrugs, and picks up one of the books in her pile, gesturing with it vaguely. It appears to be a guide book of some description. "...y'know. 'splore."

Matt stands then, hoisting Bernie up and nodding as he does so. "Oi agree. So then give the nice girl, uh, Jamie...yer purchases, eh? She's got th' plastic."

Bernie rises with a minimum of fuss, and obediently heads to the counter to present the selected books, leaning on it while she waits for the transaction to complete. She looks thoughtful, as if she's working something out in her mind.

Matt nods to Jamie, who dutifully runs the books and card, then brings him the receipt. He examines Bernie's purchases with approval, and offers her a hand as they leave the store.

Bernie accepts it, of course, swaying in to bump shoulders with him lightly as they head on out. "Alcatraz," she declares suddenly, the metaphorical lightbulb practically visible above her head.

"Gesundheit," Matt responds reflexively.

Bernie bursts out laughing, and bumps against Matt again, this time in lieu of bapping him, since both her hands are occupied. "Th' =prison=," she says, as they slip out the door, "should go see it."

Matt frowns. "Why would we want ta go ta th' kitchen on 'oliday? Oi 'ad ta visit me stepmonster's brovver in 'is flowery every ovver bloody fortnight. Dreary place. Besides, we don't know anyone wif bird ta do 'ere, roight?"

"Well, 's notta prison anyMORE," Bernie replies, attempting to gesture with the arm holding the bag, and not doing all that well at it. "'s th' old maximum security prison, y'know, th' island? They made movies 'bout it an' all? 's kina cool, all historical an' shit. It was s'posta be 'scape-proof, but it wasn't quite, 'course. Plus I read it was really pretty there, side from th' buildings."

Matt ahs. "Well, all roight then. you've got our guidebook now. Lead on!" With that, he takes the book bag and follows.

The day is warm, but not too muggy, and walking all over San Francisco doesn't take as much of a toll as it might have before the pair became Garou. If nothing else, fighting a seemingly hopeless battle against something akin to a force of nature keeps you in shape. Still, Matt insists on riding the trolleys every time he sees one. Alcatraz Island ("Cor, that's bloody depressing, that is. You say 'e actually talked ta birds?"), Coit Tower ("Like Lord Nelson's, 'cept bigger. You Yanks haveta do everyfing bigger, don't you?"), Chinatown for dinner ("This is Dim Sum. Take whatever ye want, but only if yer gonna eat it. We pay by th' plate."), and back toward the Bridge. Matt is burdened with bags, one of which steams and smells wonderfully of beef and fish.

Bernie shakes her head a bit, brow furrowed as they walk along. "...I still can't figure out what you're s'posta =do= with... that thing." A short tour of some of the odder shops had turned up, among many strange things, a dark wooden phallus the size of someone's arm, which seems to have thoroughly confused the Gnawer, not to mention the effect on her colouring, though that's settled down now. "I mean... coffee table decoration? Hat stand?" She appropriates enough of the bags to free a hand each and take his, changing the subject, "...damn, these smell good."

Matt grins, raising an eyebrow. "As Oi said, Oi doan't fink it's my place, exactly ta explain it to ye. Better ask a Fury." He winks. "When she's in a good mood." He readily gives up most of the bags, at least until they return to the scooter and stashes them. Armed only with the tasty-smelling bags (now showing grease stains on the bottom of the paper bags), he takes Bernie's hand again and begins walking toward the center of the pedestrian walkway on the bridge.

Bernie giggles, heading along with him, and shakes her head, blushing a bit again. "Well I mean I kina got guesses whatcha do with th' smaller ones, but that thing's like... I mean you can't really... could you act'ly... I mean, that thing was taller'n my li'lest brother last time I saw him!" She shivers once, and moves to look over the edge of the bridge. "Y'know I saw once on TV where this guy was bungie jumpin' offa here."

Matt leans out over the water. "Fookin' barmy, that ravi musta been. Long drop 'ere." It is pretty cold up here, as the wind is strong, and the structure provides little to no shelter from it. Matt makes do by pressing closer to Bernie. As they reach the dead center of the bridge, according to the little brass plaque, they find a small observation deck, with vertigo-inducing wire mesh floor and pay-binoculars. There are three other couples there, all older, one in their late sixties. Matt finds a bench, and in the ruddy light of the westering sun, he unwraps the po' boys he purchased on Fisherman's Wharf, along with a six-pack of Coke. "A loaf o' bread," he nods toward the sandwiches, "a jug o' wine," he indicates the cokes, "and Thou."

Bernie smiles, leaning in against Matt and resting her head on his shoulder as she watches the colours creep across the sky, reflected in the water. "Mm. Sounds like a good deal, t' me." She reclaims his hand, making it difficult to deal with the food.

The sun paints everything a deep-orange-red, as Matt sets out (one at a time with one hand occupied) several po'boys. "Two fer you, three fer me, an' chips." two baskets of fries. He pulls a coke from it's plastic ring and hands it over, and takes one for himself. Again, not as easy with one hand, but it's a trade-off he's willing to make. Several times, he glances away from the sunset to look at Bernie, blushing and turning back when she catches him.

Bernie glances sidelong at Matt, catching him, and blushes slightly herself -- more in response to his than anything else. His hand gets a soft squeeze as she looks back to the sun, slowly sipping her soda. The fading light colours the clouds and water, glinting off all the reflective surfaces.

Matt munches contentedly on his shrimp po'boy, as the sun hits the horizon and spreads out, turning a wedge of the ocean crimson, as deep red as the bridge itself.

Bernie munches one of her own, distracted again a moment as she examines it. Finding it Good, she continues, munching and watching quietly, still comfortably close. Soon enough, her food is gone, and the last few rays of light are flaming down the sky. She sighs once, contentedly.

Matt agrees, sighing himself. He finishes off three of the po'boys, two shrimp, one beef and a couple cokes, by the time darkness comes over the bay. Silently, he points out the last bits of sun hitting the top of the bridge, and Sausolito in the distance to the north. "'oliday was a good idea, Books."

Bernie nods, watching those last bits, and finishes off her current can of Coke, setting it aside. "Yeah," she agrees quietly, and turns her head a little, planting a soft kiss on the Fianna's cheek. "...thanks."

Matt turns, catching her kiss on the lips, and returning it with some passion. He bundles up their trash in the bag and deposits it in a receptacle, then offers his hand to her to begin the half hour trek back to the scooter.

The kiss becomes quite enthusiastic before it breaks, and Bernie gives Matt a small, almost shy smile, squeezing his hand again before helping to tidy up. The female half of one of the older couples nudges her companion, and they give the 'rou a quick nostalgic look before returning their attention to the view and each other as the kids start back toward solid land.

It's a long, chilly walk, but having someone to snuggle up to makes it bearable. And the view =is= unparalleled. Matt blows air through his cheeks when they make it back to the Lambretta, obviously showing some wear from a long day of tourism.

Bernie's wear shows mainly in the rather deliberate speed of her strolling; the fact that she continues to lean against him is half by choice, at the =very= least. She doesn't talk much, content to wander back in silence.

Matt glances at the bags strapped to the Lambretta as they board it, and asks "Do you need most of this stuff, or would it be alright ta send it 'ome? Oi was finkin' o' posting it in th' mornin'."

Bernie considers, as she slides back into the familiar seat. "...mosta it c'n go on ahead, yeah," she replies, wrapping her arms about him, and adds impishly, "...'sides, gotta have room for everythin' =else= we end up with, yeah?"

Matt rolls his eyes. "Oh aye. We can go back and pick up that...ahem...for ye."

Bernie bursts out laughing and turns bright red simultaneously, burying her face briefly against the Fianna's back. Figuring she can't really end up looking =more= like a tomato, she retaliates freely. "Rather play with this one," she replies evilly, with a quick grope of illustration. "...but I'm sure I could come up with somethin' int'restin' t' do with th' other..." This seems to have just occurred to her. "Like... new spire for th' Church..." A soft snicker.

Matt swerves at the unexpected grope, but recovers without endangering the pair. The headlamp illuminates the street ahead, along with streetlamps making pools of light in the growing night. "loike ta see th' look on Yi's face when she notices..."

The snicker evolves into a full giggle, as Bernie imagines that. "Damn, me too... an' I bet there's a lotta other places it'd get quite th' reception, too..." The trails off into a dangerously musing silence.

Matt laughs softly to himself the rest of the way to the hostel. He unloads the Lambretta and prepares to haul all their gear up to the room they booked earlier in the day. "Hope it isn't full o' anoraks."

Well, not =all= the gear -- Bernie hauls some of it as well, not wanting to shirk. The hostel is -- well, it's not in the best neighbourhood, nor in the best repair, but neither is it disturbingly skanky. More funky, especially with the mix of visitors within. A lot of Europeans with bulging backpacks, a few people with actual suitcases, one or two who seem to be travelling with nothing at all, almost everyone young, though there are a couple people in their forties or so, and one guy who has to be seventy if he's a day. The building itself, taken critically, isn't really much worse than they're used to.

Hostels in San Francisco =are= different, as the smells and sounds testify. "Smokes-th-Weed'd be roight at 'ome," Matt comments, passing by a door in which a bearded young man is contentedly sipping on a sizeable hooka, his knit cap controlling apparently impressive dreadlocks. The room next to theirs is occupied by a friendly sort who helps them with the door and introduces himself only as Bruce. Once inside, Matt thanks Bruce and dumps most of their gear unceremoniously on one of the two mattresses.

Bernie looks around, and nods once, approvingly. "Heh. Y'know, for th' name, 's weird th' only person 'round there I've ever seen livin' up to it's Max..." She closes the door after Bruce, and flicks the handy lock closed for the time being.

Matt frowns in puzzlement. "Hmm? Doan't folla you."

Bernie plops down on the bed, beside the stuff, and idly toys with the edge of the sleeping sleeve. "Smokes th' Weed. Only ever seen him smokin' t'bacco, yeah? Max's th' only one I've ever seen livin' up t' Joey's name, 'round there. Maybe I'm just not 'round at th' right times, though."

Matt shrugs, and begins sorting through their stuff, finding sleep-type gear. "Oi could probably bring some 'ome. Someone at work smokes, drinks, snorts or shoots about anyfing you could imagine."

Bernie looks briefly sheepish. "Well. Act'ly I still have what Max gave me, way back when, plus somea what she brought t' th' tribal moot... Elan did that funky Rite that multiplies things, r'member alla shit I brought back? So if we were so inclined, we're reasonably set, I think."

Matt raises an eyebrow, then digs in the interior of his jacket. After some gyrations, he produces cigarette wrapping paper. Of course, his lighter is easier to come by.

Bernie eyes that, shrugs, and grins, digging in -- where else -- her backpack, to find the little baggie she knows is in there somewhere. "Ah!" There it is; she pulls it out triumphantly.

Matt smiles. "Good fing we doan't 'ave ta go frough customs 'ere, neh? Want me ta take care of th' whole fing? Oi've got enough paper, oi fink." He begins rolling joints, stopping at two unless encouraged.

Bernie doesn't interfere, tucking her feet up beside her and grinning back. "Yeah, could be hard t' 'splain, I s'pose..." She doesn't bother to encourage -- they can always make more later if they want, and plus, there's still the fully made one she's had for ages.

Matt pushes both beds together before lighting up, and spreads the sleeping bag out for both of them. Lying back on top of the sleeping bag, he puts an arm around Bernie, letting the weed make him pleasantly drowsy. Just before succumbing to peaceful sleep, he stubs out the joint in an ashtray.

Bernie giggles even more than usual, unsurprisingly, and cuddles closely. For once, she falls asleep first, without meaning to, wrapped halfway around Matt and using him as a pillow, as usual. It's been a good day, but a long one, and of course there's more to come tomorrow.