The woods part suddenly, here, amidst the quiet roar of falling water. A wide stream spills over the edge of a rocky face that is the western edge of a hill some thirty feet high. The stones are worn smooth with the passing of time, and are slick with moisture and soft mosses, but a climb up the drier rocks would not be impossible, and there is a sense of space behind the falls.
A wide pool has been carved into the earth by the rushing waters, and the tall trees have grown out around it, sheltering the grotto in a pleasantly-cool shade. Rocks, hewn from the cliff face and shouldered along the path of the stream, form a rough ring around the edge of the pool and guide the flow of water further westwards, again deeper into the woods. All manner of animal tracks are visible in the sandier areas of shore; the trees crouch close against the edge of the stream again as it passes further west, muting the dull thunder of the falls.
Faint trails, between the trees, lead off in all directions, while a determined climb eastwards would crest the rock face.
It could be a Denny's in Los Angeles, California. It could be a Denny's in Newark, New Jersey. It could be a Denny's in Friend, Nebraska. As it happens, it's a Denny's in St. Claire, Washington, but the surroundings don't really matter. It's a Denny's.
The double doors of the glass foyer lead to a matching set of doors to the restaurant proper, and on entering one sees to one side a pair of gumball machines and a grab-the-toys-with-the-claw machine, to the other, a payphone, and ahead, the register and the ubiquitous freestanding sign: Please wait to be seated. No matter the time of day or night, no matter how many or few patrons seem to be seated, the waitstaff always appear to be bustling about, and it takes a minute or two before one is free to seat any new arrivals.
Large panes of glass make up the majority of the outer walls, giving a good view of the street from any of the many red vinyl upholstered booths that line the walls below them. Most of the booths are two facing benches and a table, able to hold four people comfortably or 6 really cozily, but each corner holds a bigger one, fit for as many as ten rowdy late night teenage patrons. The open area of the restaurant is littered with tables and chairs, all seemingly for parties of four. On every table in the restaurant are the usual condiments, menus, and a carafe with a slip advertising the orange juice, all in a neat little wire corral.
The waitstaff are all neat, and range from perky and helpful to sullen and incompetent; there's also that one requisite smart ass waiter who jokes with all the patrons and is the favourite of all the high school students. The clientele range from crying babies to elderly folks with walkers, trendy teenage girls and loud, dangerous looking hoodlums, and any of the types might be seen at any hour.
Plastic plants hang from the ceiling beams and sit on the counters. Very low pile carpet in semi-geometric designs lies unnoticed across the floor. Cups of eternally refilled coffee sit on almost every occupied table. The food is cheap, plentiful, and overall, edible. It's not the Ritz. It doesn't have to be. It's a Denny's.
From Riverfront Drive to Beaugregory Boulevard, the Hilliard Memorial Hospital rises, a massive building surrounded by well-tended lawns and tall trees. The Hospital spreads northwards to Hospital Drive itself; across Silver and Beaugregory from the hospital proper are research buildings and office buildings: billing offices, small medical libraries, and the rooms with classrooms and laboratories for medical students to learn and experiment. Along Riverfront, on its eastern side, food vendors have set up small stands which receive a brisk business in the noon hours, shaded under the trees lining the street. North of Hospital Drive, the administrative buildings continue, spreading another block or so north to I-90, which slashes across the city streets in an abrupt divider.
The creak and sway of the rotting boards are in sync with the gentle slap of water against the pylons. Only the sections of the Pier jutting far into the river have fallen into disrepair. The sections nearest the bank are still is fair condition as some commerce still occurs by way of the river. However, many goods that were once shipped via the waterway are now shipped overland which is cheaper and faster. The wharf stands as testament to an older time, when the River was a lifeline for the city.
Beyond the warehouses lining the banks to the west, the black asphalt strip of First Street can be seen.
At first glance, this run-down efficiency seems barely lived in. The door opens onto a nearly empty living room, painted institutional white and containing only a lime-green couch with fuzzy yellow pillows and an oak coffee table. It is reasonably spacious, and is obviously intended to be the main room of the flat. The current light fixture is a hanging industrial fluorescent, which gives the room a slightly unhealthy, antiseptic feeling, unmitigated by the ancient blinds covering the windows. The left wall from the door shows signs of a mural in progress, though the faint pencil lines leave the intended design still unclear.
To the right upon entering is a small kitchenette, with barely enough space to stand between the stove and refrigerator on one side and the sink on the other. A boom-box style radio relaxes on the counter, broadcasting soothing celtic music. Just above the sink is what little cabinet space can be had. There is a small dining table and chairs right outside the kitchenette, defining an eating space.
Just past the kitchenette, still on the right, is the bathroom, then both bedrooms. Between them is a small coat closet, empty except for a surely breeding collection of wire hangers. The door to the closet is perpetually ajar, as it doesn't seem to want to latch properly.
Matt shifts back into homid as he nears the water, putting his hands on his hips and looking around. "No' bad."
Bernie has stopped right where the woods part on the scene, shifting back without really thinking about it. "'s beautiful," she breathes, taking it in wide-eyed.
"an not as 'ard ta find as Oi fought," Matt muses. "Doan't fink we'll be able ta get our kin this far onta th' Bawn, though. Better plan ta revel a bit at a pub after."
Bernie continues looking around a few moments before she seems to notice the remark, and wanders further in, stopping beside Matt. "C'n I come t' that part, too?" she asks, flashing a quick, slightly teasing grin.
Matt looks back to her, a bit sheepish. "Actually, Books, it'd be best if ye came ta that part only, neh? If I'm goin' ta be Fianna elder, Oi gotta at least pretend ta be able ta survive wifout constant Bone Gnawer companionship." He smiles, mocking himself. "I'll smoke ta distract meself."
Bernie pokes Matt lightly in the side, unoffended. "'s what I meant. I meant, too, as in, as well as th' kinfolk, not as in as well as this part. I mean, prolly you'd be welcome t' =our= tribal moots, but that's maybe kina diff'rent, an' even so I dunno for =sure=." The poke turns into a light tickle, and she grins. "I'll make sure y'got a fresh pack 'fore y'go."
Matt ahs. "Oi see--hey! Cut that out!" he giggles. "tryin' ta be serious 'ere. Elder-like."
"Ohh, sorry then," Bernie replies solemnly, "I di'n' realise y'were s'posta give up your sensea humour for th' position. That could be a problem. Maybe I'll jus' hold onta it for ya an' you c'n use it in private, then."
Matt quirks an eyebrow and grins, but only a little. "Aye, look at Brian-rhya, eh? Besides, Oi'm English. We /'ave/ no sense o' 'umor we're aware of."
Bernie snickers at that. "Yeah, 's why no one ever gives british comedy a second glance, outside th' isles. Hell, I bet even there!" She moves a little closer to the water, and finds a nice suitable rock to sit on.
Matt finds a small, smooth stone and skips it, with little skill, into the water. He finds a nearby rock ,and thinks aloud. "...tryin' ta decide what Oi'm gonna /do/ as elder." he sighs. "/Someone's/ goin' ta ask."
Bernie pulls her knees chestward, into the famed Gnawer Sit, arms wrapped loosely about them. "Well. First off maybe makin' sure th' cubs get properly taken care of, yeah? 'cause, look how long they took gettin' 'round t' you, an' isn't Cam'ron gettin' t' 'bout th' same lengtha time? Plus I =know= he wasn't gettin' much attention from anyone in th' tribe for a while there."
Matt nods, and ticks things off on his fingers. Aye, there's th' cubs. That's one. An' the Kinfolk. That's two. Our tribe takes care of ours as well as any, including th' Gnawers, but 'ere I know maybe one? Not acceptable. Free, no infightin'. Brian was very fookin' Irish, and was all 'arry Big Buttons about it. Oi'm not even English, really. Oi'm Welsh. Drynn a drowd yn flaidd."
Bernie blinks, twice. "...Th' who what? Drynn a drowd..." She manages to echo it that far, and gets lost. "...'sat? =Sounds= cool..."
From afar, to the room, Matt corrects White Wolf's Welsh: 'Dyn a drowyd yn flaidd.' pronounced: Din ah droud in vlaith.
Matt shrugs. "Means 'werewolf,' basically. Me Ma...Me /real/ ma was Welsh. Died when Oi was real little. Four. Da didn't like ta talk about 'er much, after. And the Stepmonster made 'im put all 'er fings in storage. So." He trails off, leaving things left unsaid.
Bernie tries to repeat it again, this time more slowly and with more success, as she unfolds from her rock, and moves over to join him on his, close but not impolitely so. "...teach me that?"
Matt looks up, away from the water, only just realizing he'd been staring into it. "What, Dyn a drowyd yn flaidd? Try this, slowly. Dyn..."
"That," Bernie confirms, "..an' alla it. Dyn..."
Matt nods, smiling. "...a drowyd..."
"A drowyd," Bernie echoes, carefully, mimicing the pronunciation and accent as closely as she can manage.
Matt stifles a chuckle. "...yn vlaith..." he rolls his hand, indicating there's more after.
Bernie smiles, pressing her lips together to quell it so it won't interefere with her repetition, "...yn vlaith..."
Matt finishes. "...ydoo ee."
Matt pages to the room: written 'ydw i.'
Matt pages to the room: I guess I should just stick with the correct Welsh spelling, and assume it's being pronounced correctly (at least by Matt). trying to do it phonetically is confusing. :)
"...ydw i?" Bernie finishes, eyebrows rising slightly in a wordless question as to whether she did that right.
Matt grins. "Dyn a drowyd yn flaidd ydw i."
"Dyn a drowyd yn flaidd ydw i," Bernie repeats, though still slower, and grins back, fairly sure she was pretty close on that.
Matt nods. "Great! Ye just told me you are a werewolf." he leans in. "But Oi already knew that."
Bernie giggles, and pushes the ubiquitous curl back behind her ear. "Aw, man, an' here I thought I was doin' so well at hidin' it... so... which parta th' phrase means which?""
Matt reaches into the water for another rock, and turns it in his hand. "Dyn a drowyd yn flaidd means 'man becoming wolf', and yma i is just 'am Oi.' So the whole thing is 'a man becoming wolf am Oi.' Or, 'Oi'm a werewolf.'"
"Cool," Bernie decides, grinning. "...you know morea it, right? I mean, 'side from that?"
Matt nods, shrugging. "Sure. We spoke bof languages, even fora couple o' years after she...um. Well, yeah. Oi speak it fairly well." He stands. "Roight. Now Oi'm 'ungry. Ye ready fer some Jim?"
Bernie nods, and stands as well, atop the rock, brushing her jeans off with her hands. "Teach me it?" she asks, and pauses, consideering. "I c'n try an teach y' Hebrew, 'f y'want, though I read it better'n speak an' all." She hops off the rock, and starts a bit reluctantly toward the exit from the Grotto. "..I kina wanna milkshake. Denny's, maybe?"
Matt nods. "Sounds good." He gestures. "After you."
[...shortly thereafter, at Denny's...]
Junior walks in quietly, a couple bucks in his hand.
Matt sips his coke--uncharacteristically dainty--through a straw.
Bernie sits in the large corner booth with Matt, eating the whipped cream off her vanilla shake with a spoon and quietly but animatedly chatting about something to her packmate.
Junior glances around the place curiously, then blinks, seeing Matt and Bernie. He grins happily, and heads over towards them. "Heya."
Matt looks up. "Cor, 'allo, Junior. 'ave a seat? We've already placed an order, but yer welcome..."
Junior smiles. "Thanks." He takes a seat. "I was coming for some coffee, but seeing you here's a stroke of luck. I was hoping for your help, maybe."
Bernie waves to Junior, waiting until her mouth isn't full to greet him with a proper, "Hey. 'sup?"
Junior makes sure no waitstaff are coming this way, before speaking quietly. "GOt a kid I need a half-moon to look at. One that can tell what people are."
Matt nods. "Can do. We need ta go there, or d'ye wanta buy 'im.." he corrects himself, "or 'er, sorry, dinner?"
Bernie blinks, sipping her shake, and grins. "Y'think th' kind might be onea ours, or somethin'?" she asks.
Junior hmms. "I'll have to find him, though I know where he hangs out. And he might be. Or he might just be a stubborn kid." He shrugs, speaking quietly. "But you know my moon. I was angry at him the other night, yelling at him. And he stood up to it, and gave as good as he got. Know many twelve-year-olds that'd stand up to a pissy full-moon?"
"/Oi/ won't stand up ta an arsed Full Moon," Matt sighs. Flagging down a waitress, he informs her "'m terribly sorry, but we've 'ad an emergency come up. Can we get our food ta go? An' th' bill?"
"I will," Bernie murmurs, "...long's he can't reach me." A grin, and she works on draining her shake They don't travel well.
Junior grins. "He was well within reach. It's not much to go on, I know...but it's suspicious."
Matt shrugs, pulling a twenty out of his wallet. "An' if e's joost an impressive twelve-year-old?"
Junior shrugs. "Then he is. Figured checking him couldn't hurt anything."
Bernie nods, finishing off the drink with the distinctive straw-in-empty-glass-partial-vacuum noise.
Matt waits wistfully for the bag, and change, looking only once in at the styrofoam box. "So," he says with a wry smile. "Where to?"
Junior nods. "Follow me." He starts out, glancing back at Matt. "I'm sorry t' bust up you meal..."
Matt waves a hand as they pass outside. "Forget it. Oi've got a microwave."
Junior hmms. "He spends a lot of time down by the wharf. If he's not there, he'll probably be near the park." he hmms. "He's not very happy with me right now. I'll probably go lupe, and tag along with you two. Matt, you can tell, right?"
Bernie glances sideways at Matt a moment, but just slides her hands into her pockets and walks along, silent for the time being.
Matt nods, simply sniffing the air. "Yep. You are. And ye need ta bathe, Urrah Scum." He winks broadly.
Junior snorts softly. "I'll get you for that." Then he grins, leading the way. Once they're someplace darker and more secluded, he slips into an alley long enough to go wolf.
Legbreaker pads back out, and chuffs softly. This way.
[Wharf, Pier Two]
Malachi sits crosslegged at the edge of one of the less-rotted piers, puffing at a cigarette as he stares out over the water. The kid's face is drawn into a grim, surly expression, and he seems lost in thought.
Legbreaker pads along, leading Matt and Bernie out onto the wharf. When he sees Malachi, he chuffs softly to the two with him. That's him, there.
Bernie wanders in beside Matt, behind the dog, her hands deep in her jacket pockets. She regards the boy on the pier thoughtfully as they proceed.
~Follow my lead, I've got an idea~ Matt growls under his breath. Handing her the plastic bag containing dinner, he pats his pockets. "Shit!" he comments, then looks around. Immediately he brightens, and approaches Malachi. "Oi, mate. doan't suppose Oi could bum a salmon there from ye?" He points toward the cigarette, inhaling the smoke.
Legbreaker pads quietly along beside Matt, watching Malachi.
Malachi shifts his weight, turning halfway around to give the trio a wary, surly look-over. His gaze passes unconcernedly over the dog to study Bernie and Matt for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," he says in a dull tone of voice, plucking the spare cigarette from behind his ear. He pushes to his feet and extends the cig toward Matt.
Bernie flashes the kid a smile, but continues to mainly concern herself with holding the bag. She rocks back a little on her heels, getting a comfortable stance.
Matt smiles, widely. "Excellent. Fanks, mate. Oi owe ye one. Pay ye back someday, promise." he accepts the cigarette, lighting it with a flick of the wrist, his lighter appearing from a pocket as if by sleight of hand. "You know th' chinese proverb? May ye live in interestin' times? Oi predict things will get interestin' sooner ravver than later."
Legbreaker turns his head, looking up at Matt.
Bernie eyes Matt a second, raising a brow, and then looks to the boy, nodding once. "I'd listen t' him. He's s'prisin'ly good at predictin' these things, sometimes."
Malachi squints at Matt with frowning bemusement. "Uh... yeah." His eyes flick back and forth between Bernie and Matt, rapidly. He fiddles with his cigarette, looking... twitchy, to say the least.
Legbreaker chuffs softly, wagging his tail as he looks up at Matt. He is, then? Should we take him tonight, is he close? Or can it wait?
Matt shrugs, nodding almost imperceptibly to Legbreaker. "Aye. Me ma was a bit fae. Welsh, ye see. Met a guy once, and joost felt Oi ought ta tell 'im ta 'old onta an arrow fer the dentist." He gestures with the cigarette, painting trails of smoke through his conversation. " 'e took me fer an anorak, 'course, and tol' me 'e'd joost seen to 'is teef. Still an' all, week later 'e comes ta me all amazed. Seems he'd chipped bof incisors at an Arsenal game. Crowd got in a row and shoved 'im into a concrete wall. So. Sometimes Oi can tell, 's all."
Malachi wrinkles his nose, his expression dubious as he listens to Matt's speech (and not understanding some of it, to judge by the flickers of incomprehension that occasionally pass across his face). His eyes continue to move restlessly; he shifts his weight and brings the cigarette up to his mouth for another quick inhale-exhale. "...Okay..."
Legbreaker turns his attention back to Malachi, and chuffs at him, wagging his tail.
Bernie nods along, seeming to follow this perfectly. "So, y'know. Y'might wanna keep an eye out for th' outta th' ordinary. Jussa thought."
Malachi frowns at Bernie, then shrugs. Shifts his weight again, warily.
Matt smiles, scratching Legbreaker on the head. "Well, anyway. Oi appreciate ye bein' 'ere for me in me time o' need. If Oi can return th' favor, Me name's Matt. Ye can find me usually around 'arbor Park, or Oi work at Ruth Cris' Steak'ouse."
"Mal," returns the kid, automatically. Not that he's looking to be all buddy buddy anytime soon. He even grimaces a little at mention of Harbor Park.
"Bernie," the girl chimes in, "...niceta meetcha." She glances at the dog, then back to Matt, "...prolly oughta get this stuff home 'fore it gets inedible, yeah?"
Matt nods. "Aye, or before Legbreaker 'ere decides ta make off wif it." He scruffs the ahroun. "You'd like that, wouldn'tcha. Wouldn'tcha?"
Malachi rolls his eyes and takes another few puffs on his cigarette. "Your dog's name is Legbreaker?"
"You'd be s'prised," Bernie confirms, dryly, eyeing the canid. "Anyway. We off?"
Legbreaker barks up at Bernie, wagging his tail, and pads over to her.
Matt smiles. "Aye. An' 'es earned it." To Bernie he likewise agrees. "Sure an' Oi've got me nic fix."
Malachi says nothing, waiting for the trio to wander off, his impatience ill-concealed.
[Bohemian Decadence]
Bernie leaves the door open for Matt as she enters, carrying the bag into the kitchen and pulling out the contents, checking their current status.
Matt closes the door behind him following to th e kitchen and noting that, despite his wishful thinking, a microwave has not mysteriously appeared on the countertop.
Bernie deems the meal too cold, and goes about heating the oven to rectify this. "So def'nitely onea us, then, huh?" she asks, breaking the silence.
Matt nods. "Oh aye. An' about ta pop. Oi'd like ta cubnap 'im before, so...so 'e's not around anyone 'e wants ta keep." Matt looks at his feet.
Bernie closes the oven, twists the timer, and walks back over to Matt, wrapping her arms around his neck in a gentle hug, and adding a kiss on the cheek. "Sounds like a good plan, yeah," she agrees quietly.
Matt smiles a little, haltingly. "Y'know, Oi fink Oi'm goin' ta start settin' some fold aside. Save up. Ye want ta meet my Ma?"
Bernie watches him a couple seconds, and gives up on trying to figure out the how, simply nodding and answering the question as asked, "...yeah. Def'nitely. I'd love to."
Matt says "Me too. Guess we'll 'ave ta find 'er.""
Bernie half-smiles, and lets go, slowly. "I'll stock up on fries, then."
Matt grins, feeling a bit better. "We won't be able ta go fer a while. Can't leave right after Oi become elder, now can I?"
Bernie smiles a little, and shakes her head, curls bouncing. "'course not. I mean, y'gotta make sure t' get everythin' sorted out an' runnin' like clockwork first, right? Do th' actual leadership thing. An', hey, by then we'll've saved up enough. Yeah?" Her fingertips glance along the edge of his jaw as she steps away, and back to check on dinner's warmth.
Matt looks up. "We?"
Bernie blushes slightly as she leans into the over and retrieves the meal, setting it on the counter. "....well. Put some applications in, y'know? Got a couple interviews this week, act'ly. I, um. Wasn' gonna say 'til I got hired somewhere, but. Anyway. So yeah, we."
Matt seems a bit stunned at first, having never considered this turn of events. Finally he smiles, broadly. "That's 'andsome, Books. Some jobs we just can't do, roight? But Oi 'ope ye'll find a good one."
Bernie nods, closing the oven, and looking mildly embarrassed as she leans back against the counter. "Well. There's school an' stuff t' pay for, an'... an' I don' wanna feel like I'm, y'know, takin' advantage an' not doin' my part, an' stuff..." She busies herself in the cupboard, getting the food onto plates and such. "..anyway. Dinner?"
"Aye, dinner. Yum" Matt looks at her, taking a hand. "Ye do yer part an' then some, Stomps-the-Wyrm. 'Sno' like ye 'aveta pay rent. Won't turn down some 'elp on electricity, or whotnot, cell phone bill." He settles down for his dinner, then wanders, tired into the bedroom. Someone has to work in the morning. Again.
Bernie trails after almost shyly, taking a moment to rinse the dishes for washing in the morning before she makes her way to join him.
Matt curls up with the Gnawer, and is almost asleep before a thought occurs to him: "this doesn't 'ave ta do wif us 'keepin' up appearances,' does it?"
Bernie snuggles even closer than usual tonight, and the question's met with a soft shake of her head against his shoulder. "Hadn't even thoughta that. Though I guess it doesn't hurt, huh? But no..." She sighs softly, and rises enough to catch his mouth in a particularly tender kiss before curling back down into the covers and quite quickly being overtaken by sleep.