Sophia is sprawled, arms and legs akimbo, in the beanbag. The TV is on, but with no volume, just random things with no meanings appearing on the screen. She's not even facing the silent show - She has one hand propped up on the couch, reading the Tao Te Ching.

A cheerfully rhythmic knocking sounds on the door. It seems to be the rhythm of Reveille, specifically. Percussion versions of bugle calls; what will they think of next?

Sophia glances at the door. Must be a Gnawer; everyone else's knocks are boring, simple. She hefts herself up out of the amorphous seat, going to peek out the unopened door with cheerful curiosity.

Wonder of wonders, it's -- a Bernie! Looking much more pleasant than the last time she came by, as well, if perhaps a bit antsy and energetic. She's shifting her weight slightly from foot to foot, humming, and bouncing a foot lightly while she waits. Also, she's got a fairsized box that looks suspiciously like it's from the local donut shop. It may be the logo that gives it away.

Sophia opens the door, a warm smile on her face. Nothing like a Bone Gnawer to cheer a person up. "Hiya! Come on in, Bernie." She steps against the door so Bernie can pass, holding it open with her back.

"Hey!" Bernie returns the greeting brightly, strolling on inside, and offers the box. "Brought donuts. Hungry?" She scans the area, despite having seen it more than once before.

Sophia grins. "Sugar. Mmm." She shuts the door securely and moves into the rec room. "Does your tribe have Native American roots, by any chance?" The warm spot in the beanbag has barely had time to cool before it's reoccupied, Sophia once again entering a state of lethargic relaxation as she shifts the beans around with her tush, trying to make the perfect shaped dent.

Bernie watches the reseating, and giggles. "My assgroove!" she exclaims in a quite passable Homer Simpson voice, given that she's female and all, and heads over to the nearest patch of couch to the bag, setting the box down as she drops into the seat and makes herself comfy. "Well. Not that I know of, not as such... pretty sure th' tribe started out mostly European, y'know? But we're kina more social class than blood, so I s'spect we've got a decent 'mounta Native Americans now." From the sound of it, she hasn't really considered this before, and is tying some of what she's been told before together with what seems logical.

A high-pitched giggle comes from the cub, so high it could be coming from her eyes rather than her throat. Sophia quiets, though, at the answer to her question. "Oh. I just thought maybe, y'know, since you guys often bring food when you visit. I just remembered reading in some book about that being customary with some of the tribes. But so... what brings you to this part of the jungle? Just looking for a place to hang?"

Bernie curls her legs up beside her on the couch, somehow managing to kepp just the soles of her boots off the upholstery, and half-smiles. "Well, 's considered polite in a lotta societies, y'know? 's like... a signa friendship, kina. I mean, even high class dinner parties, it's proper t' bring wine or choc'lates or some shit, right? Plus, I think it's parta th' Gnawer psyche, feedin' people." She eyes the box a moment, and grins. "Plus, I'm hungry." Leaning over, she opens it, and looks over the array of choices within. "...an' yeah, basically. Matt's closin' t'night, resta th' pack's busy with one thing or another, an' I was bored. So hey, hi. Donut?" She plucks a chocolate frosted chocolate cake ring out, and gestures toward the remaining assortment.

Sophia reaches in and selects a bright pink one with coconut. (Prissy, maybe, but don't let her see you thinking that.) She crosses one leg over the other, grinning. "Ever since that fight, y'know, we cubs can't go places on our own. So it's great to have people stop by." She handles the donut gingerly to avoid a miniature coconut snowfall in her lap. "But now it looks like they're going to let me train with some different people, out in the woods. Maybe even for a week or two. Things have been kinda tense around here lately, so I'm happy to have the opportunity to escape every once in a while."

Bernie makes a face, and swallows her bite before speaking. "Yeah? Sucks, groundin' you guys. Makes it a pain in th' ass t' learn anythin'. But I guess y'all're more fragile'n we are," she teases, and gestures vaguely with her donut. "Parole's good; I know Cam an' 'lish both were goin' stir crazy when they were jailed t' th' Farmhouse. You c'n learn theurge-y stuff. Which r'minds me, 'f Corey's got no-moon questions, he's still welcome t' bug me with 'em, 'kay?"

Sophia nods. "K. Right now, though, I think it's our other raggie who needs some advice on no-moon stuff. She's got something up her sleeve, some kind of prank, but doesn't know how to follow through with it." She chomps into her donut, attacking it as if it might try to run away.

Bernie nibbles at hers, in contrast, looking thoughtful. "Th' one in lupe in th' park?" she queries, "...cool. Haven't done nearly 'nough on th' prank front since I got up here."

Sophia tilts her head, swallowing. "I know there's a lot of other things to being a Ragabash than just jokes and tricks, but... what do you do instead?"

Bernie leans back into the cushions, and eyes her donut. Right. Liquid. "...got anythin' t' drink?" she asks, "I mean, not t' be a pain, but I feel like a Got Milk ad..." She grins, and answers the actual question. "Well. Lotsa things. But d'you mean, what do I spend my time doin', or in a raggie-specific kina way, as in, what am I doin' auspice-wise?"

Sophia holds up a finger. "Hold that thought, Rhya. I'll go get you a glass." She bounds up the stairs, two at a time, and returns a few minutes later with two empty glasses and a half-full jug of milk. "Ok... So, you were going to tell me more about what it's like being a ragabash." She pours milk in one glass and hands it to Bernie, pouring another for herself.

"Cool beans... thanks," the Gnawer remarks, accepting the glass and taking a big sip. "...ahh. Right, okay. So, a'ight. Ragginess. See, what we are is th' Questioners of th' Ways. Our job is t' think outside th' box, cliche as that is, t' try an' really =look= at everythin' we're told an' given as truth an' see how it holds up. Someone's gettin' outta place, an Ahroun might whap 'em, a 'dox might point out how they're not, say, Respectin' Those Beneath 'em, but a Raggie, we take a more roundabout route, us'ly -- maybe a wisecrack t' show 'em how silly things look, or t' diffuse things... pranks aren't just for fun, I mean, hell, they =are= fun, but also, you're teachin' things. Sometimes it's just, don't leave your door unlocked. But other times, it could keep someone alive later -- like, stay on your toes, watch your surroundings, don't get lazy. Y'know?" She pauses to drink some more, lifting a finger to indicate she's not done yet.

Sophia takes a sip of her milk and a bite of her donut, listening.

Bernie continues, settling deeper into the couch, "...so. What we also are, aside from that, is th' stealthy, sneaky spies an' thieves of th' 'rou. Which is t' say, we scout, we do recon, we dart in where what we need is subtlety, not strength. An' I dunno 'bout alla us, but me, I plan. I try an' think my way 'round whatever's gotta be done, an' figure out th' best way t' do it. Like with th' Bigfoot bones? That was a Raggie job, mostly. Me an' Yi an' Collin, we went in an' stole or trashed all th' info they had in there that we could find from it, while everyone was at th' dinner, while Joey an' co, they made a distraction an' grabbed the bones as they were bein' taken away. Ahrouns an' Galliards, they lead battle a lot, but they're... more straightforward, confrontational. You got a battle, they're prolly good t' lead it. 'doxen, they lead where y'need people t' cooperate, work things out, an' spirits, figure you wanna Theurge helpin' you handle that. But you wanna get somethin' done quiet, =without= a battle, I say ask a Ragabash."

Sophia swallows a bite of donut that is really far too large for her mouth, licking her lips clean of any stray bits of coconut. "So... sneaking, basically. Not just, like, hiding in dark places to get stuff done without a fuss, but also, sneaking around people's defenses to find ways of asking things that you can't just blurt right out with?"

Bernie nods, finishing off her donut and washing it down. "...yeah. I'd say so. We're s'posta be clever, creative, alla that. Onea th' reasons we play th' fool at the moots, I think... so we c'n question th' ways properly, make people think 'bout why they're th' way they are, an' all. An' if they oughta be. So yeah; I'd say askin' people things subtly's in our baliwick." She pauses a moment, and grins at the donuts, adding, "Though. That's not t' say that =alla= us are good at tact an' shit." Possibly thinking of her packmates.

Sophia watches Bernie's grin, amused. "I have another question for you. Is there something about a Galliard's job that makes them... well... crazy? Like, not quite right in the head? I mean... I don't know a whole lot of them. And some of them seem perfectly normal and rational, like Kaz. But some others I know are just... weird. Freaky beyond description." She takes a big gulp of milk, mostly to shut herself up.

Bernie laughs, leaning back again, and cocks her head at the cub. "Like who? I'd hafta say nah... Galliards, in my 'sperience, they seemta have a flair for th' dr'matic, for sure, an' they mostly talk a lot, but crazy? Last I heard that stereotype went t' =your= auspice."

Sophia chuckles. "Well, it's obvious why a Theurge has to be wacky. They have a wacky job. But no... I dunno. They just seem, maybe... maybe they just think of how the story will go before things are over, is all. Like, trying to make things interesting, for no useful purpose. Like, say, Roger, for instance. Or Alicia. As much as I appreciate everything she's done for me and my tribesmates, she's just... a little /different./" The last word is stressed in much the same way children's artwork is described as /interesting.../

Bernie glances sideways at Sophia, still half-smiling, but with a glint in her eye that suggests this could be dangerous ground. "I dunno 'bout Roger, though I've heard people call 'im nuts b'fore, if not in so many words... what d'you mean 'bout 'lish?"

Sophia sighs, trying to gather her thoughts to form a cohesive picture. "She just doesn't always think things through. Like, say... fighting a bane made of glass with fist instead of claw. But that one, of course, how is a person supposed to know unless someone tells them, right? But that's not even what I mean. Ok, well like see, I was asking her for advice about Jeremy, and she went off on this weird tangent about all the different kinds of... y'know, lovemaking and stuff. When that wasn't at /all/ what I wanted to hear about." Her body trembles briefly, a controlled shudder that might pass for a shiver if it were even a little bit cold.

Bernie winces a bit, and gains a fairly light but definite blush at the last portion of the explanation. "She, mmph. Can get a bit graphic, can't she?" the cliath murmurs wryly, "...an' that's just her, I think. I mean. 'side from Galliardiness. Though I guess, that latter part, that's kina th' Galliard need t' tell stories an' news an' all." She pauses a moment, regarding her milk, and then cocks her head at Sophia, with a curious, "....So just what'd she =say= 'bout..." She breaks off, gaining at least one shade in her blush, and looks back to the milk, "Um. Nevermind, prolly don' wanna know. I think. Prolly."

Sophia struggles to restrain a giggle, and ends up sounding like she's panting. She sets down her glass, trying not to spill any milk, and leans forward, draped over her legs like a ragdoll. "No... you probably don't. And I probably couldn't repeat it, anyway, without turning as red as a lobster. It was... graphic, yeah. When all I really wanted to know was, whether Jeremy was trying to get in my pants or not. I think I have all that figured out now, though. I figure, y'know, he's probably shy enough that I don't have to worry."

Bernie giggles a little herself, and pushes a stray curl back behind her ear. "So... is he?" she asks, lightly teasing, and still rather pink. The curl makes its way right back out; she doesn't notice. "An'... damn, I'm curious now, though," she admits, "...I mean, okay, in a non-graphic way...?" She shakes her head, curls slipping across each other, and glances beseechingly to the heavens.

Sophia looks up now. "Well, I think he is /trying/, but at the rate he's going, it'll take him a few years to get anywhere. Which is fine by me." She chuckles, shaking her head. "Basically, what she explained to me was how there's, like... different ways, different reasons for sex. Like, to just release hormones, or because you're really in love, or whatever. The thing she went into too much detail on, though, was like, exactly how those different things played out for her personally. The thing that really scared me though, was she made it sound like the fact that I had a kin boyfriend meant that it would be, like, /expected/ for me to sleep with him after my Rite. Like, even... a responsibility."

Bernie laughs softly at the middle of that, turning a little redder again, and finishes off her milk. "...yeah, I c'n see, def'nitely, where some things, y'don't so much want th' full anecdotal illustration of th' concept." Curling back into place in the cushions, she looks thoughtful. "Y'wouldn't be 'spected t' sleep with him 'cept t' have kids though, yeah? An' I kina doubt anyone'll try t' getcha t' do that right away. I mean, you're like how old?" She shrugs a little, still looking embarrassed. "I mean, I guess eventually, so there'll be morea us, people'd expect it. But I wouldn't, like, worry 'bout it." A thought seems to strike her, and she leans down to check the watch threaded into one strap of her backpack. "'s gettin' on; Matt'll be home soon an' I said I'd make dinner t'night... prolly oughta jet in a few."

Sophia nods, unaware of the time, but guessing it must be fairly late. "Yeah, I'm just fifteen. It's hard to believe, even in the Garou world where age is all topsy-turvy, that people would want me to have kids right away. And I think Jeremy, if he thought about it, wouldn't be real thrilled with the idea of being a papa at his age, either. But before I really sat down and thought about all that stuff, I was pretty freaked out about the idea. I mean... ugh." She shrugs, a half-smile getting stuck on her cheek. "I'm still kinda shakey on when exactly I'm supposed to start feeling like an adult, y'know?" She starts tidying things up a bit, drinking the last of her milk and setting the glasses next to each other, retrieving her book, indicating that it's late for her, as well.

Bernie nods a little, running a hand through her curls. "I'm sixteen," she remarks, "...when my mom was sixteen -- an' my dad was seventeen -- they were havin' my older brother, Clarence. An' my sister Lola, she's seventeen, she had a baby, Penny, last year. So, y'know. Obviously you =could= start poppin' 'em out. Pers'nally I'm in favour of th' whole waitin' idea m'self." She stands, stretching, and then laughs, "...an' I know whatcha mean, 'bout th' adult thing? I went from not feelin' like one at all t' goin' back an' forth b'tween feelin' like one an' wantin' a teddybear or somethin', so. I guess we grow inta it, y'know?" She slings the bag onto her shoulder, leaving the donuts in place.

Sophia folds the box up, offering it to Bernie. "I guess I never knew you were so young. You seem a lot more mature than just sixteen. It gives my hope for myself." She smiles warmly, stepping into the lobby..

Bernie gives a mock curtsey as she follows along, and grins, offering, "...Seventeen in four months?" She pauses by the door to continue, "...thanks, though. An' you oughta have hope for yourself, you're all potential-y. You're doin' great, from all I've seen an' heard." Her fingers comb through her hair again, separating the ringlets, "...so, thanks for havin' me, an' all. Feel free t' call me 'f, like y'need anythin', yeah?"

Sophia nods happily, if a bit tired, and opens the door. "Thanks for stopping by. I'll have Dizzy call you when she figures out what she wants to do, Ok?"

Bernie tosses off a silly little mock-salute that melds into a wave as she heads out the door. "Deal. G'night!" And with that, she's off down the street, headed back through her territory toward the Decadence.