There's a large packet of steak sitting by the fire, as is Dena. Actually, she's crouched, one hand on the ground, one hand holding a stick, with which she's currently flame searing chunks of steak. Given the small lump of steak next to her, she's evidently putting them gently down on a piece of tin foil, when they're done. There's also a tin-foil wrapped something that looks suspiciously like a baked potato, currently residing in the coals.

And so two Gnawer ragabi approach through the trees the conversation flowing from fragments to a more audible exchange as they near. "... gotta ... fucking ..." much like Max's voice. Then, ".. ain't... " Bernie's. Once again, closer in Max's voice, "... buy into that .... shit?"

Dena raises her head, craning her neck slightly to get a look at where the conversation is coming from, and then moves slightly so she can watch for their approach, but keeps searing meat. At one point, she burns herself on a piece, and shakes her hand out, growling to herself.

Bernie's hands are in her jacket pockets, and she's shaking her head a little. "I dunno, I di'n' act'ly run =inta= anya that, an' you'd think, like, Sepdet'd have somethin' t' say, yeah?" she remarks to Max, before catching sight of Dena, and tossing her a smile and a wave. "Smells good!" she calls, louder.

Max meanders into the compound beside Bernie in a companionable sort of saunter. She, too, catches sight of Dena and offers a careless smirk.

Dena sucks on one of her fingers, and then looks at it carefully. "Huh," she mutters, and then starts smiling, slightly. "Afternoon, folks. Thanks. I get this yen, occasionally, for really /good/ steak. Can't often afford it, though. You guys want some?"

"Sure, 'f you got extra," Bernie agrees, heading over, and casting a glance at Max, as if to see if she's coming along as well.

Max meanders over to settle on a log near the fire, watching Dena's activities with a narrowed if somewhat curious gaze. "I's bettin' y'ain't much of a Mickey D's kinda gal."

Dena gestures at the pile. "Go on ahead. There's a couple of potatoes, too, if you want." She slides the piece of steak off, and begins cutting a new one off the chunk of raw meat. "Well, no," she admits. "It tends to..." She stops. "It tends to make my insides uncomfortable. So I just avoid it, and purchase other things, instead, when I am able." She doesn't seem particularly confrontational toward Max, as she sticks the new piece of meat on, and lowers it into the fire.

Bernie leans over and plucks a warm chunk of steak from the pile, dropping down crosslegged on the ground near it and the fire in an uncharacteristically graceful move. "Even th' fries? 's too bad," she remarks, before starting in on the bit of meat.

Max doesn't expect confrontation from Dena; the Fury is too far above her to take much notice and be behaving as befits her rank, hence her gnat-like behavior the previous meeting. She watches her packmate take some of the meat and nibbles on her own lower lip, looking back to Dena. "Save the sept yet?" she asks mildly.

Dena says, "/Especially/ the fries," in a mock-grim tone. She burns herself again, this time on the stick, as she stops to blink at Max while she's in the middle of taking the piece of steak out. "It, um." She stops, and shakes her hand out again. "Did I give that impression, when I talked to you last? That I was somehow wanting to sweep down and save the day?"

Max's brows lift a tad and she cocks her head in a characteristic pose. "We both got our own impressions goin' on, I got a feelin'. You here for somethin' else 'n that?" That's as close as the ragabash will come to answering a question that came in lieu of an answer. She doesn't take a piece of meat.

"Save th' day, collect th' whole set..." Bernie glances at the meat in her fingers, and adds, "...this is really good, by th' way. Yeah, so Max seems t' get th' impression you're, like, here t' clean up Dodge, or somethin'. Which is weird 'cause it doesn't seem that dirty. So, y'know. Curious."

"I'm here to /help/," she says, poking at the piece of meat with her knife. "Not take something over." Raising her head to look at Bernie, she adds, "Nor to clean up Dodge. I'm not some strange version of a Western sheriff. But I /am/ an Adren, and that /does/ mean I'll need to be a warleader, at times. Over both woodsy types, and city types."

Max reaches deep into one of her pockets and then another and then another before pulling out a rope of black licorice which she places in her mouth and chews on, sliding backward off the log to bump to her rear on the ground, propped by her elbows, knees still draped over the log-seat. "You gotta get yourself a fuckin' big 'A' and stick it on your shirt so people figure that one out." It's an obscure way to make her point, but it is one route to go, after all.

"...Not a scarlet one," Bernie chimes in quickly, grinning, "...'cause, y'know, give people th' wrong idea." Finishing her meat, she licks her fingertips off rather daintly, wipes them on her jeans less so, and slips her jacket off. The fire is, unsurprisingly, warmish.

Dena turns to regard Max, as she puts the meat, still on the stick, down on the tinfoil. "Gotta prove I'm worth anything, in other words. You object to me coming in, not having done anything, and saying, "Hey. What're you like? I'm gonna be boss, after all." Right? Or did I get it wrong?"

Max swings her feet a tad where they hang over the log if only to prove that she isn't put off by the question or the rather intimidating Garou asking it. After all, ninety five percent of a ragabash's glory is pure bravado, or so Tim has taught her. "What do /you/ think, Ardenas. Kytheras. Kostenas. /Rhya/?"

Bernie leans back, resting her hands on the ground behind her and her weight on her hands, and watches the other two closely, and silently.

Dena says, mildly, "I thought I asked you a question. If you'd like me to assume, that's fine, but it tends to lead to my making an ass of myself."

Max's lips quirk very faintly at Dena's turn of expression. She pauses a moment, measuring whether or not there might be some sort of implied call of rank in the mention of the unanswered question. "I ain't into hearing what I think -- I already got that part down. 'sides, that don't tell me much 'bout where the hell /your/ full moon brain cells is out prowling."

Dena shrugs, as she puts the meat back in the fire. "Generally, I can explain where my brain cells are going better when I understand what the hell you're having a problem with. You know. Exchange of information, sort of thing."

Bernie almost absently acquires another stray chunk of the meat, one lying slightly aside of the base of the main pile, and nibbles at it, still staying out of the conversation.

Max chews awhile on her licorice and glances to her packmate, exchanging a look with the curvy, more friendly ragabash before looking back to Dena and speaking around the candy. "You think I's sittin' here thinkin' you gotta prove somethin' to me an' that makes me think either you got a li'l Einstein in your blood /or/ you think th'only reason I ain't paintin' the ground red somewhere is I's a Boner." She pauses and then nibbles some more at the licorice. "You ain't got /nothin'/ to prove t'me, Desolation Barbie. I /get/ that you got the Adren thing goin' on. I /get/ that Warder Bob got his knees all scuffed t'get your Terminator ass up here. What you don't got yet is anything more 'n that."

Pack> Max sends the thought through the totem, "You can have my marker collection when she cleans the compound with my ass, chica."

Pack> Bernie's thought returns faintly wryly, "...what, all of 'em? I'll have to learn to draw."

Dena regards Max. "Right. I don't have anything more than you getting that. I don't have trust, I don't have anything but the barest respect. I /shouldn't/ have that, yet, though. I'm new. I gotta show that I'm not here to just waltz in. That I /can/ do anything. That there's any point to my being here. I don't have a problem with that."

Max holds Dena's gaze for a valiant few moments before her own brown gaze drops away and idly to the side. She /wanted/ to look at the trees, sure she did. Without further comment, she drops back to her flat back and gazes up at the lazy, late afternoon, summer sky. "Word." comes her quiet, muffled statement.

Dena snorts softly. "Which is why I had to choose between going into battle and getting my butt kicked, or asking for information. I guess with you, I shoulda gotten my butt kicked."

Max smirks up at the sky and lucky for her that Dena can't see over the log that she's silently mimicing those words up toward the treetops.

Bernie nods once, very slightly, and a corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile, as if satisfied things seem to be settled, then laughs a little at the further comment. "I dunno, 's all lookin' a'ight 't me... 's there somethin' in particular waitin' t' kick our butts right now, or you jus' savin' up for later?"

Dena tilts her head. "Sewers, maybe? Seems like you guys're down there often enough to need help. I'm told someone said so at Moot, even."

Bernie nods a bit, pushing a curl back behind her ear with the meat-free hand. "Yeah; that's a constant thing. One prol'em there is, you get too many bodies in th' sewer, you can't move much. Li'l claustrophobic down there, y'know? Though it does help on protectin' th' people workin' in th' middle."

Dena says, "Sure. I'm prepared for that kind of issue. I'm not claustrophobic, but I do wish there were more room. Have to leave my axe at home. But them's the breaks."

Bernie nods, shifting her position a little. "Well, I'm not claustrophobic either, but still, y'get th' idea. Plus, there's weirdness t' account for; I really gotta thinka some kinda good insulation for next time..." She trails off, biting her bottom lip lightly, before continuing, "...water's a bad thing t' be standin' in when 'lectricity banes are after ya."

Dena says, "Yeah. That did not sound good at all. I'm not much on scientific matters, but I suspect... We should all read up on 'em."

If a Gnawer stepped on a twig in the woods, would it make a sound? Well, yeah. It would. And Smokes-the-Weed is doing just that, if not intentionally, as he wanders the woods. He takes the time to follow his nose to the Compound. Mmm, dead cow.

Dena raises her head at the twig-cracking, and swivels slightly so that she can watch for his approach. She also sticks a new piece of meat on the fire.

"I am," Bernie replies, with a small, not quite self-deprecating shrug. "Problem is, comin' up with somethin' feasible, y'know? Like, putting a porcelain floor in above th' water level, that's not gonna be number one on my lista reasonable s'gestions. I mean.. all th' lit'rature, what it says for workin' with 'lectricity in watery areas? 'Don't.'" The noise of the footfalls manages to draw her attention, eventually, and she peers toward the woods as she finishes off her chunk of now-cool meat.

Smokes-the-Weed is first keeping his nose to the ground , content to keep a track on the scent. His ears twitch as he hears at least one voice. One he knows. He stops just as he takes a few steps into the compound, finding his Tribesmate, and a stranger sitting with said Ragabash.

Dena says, "Mmm. Could deal with it spiritually. Get a theurge in there that has the power to command spirits. Or, is there a way to disrupt electricity naturally, in some fashion? I," she adds, not understating, "Am no scientist at all." There's a short pause, and she adds, "Afternoon. Are you lupus?" She's speaking a little slower, just in case.

Smokes-the-Weed is tentative, as he seems to have interrupted something. He doesn't move a step as he chuffs a negative. This one is born of the humans, he explains, and is attempting a little variety tonight. He does have a humorous expression as he picks up on the Fury's change in talking speed. And I am not deaf, either. He says this with good humor, and not as a challenge.

Dena does, in fact, grin. "Were you lupus, I would switch languages. Especially since I was going to offer to share my lunch. Care for some steak?"

Bernie grins at the wolf, and waves. "Hey, Smokes," she greets him, "...I'd take her up on it, 'f I were you. 's good." A look to Dena, and, "...by th' way, you prepare it any way, or just cook it how it was?"

A tail lifts, as if ready to wag. That would be great! The Gnawer in Lupus pads over at the invitation, plopping himself by the fire after nussling Bernie's aside in greeting with a wet, cold, doggy nose. He turns to the other woman, and feels he should offer his thanks to you for sharing your meal. We have not met.

Dena says, "A little garlic and a little rosemary, in a marinade. Let it sit for a bit." She smiles over at Joey and agrees, "No. We haven't. I'm Ardenas Kytheras Kostenas, but no one's called me that in years. Call me Dena. I'm also known as Serendipity's Shadow, and less often known as Guards the Desolate Shore. I've just given chiminage here, and have just recently come from Gaia's Bones in California, where I led a Pegasus pack for years. I am Black Fury, and ahroun, and Adren, and it's good to meet you."

Smokes-the-Weed goes stock still, up on all fours. He teeters over, away from the fire, slowly, until the momentum carries him on his back, legs sticking straight up into the air with his tail firmly between them. This one is called ~Joey~ in the tongue of Man, and is known as Braves-Fire to the wolves. Cliath Ragabash of the Bone Gnawers.

Dena's grin increases. "I see." Glancing into the forest, she frowns. "You folks feel free to have more lunch. Dinner. Whatever. I have to check something. Tribemate, I think." With that, she shifts into lupus and pads out.

Smokes-the-Weed rolls over once the Adren is gone. He makes an exaggerated motion of sniffing where his foreleg meets his torso, in his impression of an armpit. I am not that bad! he protests.

Bernie laughs, and shakes her head, picking up another chunk of meat. Hey, can't let it go to waste. And it'll get cold! "Freak," she declares cheerfully. "C'mon, have a bite."

Smokes-the-Weed picks up one in his stronger jaws, and chows down. He seems all too pleased. What does she put in this?

"A little garlic and a little rosemary in a marinade," Bernie echoes, ina conscious but not mocking imitation of the Ahroun, then back to herself, "...apparently. 's =good=, though, innit? Wonner if it works as well without th' campfire cookin'? Maybe try it at home, sometime."

Smokes-the-Weed swallows, after chewing vigorously, and shifts upward, to take a seat opposite Bernie. "Cooked food's a good thing," he says. He perks up, as if he's remembered something. "Reminds me of two things. My Mom's Kin, and after I took her and Dad back here from Seattle, she got a job at one of the diners downtown. Best cheese fries on the planet, and she's cool with free food to Family types. And, the second. Alicia has a twin brother who's Kin, works at McDeath, and offered the same free grub to family."

Bernie laughs. "Well, I was still gonna cook it. I jus' think Matt'd frown on a campire in th' middlea th' livin' room, y'know? She stretches, rearranges her jacket into a neat pile beside her, and takes another chunk. "You mean Eggs? Yeah, I knew that. Di'n' know 'boutcher mom, though; cool. An' I'm workin' at Garcias part-time now, so, y'know, pizza. Only I prolly can't do a lotta it. Mostly, like, things people forget t' pick up, or are pranks, or got th' wrong toppin's, an' shit. Still."

Joey looks a bit shocked. "You mean they throw it out?" To a Gnawer, that's a crime on the level of High Treason, right there. "That's obscene."

"Well. If th' people workin' don't eat it, yeah. Not much choice, y'know? Same deal at Ruth Chris, 's why Matt drops all that stuff by at th' Church, y'know? True for most rest'raunts, I figure." Bernie nibbles on her newest bit of meat, gesturing with it as she continues, "...so, y'know, 'tween alla that."

"'Tween all of that," Joey quips, "we're probably the most well-fed Gnawers on Earth." Indeed. It's good to be on top. He smiles. "But how have /you/ been? We...don't talk anymore."

"Yeah," Bernie agrees, "'f we don' watch out we'll hafta smite our foes by rollin' over 'em." That spectre notwithstanding, she finishes her meat, and goes for piece number four. "An' I know; I keep not runnin' inta you lately, y'know? Plus bein' outta state a while. Went down t' SoCal t' see my fam'ly, right? So, that was cool. Found out my Dad's 'rou, so's my middle bother, though he doesn' know it yet. Resta 'em are kin. So =that's= cool..." She munches thoughtfully.

Joey flashes a grin. "Your dad and your brother? Don't you have, like, a hundred siblings or something?" He looks interested in this. "Were they happy to see you?"

Bernie giggles. "Only five. Yeah. My dad's a 'dox, turns out. Gnawer, ob'viously. I oughta look up what Bobert is. Didn't get t' see him when I was there, he was on some school trip." This is, apparently, a little upsetting to her. "Clarence was workin' mosta th' time, an' I di'n' see him much, either. But, yeah, they were all glad t' see me, an' vice versa. Sam, he's th' lit'lest, 'less you count Penny, Lola's baby, anyway, he kept askin' me what I brought him. It was cute. Naomi takes carea him an' Penny a lot, looks like. Lola's same as ever, kept flirtin' with Matt... Oh, an' I got t' meet Dad's pack, that was cool an' bizarre. I mean, I'd met mosta 'em b'fore, y'know, an' I never =knew=." She shakes her head a little, thoughtful again. "It was weird t' be back there. Cool, but weird."

Joey smiles, and can only imagine. "Sounds cool. Like when the scales are lifted from your eyes, or some other sort of metaphysical shit like that." He tilts his head to the side, again curious. "You...ran away?" He's making assumptions, here, since they're all down There and Bernie is Not.

Bernie looks a tad sheepish, at that, and nods. "Yeah, s'pose y'could say that. I mean, I let 'em know where I was after a couple weeks, but, yeah. Basic'ly." A pause, and she adds, hastily, "...not 'causea them. I mean, they're great, if kina busy dealin' with alla us kids an' work an' unbeknownst t' me, 'rou stuff, an' alla that shit. I just got s'spended an' d'cided that was it, I hadda get outta there a while, an' I might's well seein' as I was stuck outta school anyhow for a couple weeks. Planned t' go back when they were up. But, well." She gestures to the surroundings.

Joey smiles, just so. "And Gaia had other plans? After I got separated from my folks in Seattle, they told me if anything happened, to come here. Found out later it was 'cause they knew Gnawers were here." He tilts his head to the side. "Looking back, what d'ya think on that? You being here and all, where there are Garou? Luck, or destiny or something?"

Bernie considers, chewing the last of her meat. "Never thought 'bout it," she admits, "...either works. Doesn't matter why, just =is=. Y'know?" A pause, and, "...so'd your folks know you were gonna change 'fore you did? Did they warn you, or anythin'?"

Joey chuckles. "They were going to, they've told me. Then we got separated, and never had the chance."

Bernie nods a bit. "Yeah... 'parently, my fam'ly, they tell us at sixteen, only, well, I changed 'fore that. Not much, but still. An' what if Bobert does? I mean, makes sense for th' kin, r'sponsibility an' all, but."

Joey lifts his eyebrows. "How old is he? And where's he headed on his trip?"

"...fifteen," Bernie replies, "...like I was. Only, much closer t' th' beginnin' than th' end." She pushes a curl back behind her ear; it pops back out. "...so. Yeah, he'll prolly pop soon."

Joey lets out a breath. "I hope it goes well for him."

Bernie nods. "Me too," she agrees, and looks into Dena's fire a few moments, before articulating something she's been trying not to think about, "...'f he changes on Dad, sure he c'n handle it. But... I'm a li'l worried, what if it's 'cause Mom pisses him off, or Naomi, or Sam, or..." She trails off, nibbling her lip once.

Joey mimics the motion, involuntarily. "Well," he says, trying to be encouraging. "They're Kin, and they've probably dealt with it before. They'll be fine..."

Bernie runs a hand through her hair, fingers combing through the curls. "Yeah...." she replies, sounding not entirely convinced. "...anyway." A thought strikes her, and she glances at the watch on her backpack, "shit. I gotta get back t' town, my shift starts in like an hour. Suck t' get fired my second day, yeah?" She stretches, claims her backpack and jacket, and pushes to her feet. "Talk t'ya 'gain later, yeah? Sorry t' run off."

Joey waves a hand. "Nothing to it," he says. "Have fun," he chimes. Spoken like someone who never held a job in his life.

"I'll do m' best," Bernie replies with a wave of her own, returning to nearer her usual cheerful demeanor. "Later!" And with that, and her jacket over her arm, she starts out through the woods.