At this time of night, the van passes few other other vehicles on its way through the more nocturnally sedate parts of downtown and out into an area on the edge of commercial and residential, with two or three floors of apartments atop various stores, not yet single-family homes. An older part of town, a bit rundown, the kind of place ripe for revitalization projects. "Left," Bernie instructs, voice somewhat quiet despite that fact that she could hardly worry about being heard outside the van, "...they're workin' on renovatin' parta an' old hall here... I think it's th' right kina fence. Plus scaffoldin' but we don't need that..."

The metis drives somewhat better than she used to. No grinding gears, at least. She turns left abruptly, and mutters, "We could take a few pieces've th' scaffoldin' anyway. Never know what it's good for."

Matt smokes quietly in the back, window cracked to draw out the smoke. He occasionally flicks ash into the little ashtray in the armrest.

Bernie nods. "'s true. I mean, long 's we've got th' van an' all anyhow..." She leans somewhat toward Kaz, peering out the driver's side window and that side of the windshield as they go. Before, she saw this place in the light. "...next block, I think," she says, then nods as she catches the glint of the metal scaffolding in the headlights, "...there, on th' left, right after th' cross-street." She glances back over her shoulder to Matt, flashing him a quick grin.

Kez parks surprisingly neatly, all things considered, and hops out. She also manages, somehow, to radiate an aura of "I'm supposed to be here. Really."

Matt has shed his regular jacket for a blue nylon windbreaker and a pair of work gloves. Add a baseball cap from his work bag (with Ruth-Cris Steakhouse embroidered on it), and he looks like a site-worker. He pushes open the back doors of the van and hops out, leaving them open.

Bernie hops out as well, not looking quite as inconspicuous as Matt, but managing to radiate I-belong-here-vibes reasonably well. She strides purposefully over to the plywood fencing under and behind the scaffold. Some boards have had posters and flyers tacked on them, some still there, some torn down, leaving only stapled, torn corners or a gummy residue as evidence.

Whistling "If I had a Hammer," Kaz produces various tools from the back of the van -- a crowbar, a hammer, that sort of thing -- and hands some around. After which, she starts prying nails and other obstructions away.

Matt follows to the pile of loose plyboard, and tilts one up. "Gercha, Books. Ovver end, please?" He then stoops, to put one hand underneath the board.

Bernie nods, stepping over and taking hold of the indicated side, pausing until she's sure Matt's got the other end set before trekking it toward the back of the van.

Kaz, still whistling, keeps dismantling for a bit, before helping carry some of the larger boards.

"So 'ow many o' these d'we need, exactly?" Matt asks, hefting another sheet of wood.

"'zactly?" Bernie echoes, "um..." A pause, as she sizes them up. "Two fell down, but they're all rotting, an' we don' wanna do this 'gain, so let's try for eight? At least..."

Kaz, as she carries, grabs some loose piping from the scaffolding that's fallen down.

Matt nods. "Well, 'at's two then. six more." He returns to the pile. He glances occasionally at the posters. "So, 'oo's 'Matchbox 20,' then?"

"'s a band," Bernie replies, "... m'sister's last-boyfriend-b'fore-I-left took her t' see them, I think. She said they were good." A light shrug before she takes hold of one edge of another board.

Kaz says, dismissively, "Modern," and rearranges the boards in the truck bed so they rest better.

Matt nods, silently, then hauls. Sooner they are away, the happier he'll be.

It doesn't take too much longer to collect enough boards, with all three of them working on it. Bernie helps push the last of them into the van, and glances back at the decimated fence, debating whether it'd be better to take more just to be safe.

Matt gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder from the back seat. "It'll be fine, Books. Oi fink these are larger than th' old ones by 'alf a meter or so."

Bernie presses her lips together a moment, then nods, closing her door and buckling up. Kaz starts the van, heading back through the quiet sections of the city, then the more active ones, even at this hour, until they reach the park.

Matt yawns quickly, stifling it with his fist. He waits, this time for Bernie to get out, so as to avoid walking over the plywood. He squeezes out the passenger door behind her, then goes around to open the back of the van.

Bernie moves quickly around the back, and pauses a moment, then lets the others open it up while she goes over to the fountain, hammer in hand, and takes apart what remains of the fence, pulling the half- and mostly-rotted boards away into a pile.

Matt looks around carefully, then shift into glabro to more easily heft the plywood sheets. Stronger and a bit more lanky, he Garou-handles them into a new pile, propped up against a nearby bench.

The original fence-boards are indeed a bit smaller, and therefore somewhat easier to handle, but Bernie is still breathing hard after dragging them, and she sits on the bumper of the van for a moment, recovering, before she moves to the bench, bringing the tools.

Matt waits for the tools, then stands a couple of boards up next to one another, so that Bernie can pin them together with joists. "'bout here, then? Should be enough wood."

Bernie glances toward the ruined plumbing, then back to the boards, and nods, starting to attach them together. "Looks like it oughta work, yeah..." she replies softly, and then, for a moment, grins brightly, giving the plywood a gentle approving pat.

Matt waits for the first two to be firmly attached, then steps back. The angle between the pieces allows them to stand on their own, so he grabs another board and maneuvers it into place on one end.

Bernie gets more joists, and moves in to the angle between them, humming softly as she fastens the boards together.

...and so it goes. Within about half an hour the fountain is almost ringed by brand new--well, new to /this/ place--plyboard. Matt pauses, before getting the last sheet, thinking. "There's no door," he says, finally.

Bernie nods. "I know," she replies, and grins again, "...I thoughta that." She procuces a pair of tarnished but functional hinges, reasonably strong-looking, two brand-new appearing bits of metal to hold the lock, and a handful of screws. "Ta da. Doorbits. Should work, right?"

Matt wrinkles his forehead. "So this whole piece then, that's the ol' 'enry Moore, is it?"

Bernie nods, regarding it again. It's pretty big. On the other hand.... "....yeah. Otherwise we'd hafta cut a door outta it an' then attach =that=, right? An' I don't think we gotta saw in there anyway."

Matt shrugs, flashing Bernie a tooth smile before he seals her in with the last board. "Fair enough," he growls.

"Good thing I'm not claustrophobic," Bernie mutters, slowly managing to screw the hinges on. Not without a bit of soft swearing as she tries to get the things to bore in. Eventually, though, she has them set, and pushes on the board to swing it outward.

Matt steps out of the way, as the board crunches across the pavement. It swings, though, which is good enough. He shifts back down to homid form, having nothing major left to lift. "You're puttin' th' 'inge out 'ere, roight?"

Bernie pauses. "...y'mean th' things for holdin' th' lock?" she asks, pulling the strips of metal from her pocket in illustration.

Matt nods. "S'whot Oi said. Th' 'inge." He demonstrates with his hands, the hasp closing over the bolt.

Bernie laughs. "Oh. I di'n' know whatcha call it. Th' lock thing. I thinka th' other things as hinges, y'know?" She pushes the door back into place, with a sudden brief blush before she sets the hasp in place at a good level to screw it in. "That look 'bout right?"

Matt shrugs. "Are you askin' me if it's up to City code?" he chuckles. "Whatever works fer you, Books. It's a good fence."

Bernie grins, and shakes her head. "Hold it for me? 's a major pain in th' ass t' try an' get th' screws t' dig in =and= hold th' thing at th' same time..." She steps aside a bit, giving room for him to move in.

"Sure," Matt replies, stepping up to hold the hasp. He tries to stay out of the way as much as possible. "Hmm. Did Oi buy that drill?"

Bernie looks down at the drill, and nods once as she sets the first screw in place and starts working it in. "Yup. So it =did= come in useful after all..." Another grin, though she keeps looking at the screw, "...thanks, by th' way."

Matt smiles. "No problem. Figured it might." With the hasp in place, he pushes the 'door' closed, and fits the other half onto the door, again holding it for the drill.

Once the second half is properly screwed in, Bernie sets the drill down, and pulls the old lock from her pocket. It's already open from when she removed it from the previous fence. "When we fix th' thing," she remarks, snapping the lock onto the door, "I'm gonna take this with an' keep it, I think." A step back, to give the fence and appraising look. "...perfick."

Matt helps Bernie load the old boards into the back of the van, then rides with her and Kaz back to the Rialto. There, the boards are piled on other plywood and rotten boards, left from long-ago set construction.

Bernie brushes her hand off on her jeans, and grins at her co-conspirators. "Thanks," she says again, before saying good night and heading back with Matt toward the flat.

Finally arriving home, Matt slumps onto the couch, taking off his work gloves and windbreaker.

Bernie, on the other hand, is still rather energetic from the successful outing. She almost bounces as she closes the door behind them, and slides her jacket off, tossing it over the back of a chair before she plops down onto the couch beside the Fianna, and gives him a quick kiss.

Matt is revitalized by the kiss, and slides his arms around her waist to return it. "Mmm. Long day." he says at last.

"Mmmhmm," Bernie agrees, slipping her arms about him as well, and resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "But, pr'ductive. I mean, stuff def'nitely got done. I'm all for that."

Matt tangles his fingers in her hair, gently. "Aye. Well, /after/ work, it was." He sighs, glancing toward the fridge, but obviously too comfortable to get up.

Bernie sighs contentedly. "Yeah... not at work, though? I act'ly got kina a buncha stuff done t'day, I think... 's nice t' be able t' go out in public without woryrin' 'bout freakin' everyone out, again."

Matt chuckles. "Well, there is that. Nah, work is...well, it's just work. Tables are clean when Oi start, they're clean when Oi finish. Not much to /accomplish/ really." He sighs, using his psychic powers to summon a beer on its own...failing.

Bernie follows Matt's gaze a moment, and gives him another quick, light kiss before somewhat reluctantly untwining herself and pushing up to head fridgeward. "...well, act'ly if y'follow th' physics def'nitiona 'work'..." she trails off, making a face, and shakes her head, "...nah, never mind 'bout that."

Matt watches her go, admiringly. "Ah. Physicists doan't work. They teach, an' invent fings."

Bernie leans up to fetch a couple of the beers off the top of the fridge, and returns to the couch with them, handing one over before she snuggles in and gets comfy again. "An' do a shitloada math," she agrees, popping her drink open with a look. "...want me t' do yours?" A pause, "...th' bottle, I mean. 'less y'have some math needs doin'."

Matt nods. "No math. Oi doan't want ta fink that 'ard."

Bernie grins, flashing a quick, firm glance at his Guinness, to open it as well. She takes a sip of her own before replying, "Don't blame ya. So how hard =do= y'wanna think?"

Matt smiles, reaching out for the beer. "Not bloody very. Oi've got ta get up and do it all again tomorrow." He smiles though, and makes a space next to himself for Bernie.

Bernie holds it just out of easy reach, leaning in to kiss him a bit longer this time before handing it over and getting settled. A trade. "Mm, yeah. Well, I got th' route for th' trip mostly figured, I think... still workin' on th' alien idea."

Matt nods, gratefully accepting both the kiss and the beer. "Ye should set up at least one stunt fer while we're gone. Alibi, loike."

"Ooh," she replies, "...clever. Yeah, good idea. Lessee. I could prolly rig somethin' t' happen by itself... but it'd be easier jus' t' figure somethin' out an' ask someone else t' do it. Kaz an' Max maybe. 's more 'ffective an alibi, too, if it's somethin' that couldn'ta been set up ahead..." A pause, while she sips. "...not that, far's I know, anyone's got any reason t' s'pect us of anythin'..."

Matt shrugs, draining a quarter of the beer. "Truf, but then we're airtoight, see? Anyroad, The Lambretta should be in top shape."

Bernie grins. "Purrin' like a kitten?" she asks, taking a reasonably sized drink herself. "Good t'know. 's a lonnnng drive, s'pecially if we go outta our way t' see places."

Matt nods again. "Oi wanted ta be sure, 'cause it's not easy ta get parts for a forty-year-old Italian scooter..."

"Be p'rpared," Bernie agrees, and glances at him sidelong a moment. "Y'weren't ever a boy scout, were you?"

"Don't 'ave 'em, in England," Matt shrugs, burrowing further into the couch. "Just not keen on being stook in the desert, even wif you."

Bernie blinks at Matt. "How c'n you not? 's where they =started=. Lord Baden-Powell, an' all, an' then his wife started Girl Guides, I think, an' then Daisy brought it over here an' started Girl Scouts..." She trails off, and adds somewhat sheepishly, "...I was. A girl scout, I mean. For a couple years. 's why I know that shit." She sips her beer again, and nods, "...an' I'm not big on th' desert idea either, so, yeah, preparation, good."

Matt rolls his eyes. "Not in Bow Bells they didn't. Maybe Oi could get a trainspotting merit badge. So you've got us all planned, eh? Good."

Bernie laughs. "...mostly. Not all, but mostly. Wan'ed t' ask you, though, where d'ya wanna stay when we're trav'lin'? I was thinkin' hostels maybe, there's lots... I thoughta just findin' places t' curl up in lupus, too, but I dunno for sure there's gonna be suitable ones, y'know? They don' mark that on th' maps."

Matt ponders. "Maybe some a boaf? Save us some fold, in lupus, but if we're near lots o' towns, hostels would be better."

Bernie nods, eyes straying to the various maps and travel guides on the coffee table. "I'll try an' figure out what's most, whatsit. Likely. Also, I s'pose we could prolly manage t' pack along a sleepin' bag or two anna tarp, an' then we could kina camp out in homid, too..." She trails off, thoughtfully, and takes another drink of her beer.

Matt says "The Lambretta'll take saddlebags. Oi'll see 'ow much they are.""

"Plan," Bernie replies a bit absently, toying lightly with her mostly-empty bottle.

Matt yawns widely, then finishes the beer. "Bed?" he inquires, looking at the label.

"Nah, 's a beer," Bernie replies, deadpan, and then giggles. She finishes her own, leaning forward to set the empty on the coffee table. "...I s'pose we could consider bed, yeah..." she says, watching her hand set the bottle down.

Matt places his empty next to it. "Oi need ta sleep. Work again in the morning."

Bernie sighs, a touch of frustration in it, and nods, nose wrinkling. "I know," she says, and half-smiles, glancing sideways at him. "...r'sponsibility sucks, y'know." With that, she stands, and picks her bottle back up, taking his as well and heading toward the kitchen.

Matt gets up slowly, stretching. "Aye...that it does, that it does. Only 'ave ta do this for a week or so, an' Oi'll 'ave shifts covered for a fortnight."

Bernie drops the bottles into the trash, where they clink nicely against each other, and walks back, watching him stretch. Reaching him, she slides her arms around his waist, and leans in to kiss the side of his neck several times, softly, before she nips it and lets go, turning to move on to the bedroom. "Good," her voice floats back, quietly.

"Oi!" Matt exclaims softly, "no marks." He follows into the bedroom, ditching his shoes and shirt on the way.

Bernie rolls her eyes, sitting on the bed to untie her boots. "Tch. That's not nearly 'nough t' leave a mark," she says dismissively, removing the first. The second's half unlaced when she glances up mischievously, "...c'mere, I'll show you th' diff'rence..."

Matt raises an eyebrow. "Awright..." He tackles her onto the bed, kissing her.

Bernie squeaks at the tackle, her laugh cut off by the kiss, which she returns enthusiastically. Her arms wrap around him again, and she ignores it when her other boot drops to the floor with a hollow thunk.