Matt nods, trying unsuccessfully not to grin. "Ah, fought ye might be wantin' ta teach us ta read." He thinks, for a long moment. Careful choice of words. "Oi fink the tribe would find that excellent. We're lookin' ta buy a little mickey in town fer our cubs an' kin whot need 'omes, an' a mural would be great. But." He takes a sip of coke. "But, chiminage isn't somefin' for th' tribe, it's somefin' ye do ta prove yer usefulness ta th' sept. So, the person ye need ta impress is Andrea Drinks-Deeply-o'-th'-Bitter Cup." He pauses, to catch his breath, snarf some pizza, and judge her reaction.

Ignoring her pizza, Deanna takes a tiny sip of Coke. "That does not surprise me," she says warily. And my question was more one of do you think it might work or should I scrap it and try to come up with something else. Perhaps someone else would be better to ask, then." Oh, she's very focused and withdrawn now.

Matt shakes his head. "Oi, doan't get all huffy, miss. Oi'm doin' th' job ye asked me for. Or did ye no wan't my real opinion? Oi fink th' tribe will see it's value to them, but fer the sept as a whole? A permanent record o' what we do, where someone could find it, might be seen as a potential Litany breach. S'part o' th' reason our tradition o' history is still oral. My advice? Best fing ye can offer is yer body an' yer time. Volunteer, do somefing unpleasant that no one really wants ta do. Work wif the Warder an' the Guardians. Teach. Not everyone knows the Gifts an' Rites you do. Babysit cubs. These are traditional gifts o' Chiminage that Oi know Bitter-Cup will recognize. Murals? We loike 'em, we really do." He nods to the back wall, where his own half finished mural is still waiting for finishing touches.

"Okay, then. I appreciate your time and honest opinion. I'll find the person you're talking about and see if I can get more information on what your Sept needs." Deanna's tone is cool, her words formal as she sets down her Coke. "Or if I can't find something the Sept needs, I don't really have to join."

There's some soft noises from one of the other rooms; someone's moving about, behind the closed door.

Matt hold his hands up, helplessly. "Foine. Oi've already told ye what th' sept needs. Find Bitter Cup at th' Caern, she'll tell ye the same."

Matt holds open the door for her, as determined she seems to be to end the conversation.

"Maybe," Deanna remarks as she lays a couple of quarters next to her half-drunk soda and stands, picking up her sketchbook, "but if she laughs at me too, I'll know not to bother." She walks out the door. "Have a good night."

Matt rolls his eyes, at the door. "Great."

Bernie emerges a bit sleepily from the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe for a moment as she adjusts her glasses and looks around. "Mmm? 'sup in here?"

Matt turns. "Oh nuffin' much. Joost offendin' new members o' my tribe. Ye missed it."

"...Mmm. I miss all th' int'restin' stuff," the Ragabash laments mildly, and pads barefoot across the room toward him. "S'what happened?" she inquires, teasing, "Y'didn't suggest she drink domestic beer, or something?"

Matt smiles, chuckling at the remembrance. "Dunno if she fought Oi was simple or somefin'. But she asked me, if 'you people loike stories told wif pictures.' Us people. Oi couldn't help it. Oi laughed. No, miss, Oi prefer 'em, so Oi doan't 'ave ta sound out th' big words."

Bernie snickers. "Ooooh, lookit th' pretty colours! A horsie!" She slips her arms around his waist, giving him a little squeeze. "So she took that less'n optim'ly, huh? Fun. What'd she =mean=, anyhow? She wantsta draw us comics?"

Matt nods toward the far wall, still smiling. "Murals, she wanted ta draw the Sept murals, o' our 'istory. Oh, an Oi forgot ta tell 'er 'ow unhappy /Fog/ would be about that. Anyhow. She didn't take it well. Better get an 'andle on 'er rage before she sees Bitter Cup, or she'll be 'uffin' out th' ovver side o'er Chevy Chase."

Bernie hehs, nodding back. "Yeah, I don't see Fog bein' thrilled. Where's she gonna paint 'em, anyway, onna sides of th' trees in th' caern? I think there might be some protest t' that idea... I mean, 's cool an' all, as a thought, but... maybe not allat =reasonable=." She pauses, and makes a face. "Ugh, lis'en t' me. =Anything's= doable, 'f y' think it out long 'nough, dammit. But still that doesn't always mean you =oughta=."

Matt shrugs, going to her and wrapping her up in a hug. "The suggestions Oi made she pretty much ignored, as Oi'd offended 'er sensibilities already, y'see. Fings like volunteering 'er time as a guardian or cubsitter, or teachin'."

Bernie closes her eyes, smiling as she hugs him back. "Sound like good ideas. Not your fault she takes herself too serious. She must jus' =love= raggies, yeah?" She plants a kiss on the side of his neck. "...what time's it, anyhow? I'm kina figurin' I missed class, already."

Matt smiles. "yeah, it's almost nine. Sure an' she'll get her head straight, or she'll get it handed to 'er. If she won't 'ear it from me, it'll be someone wif less patience."

"Well, she'll d'serve it, then. An', god, nine? Good thing I di'n' have work t'day..." She stifles a yawn, and rests her head against his shoulder. "So. Dinner? I'm starving."

Matt nods toward the pizza. "Stopped by Garcia's. Basic Gnawer staple. Figured ye'd like. Oi'm finkin' o' passin' th' torch and headin' for th' bed mesel', but you're ever so persuasive..."

Bernie laughs softly, and looks over at the pizza. "That'll do, then... an' yeah, I think you oughta stay an'... keep me comp'ny. No rest for th' wicked."

"But Oi'm not wicked!" Matt protests, smiling. He flops back onto the couch and retrieves his coke.

Bernie sits, curling in very close against his side, and commandeers the drink long enough to steal a sip of it. "Not even a =li'l= bit wicked? Who're you, then, an' what've you done with my Matt?" she demands, grinning, as she pokes him a couple times in the chest with an accusing finger.

Matt facepalms, handing over the coke. "Awroight, maybe a little wicked. Occasionally. An' tired. Some of us didn't sleep frough class...."

"Well, 's not MY fault you di'n' show that kina foresight, now is it?" the Gnawer retorts in her best self-righteous manner. "Honestly, 'f you can't learn t' plan ahead..." She grins again, and gives him a kiss. "So, a'ight. How tired's tired?"

Matt says "Fairly. Double today and tomorrow. But Oi doan't get to spend time much wif you, wif school an' yer Gnawerly duties, so. Oi'm up.""

Bernie nods. "Fair 'nough..." She takes another sip of the coke before returning it, and gets comfortable. "So what was th' Samhain thing you were talkin' 'bout, last night, then?"

"Samhain?" Matt echoes. "Ancient holiday. All Saint's Eve, now. We celebrate th' end o' summer, beginnin' o' winter, that sort of fing. Puttin' togevver a Moot fer th' Tribe, get togevver, drink, tell stories, drink, so on. A celebration."

"Sounds like fun... so you're runnin' that, yeah? Got it now. ...'s th' same as Hallowe'en, Samhain? Day-wise, I mean..." She curls her feet up beside her on the couch.

Matt nods. "Well, you septics 'ave taken all th' piss out of it, but yes. More to it than dressin' up like E.T. an' gettin' candy. It's a day o' th' dead, an' respect fer those who've passed on before ye."

Bernie nods as well. "I r'member in school, they said orig'nally th' dressin' up was s'posta scare off evil spirits an' allat. I dunno where t' candy part came from, though. Societ'ly sanctioned extortion, gimme candy or I'll do somethin' bad t' your house, y'know? Not that I'm gonna complain too much, while I c'n still get in on th' act..." She grins again, and plays with the fabric of his jeans. "So I guess you won't be comin' trick-or-treatin' or anythin', then, huh?"

Matt shrugs, sheepish and apologetic. "well, prob'ly not. Need ta make sure Seamus is well appeased and doesn't decide 'e needs me during some dinner rush. Kinda weird, 'avin' ta honestly worry about yer ancestor's feelins' hmm?"

"'s a'ight. I'm sure I c'n talk people inta it, though I'm not sure I'd wanna be on th' trick sida Max, for 'zample, if someone's outta stuff..." Bernie's brow furrows slightly, thinking. "Know what? I got here day after hallowe'en, last year."

Matt smiles. "Then Oi guess we'll 'afta invite ye ta th' party." He frowns. "On second fought, if ye come ta th' moot, Oi'll 'ave ta be'ave mesel' around th' kinfolk..."

Bernie tilts her head, arching a brow slightly. "Howzat, then?"

Matt shrugs. "Well, you know, ye get a few Fianna togevver, wif a few drinks, some Kinfolk, maybe a hot tub..."

Bernie considers that a moment or two, and gives him a sideways look. "An' if I'm =not= there, y'won't be behavin' yourself? Good thing I'm invited, then, innit?"

Matt smiles, enigmatically. "Well, sure an' Oi want ta do roight by my tribe..."

"Mn," Bernie grunts, and pushes up from the couch, stalking over to the fridge. Her hands manage to find their way into her pockets on the way there.

"Aww, c'mon, Books. 'm kiddin'!" Matt thunks his head on the couch. "Bollocks," he mutters to himself.

"S' not funny," she replies quietly, muffled from being about halfway inside the fridge, barely any of her visible behind its door. "Not t' me, anyway."

Matt sighs. "Fine. Fine. Maybe Oi should go ta sleep before Oi offend mesel'. 'm th' only one left 'ere." He stands, at least thinking about going to sleep. "If you /really/ fink you'd need ta worry, then...well, Oi don't know whot then." He wobbles a little, fatigued, but his eyes are level, sincere.

Bernie emerges, at least as far as standing up. "'s jus'... you've brought it up more'n once an' c'n you blame me if it's not a concept that makes me jump with joy an' rush t' make arrangements? I mean, maybe they =will= want you to sometime an' then, I mean..." She glances down, toward the food. "...I don't like t' think about it," she says, more softly. "It makes th' muscles in my throat go all tight an' my heart an' stomach drop by about half a foot. So it's only funny for a tiny bit, only when I don't hafta think about you really maybe bein' told to or somethin'."

Matt sighs. "Right, an' 'oos goin' ta do th' tellin'? Seirian? Roight. 'm a fookin' Beta, an' if that doesn't mean Oi make me own decisions about 'oo Oi sleep wif, well, they can take their postion and shove it up their arse."

Bernie ducks her head again a bit, but this time because she can't help cracking a smile at that. "'kay. Thassa point, there, yeah." She steps back and gives the door a little push, letting it fall shut the rest of the way by itself.

Matt nods. "Good. Now. Oi /choose/ to sleep wif you, an Oi want ta go do it now, before Oi say somefin' else cabbage-headed." He smiles, tilting his head toward the bedroom.

Bernie cracks a smile again, and lifts her head, to nod once. "'kay. Sounds like a good plan," she replies, wandering back over toward him.

Matt takes her in his arms, brooking no dispute, and kisses her. "Ye must've slept too much. Made ye daft, it did." He then leads her into the bedroom.