Lancelot is sitting at a table in the middle of the room, devouring a sandwich, the mate of the remnants on his plate. His hair is wet and he's flushed from activity, the nature of which might be guessed from the contents of the bulging duffel bag at his feet, the one with the hockey stick poking out of one end. Next to it is his backpack, full of school books.

The door opens, admitting Bernie, whose backpack appears to be similarly laden, to the point that it seems the single strap holding it to her shoulder might succumb to the strain at any moment. She hums softly to herself as she makes a beeline toward one of the pinball machines, sets the abused backpack down beside it, and lines several quarters up along the bottom edge of the machine's glass.

Lancelot seems engrossed in his sandwich(es), apparently attempting to refuel the machine. Fishing a notepad out of his backpack, and a pencil, he starts on a little homework.

Bernie runs through the small line of quarters soon enough -- apparently pinball, or at least this machine, is not her forte -- and sticks her tongue out at the machine before hefting her bag again, turning around, and noticing Lancelot for the first time. She tilts her head at him, brow furrowing slightly, and wanders over, thunking the backpack down on the table, by the seat across from him. "Hey. This seat taken?"

Lancelot starts, looking up with sandwich in his mouth. "Mmm hmm gww rwght ahd." Then he has the presence of mind to swallow. "Um, hi. Sorry. Go ahead."

Bernie does so, pulling the chair back and dropping into it with less than optimal grace and elegance. "Hi. Y'know, I think you fit this description of someone my friend Kaz gave me. I mean, she gave me th' description, not th' someone, obviously."

"Oh, you know Kaz?" Lancelot finishes off the remains of his third sandwich, setting the plate aside.

Bernie nods, crossing her arms on the table, and leaning on them a bit. "Yeah. We hang out a lot. So hi, I'm Bernie." She untangles her arms again, to offer a hand.

Lancelot wipes his hands on his jeans and offers one to Bernie. "Lancelot. MacGruder. Family, sort of." He shakes his head slightly, smiling disarmingly. "Or something like that. Sorry. A little worn out from practice.

Bernie shakes the hand, and grins. "Yeah, some flavour of cousins, I think, from what she said. Niceta meetcha. So 'sup? And what kind of sammiches were those, 'cause that looked really damn good."

Lancelot chuckles. "Philly steak. The caf isn't great, but I needed the protein and carbs to feed the machine." He laughs. "Feed the Machine. Heh." He looks up at her, expecting her to get the joke.

Bernie glances down at her companion's shirt, and grins a moment. "Yeah, s'pose so. Suck t' run outta fuel at th' wrong time. People might hafta push you home. Anyway, right now even school food sounds pretty appealing, honestly. Forgot about that whole 'lunch' thing t'day."

Lancelot nods. "Done that myself, occasionally, when I'm working. Buy you a sandwich?" He stands, grabbing his empty plate in the process.

"Sure, thanks. Nicea you t' offer." Bernie stands as well, hands slipping into her jacket pockets as she rises. "I don't us'ly forget, but I had this program due an' I was jus' kina onna roll with it, y'know? Next thing I knew I was already five minutes late to psych."

Lancelot smiles, leading the way to the counter. "Nice. Sometimes I wish I could." He sounds a bit wistful.

Bernie tilts her head, following. "Could which? Geek out and lose track of time?" she asks the back of his head.

Lancelot taps his forehead. "Forget. Can't." Stepping up to the counter he orders two more philly steaks. sliding a tray down the counter, he waits patiently, then offers up a gold American Express. "Business card," he remarks. "We have to talk about junk for a few minutes and I can write this off."

Bernie grins, leaning sideways against the counter as Lancelot orders. "Any kind of junk in particular?" she asks, "...and lunch, or, like, anything at all? Like, what you had for breakfast two weeks ago tomorrow?"

Lancelot closes his eyes momentarily. "The fifteenth? I ate at Denny's. Grand Slam, coffee and orange juice. Paid twelve bucks including tip." He opens his eyes. "Junk cars, mostly, but any junk is fine, probably. Worst case, I'll tell you I don't have any." He picks up the tray, with two plates and philly steaks, and aims for their table.

Bernie blinks once, and grins, slowly. "Seein' as I dunno what you had, you could be putting me on, but still, daaamn. And I thought I had a pretty good memory. So, junk, a'ight..." She trails back to the table again, reclaiming her seat. "I was thinking it might be kinda fun t' build myself some transportation, recently, anyhow, so there's a topic. I mean, I'd figure you got a lotta broken old cars around, you can prolly put at least one working one t'gether from 'em, yeah?"

Lancelot blushes, and ducks his head in a charming aw-shucks gesture. "Oh, don't make a big deal. A useful skill, but nothing to throw a party over. Now, Coach Ducheine telling me I've got good head and shoulder dekes, that's something." He raises a finger and leaves the table briefly, returning with canned cokes, one of which he passes to Bernie. "So, old cars. Yeah, we have a few. Some even turn over, though I wouldn't drive them anywhere."

"What's a deke?" Bernie asks as he returns, and accepts the soda, popping it open. "...and I can see why; I prefer cars that remain upright, too," she remarks after a sip of soda, deadpan. "But cool. Sounds like it could work, then. What sorta things would a person hafta do t' attempt a test of that hypothesis?"

Lancelot laughs. "Good one." When he recovers a little he explains. "A deke is when you fake out an opposing skater. A head deke is where you look one way and skate another with the puck. Shoulder and stick dekes are similar, yadda yadda. I'm working on my stick deke, but I'm not the world's best stickhandler; not like I"m Canadian or anything."

"Yeah, eh?" Bernie replies, faux-Canadian, and sets her soda down, picking up the sandwich. "A'ight, so I get that, now. Not really up on hockey that much, honestly. My dad always jus' watches football an' baseball, so th' resta my sporting education is sadly lacking."

Lancelot says "Well, you'll have to come to a game, then. I made the JV team. You /related/ to Kaz? Sort of?""

Bernie nods. "Yeah, we're fam'ly. An' congrats, maybe I will sometime, then..." She finishes a bite of her sandwich, adding, "...act'ly, this is pretty good. Thanks."

Lancelot wolfs a sizeable portion of his own, nodding. "Thanks. Well, so am I, only less so. So if you need anything, look for me here, or at work, or call my cell." He fishes a business card out of his wallet and passes it over.

Lancelot pages: The card reads "MacGruder and Son Towing and Recovery" The address is that of Banecruncher's old junkyard. There is a phone number, and another scribbled on the back.

Bernie takes it, looking it over. "Cool. Thanks... oh, hey, I've been t' this place, way back." She slides it into her pocket, and sips her coke. "You want mine, too? Number, not card. I could write it down for you, but that's prolly unnecessary, huh?"

Lancelot blushes a little. "Well, no. No, it isn't. I do remember better what I read."

"Damn, an' here I thought I'd get outta havin' t' find a pen in my bag," Bernie remarks, and unzips the front pocket of the thing. It isn't as if it's particularly onerous, since at least five different writing utensils are visible immediately, and lord knows how many slips and shreds of paper. She picks one that actually turns out to be blank, snags a pen, and makes a few curlicues to get the ink flowing. "So I really am curious about th' car project, though. What'd I hafta do t' try it? I mean, I figure you'd know."

"What, to get a working car?" Lancelot asks. "Pick a make and model. If we have a few, we get the one with the best frame, then scavenge the others for parts. A few weeks of mechanical work, and presto. You very own piece-of-shit car. A lot cheaper than getting one off a lot, but it's a lot more work, too. And good luck trying to insure it.

Bernie grins, and nods. "That was my approximate plan. An' all I gotta insure it for is, like, in case I hurt someone in an accident, really. So, cool. Can I wander by sometime an' jus' see what kinda options we got, there?"

Lancelot shrugs. "What make and model are you looking at? I've walked my yard."

Bernie, sitting with Lancelot at one of the tables, laughs, and sets her sandwich down. "Well, I'd figure. It's jus' I =dunno= what I'm lookin' for, so I was thinkin' I'd go see 'f anythin' caught my eye. Lessee, though. What's th' oldest fairly decent frames you got lyin' about?"

The door to the Rec Hall opens and Cerwin enters, wearing his leather jacket as well as a scarf to keep warm. He's carrying a well-used but servicable red backpack that is lighter than usual--no laptop with papers to grade this time. He glances around and locates a table that seems comfortable and sits down heavily. His eyes bespeak weariness and his demeanor is one of exhaustion, despite it still being the weekend, as he pulls out a very large, thick book and flips it open to one of the many tabbed sections, a pencil at the ready.

Lancelot closes his eyes. "Oldest? Fifty-eight Dodge Dart. Only have three, two of whom are rusted out almost completely. Engines are probably all right, but if there's a part missing, it'll be hard to find."

Bernie nods, considering. "What d'those look like? I mean, I figure if I'm gonna put somethin' t'gether, I might's well use a body I like, y'know?" She sips the soda, and thinks a moment. "I haven't done th' research an' shit yet, so I dunno, but is there a real reason you couldn't put th' engine of one make an' model inta another car? Frankenstein's roadster..."

Cerwin has been reading through the book absently, but something catches his eye and he glances up in Lance and Bernie's direction. Smiling a little, he stands quietly and walks over to the table, giving Lance a small wave.

Lancelot shrugs, opening his eyes again with a smile. "Box with fins. No reason, really, so long as the engine fits, and aligns with the drive train and tranny, and the electrics match up..." He trails off, noticing Cerwin. He smiles in the direction of the TA, and tries to catch Cerwin's eye before waving.

"Fins are pretty cool," Bernie decides, considering. "I think I'll prolly still hafta go look, though. I c'n browse or you c'n show me th' decent options, or somethin', yeah?" She follows the wave, and notices Cerwin, greeting him with a curious look and a wave of her own. "Hey," she greets him, "di'n' I see you in th' English department office th' other day?"

Before saying anything to Lance, Cerwin appears to give Bernie's question a considerable amount of thought. He signs as he speaks, his voice clearly indicating he's deaf. "I thihnk soh. I whas hahvihng uh--" he pauses here, his expression almost a grimace, "--dihscuhssion with Prohfehssohr Fehyereihsehn." His smile returns, however, and he briefly addresses Lance. "Iht's good to seeh youh ahgaihn, Lahnce." He then holds out his hand to Bernie. "Cehrwihn, Ehnglish grahd stuhdehnt and TA aht lahrge."

Lancelot shrugs. "Come by whenever. Hi, Cerwin. Coach said a few nice things today, while working us into unconsciousness."

Bernie shakes the offered hand, flashing Cerwin a grin. "Bernie, freshman and assorted other stuff. Niceta meetcha." She nods once to Lancelot, and then focuses on eating her sandwich for a little.

Lancelot nods to Bernie, cocking his head in Cerwin's direction. "He's cleared for the 'assorted other stuff.'" Once again, he spots someone else he knows. Hell, sit here long enough, /everyone/ will come by. He waves to Jeremy.

Jeremy heads inside quickly as always, eyes downcasted, his feet shuffling along the ground. Upon hearing voices, he only casually glances up, catching sight of Lance's wave, his TA, and a familiar face.

Cerwin grins at Lance. "I knohw thuh feehlihng. I thihnk Prohfehssohr Bohsshahrdt cohmplihmehnted us ohn our staminuh as we struhggled to grahde ahll the assihgnmehnts he saihd we hahd to, or ehlse. They can be so gehnerouhs, cahn't thay?" His voice conveys little sarcasm, but his wry grin speaks volumes. He glances back to Bernie and nods to her, then glances aside at Lance before nodding, guessing at his meaning.

Bernie ahhs, and nods solemnly to Lancelot. "Thanks. Gotta be careful who knows 'bout my secret double life as a pizza-baker, y'know." She grins again, and gives Cerwin a more careful look before spotting Jeremy, who gets a wave of greeting from her, as well.

"Ah, right." Lancelot nods, grimly. He smiles at Cerwin. "Great. It's universal. He did tell me I have good dekes, head and shoulders, anyway. Mister Winters, isn't it? Join us, there's room for one more."

Jeremy hefts the heavy backpack on his shoulder again and continues forward, peering from behind his glasses. Lifting up his free hand, he starts to sign away, talking out loud. "Hi everyone. How are you doing tonight?"

Cerwin manages to choke back a laugh, and his mood seems genuinely lightened by Bernie's comment. He waves to Jeremy and signs hello to him, not bothering with words, and sighs at Lance. "Yehs, I thihnk thay have a secret hahndshake and a host of prihvhate cues we neehd to leahrn, ihn ohrdehr to suhrvive thuh Unihvehrsihty experience."

Bernie grins at Cerwin, and leans back in her chair, shrugging. "Not bad. Having a late lunch." She gestures vaguely with her sandwich, or what little remains of it. "'sup with you? I don't think I saw you since Nev's car died."

Lancelot glances around. "We've all met then? Good." He yawns, covering with a fist. "Anyone able to help me with some calculus? I've read the texts for my other classes, but I still have to do the homework for math. It sucks."

Jeremy nods his head, offering a slight smile to Bernie, continuing to work his hand in the air for the TA's sake. "Well, I have moved in with Roger of my tribe, and working full time, and taking classes here, advanced computer engineering and some calculas. Just been..real busy."

Cerwin makes a face. "Math is one of those subjects I usually seek tutoring on, not give it out." He smiles, and glances sidelong at Jeremy. "I suspect Jeremy will be a good candidate, though."

Bernie polishes off the sandwich, washing it down with some Coke. "I c'n prolly help with that, too, 'f y'want. Did a'ight in it..." She glances to Jeremy, suddenly registering one of his words, and looks around with a touch of worry, since the boy doesn't have looking Native American as something to immediately lead eavesdroppers to incorrect assumptions. Luckily, the area's fairly deserted, just now.

Lancelot blanches somewhat as well, glancing around. "Um, well, I could offer to swap--help with history, or english or something if you need it. I can quote chapter and verse."

Jeremy raises up a brow and looks surprised by Bernie's reaction. Well, her reputation precedes her, he supposes. ".. Errm.." Glancing to his TA, he starts to sign away quickly, not talking outloud. "She -does- know right? About all of us?"

While he seems momentarily puzzled by Bernie and Lance's reaction, Cerwin catches on, but instead of reacting, he simply latches on to the later half of Lance's offering. "If Jehrehmy fihnds hihmsehlf in neehd of Ehnglihsh tuhtohrihng I wihll be dihsappoihnted at hahving beehn so rehmihss as hihs TA." His eyes are full of mischief as he says it, though. He follows Jeremy's signing, then frowns slightly and signs something smoothly, not speaking.

Bernie seems disinclined to react further to the wording just now, grinning at Cerwin's comment instead. "Don't blame you one bit..." Glancing to Lance, she adds, "...I'm pretty set there, too, but 'f you wan'ed t' help me with my li'l project, tha'd be cool. I'm all for gettin' info from people who know it, rather'n trial an' error, even with books."

Jeremy dips his head slowly to Cerwin and glances over to Bernie, clearing his throat. Offering a smile, he rolls his shoulders back in a shrug. "I guess if you wish, we can talk about my lil slip up later."

Lancelot shrugs all around. "Not a problem, friend. Tell you what...Bernie. I'll trade math lessons for access to the yard. You're Family, so take what you need, and I'll help with the mechanical stuff. I've read most of the manuals."

Cerwin casts Jeremy a sympathetic look, but leaves the subject alone for the moment. He tips his head curiously at Bernie. "Plahnnihng to buihld a cahr?" he asks.

"Deal," Bernie declares, giving Lancelot a firm nod, and grins again before nodding to Cerwin. "Yeah. Seemed like it might be fun. Plus, it'd be nice t' have transportation of my own that didn't involve shoelaces." Jeremy just gets a very slight tilt of her head, no comment.

Jeremy wets his lips a bit and rolls his shoulders a bit, then hikes his backpack over his arm again. Glancing about, he simply just goes silent.

Lancelot pushes back from the table, standing and hoisting his backpack and duffel. Fortunately it's a balanced load. "Excellent. Anyway, I've got to get home and crash. It's been a pleasure, as always. Can I give anyone a ride back into town? Perhaps someone who doesn't have a car yet?"

A brief bit of envy flits across Cerwin's face, but he shakes it off quickly enough. "Yehs, it wouhld be nice to noht rehly on the buhses and cahbs ahll thuh time," he says wistfully. "Loohkihng fohr sohmethihng in pahrtihculahr? Ohr juhst sumethihng that ruhns and keehps out mohre raihn thahn iht lehts ihn?" He waves off Lance's offer. "I'm ahlrihght; thuh ahpahrtment cohmplehx ihs a quihck fehw blohcks frohm here. It wahs goohd to seeh youh ahgaihn. Goohd luhck on thuh teahm."

"Just somethin' that runs an' keeps th' rain out, really, yeah," the girl replies, and drains the rest of her soda. "If I c'n find a cool-lookin' body t' work with, so much th' better, but hey, whatever. Not talkin' Rolls Royce, here." She zips the backpack beside her, and eases it onto her shoulder; it's just as overloaded as the other students', possibly even more. "An' act'ly, could I take ya up on that ride thing? Save a lotta time outta my evening."

Oh look, a piece of lint on his shirt. Hey, lets play with this for a few more minutes. Oh now, you aren't insecure at all Jeremy. Having embarrassed himself quite easily, the young kin just picks away, pick, pick, pick.

Cerwin glances back at his book ruefully, which he was intending to read but didn't actually get to. "I suhppohse I shouhld try reahdihng sohme of my boohk behfohre I go home." He looks over at Jeremy and watches his closely but chooses to remain silent.

Lancelot gestures toward the door. "Milady, thy chariot awaits."

Bernie rises completely, and makes something resembling a curtsey to Lancelot. "Many thanks, milord," she replies, and then waves to the remaining kin. "NIceta meetcha, Cerwin; later, Jeremy. See ya both 'round."

Cerwin gives Bernie and Lance both a smile and a signed goodbye.

Jeremy wiggles his fingers slightly in their direction as he stares at his worn down sneakers, rocking back and forth on his heels slowly.

[in the parking lot]

Lancelot fiddles with keys, and 'Bweet bweet's' near a black Lincoln Navigator. He opens the back, in order to throw in his duffel and backpack.

Bernie follows, making no move to remove her own backpack, and look the car over with interest. "Ooh, it squeaks," she remarks, half-teasing, "posh."

If there's one thing a Lincoln Navigator does not say, it's 'Bone Gnawer.' Tan leather seats, ten disc changer, wood grain on the dash. Lancelot opens the door for Bernie, closing it behind her and coming around to his own side. As the car cranks, the Onstar beeps, booting up.

Bernie sets her bag on the floor between her feet, and buckles her seatbelt while scanning the inside of the car with interest, and very slightly widened eyes. If there were a thought bubble visible above her head, it would almost certainly read, 'Daaaamn...'

Lancelot doesn't think anything of it, at least not until he gets a glimpse of Bernie's face, as he throws an arm over her headrest and cranks his head around to back out. "What? Did I do something wrong back there?"

Bernie shakes her head, and blushes very slightly at being caught out. "Nah, just... well, nice car." It's a sincere compliment, though it seems to bother her, somehow, too.

Lancelot blushes a little. "Oh. Well, successful business, son of successful businessman. I bought it because it was...well, it /is/ a nice car. And I figured an SUV would be useful to the Tribe." He smiles. "I'm serious about the car being basically free. Anything the Family needs. Pops taught me well, and we pad our prices to everyone else to afford the occasional Family Project."

Bernie grins a bit, and pauses, debating something before she speaks. "Thanks. That's cool, I mean, I really =do= bake pizzas, so I'm not 'zactly, y'know, makin' th' Fortune 500 this year or anythin'." She runs a finger along the leather of the semi-armrest on the door, absently.

Lancelot smiles. "Great. Pops says most of you can't keep jobs, because you get mad or something. 'swhy /we/ do. Family takes care of Family. We can't protect ourselves from the spirit stuff you fight, so we hold down jobs and build cars and do whatever. So no thanks strictly necessary. Just doing my part, right?"

Bernie considers that, and nods. "Yeah, sounds 'bout right. Matt an' I work, an' Yi used to, but... I can't really thinka anyone else, act'ly, offa top of my head." She seems slightly startled to realise this. "An' the threea us are, y'know, pretty calm people, as far's we go."

"Glad you've got work, seriously." Lance guides the SUV back toward town. "Serious about the Kin thing though. Anything you need. Really."

Bernie can't help it; the cue is too ingrained by pop culture. "Aaaaaanything?" she inquires in an over-the-top suggestive tone and a fairly silly voice, giving him a sidelong look, and then laughs, blushing again -- more noticably, this time, and glances out the nice, safe window. "Kidding. But thanks, I'll be sure t' letcha know if I thinka things we could use your help with."

Lancelot grips the wheel a little tighter maybe. "Well...yeah, actually." He smiles over to her. "But don't expect it to mean anything to me if it doesn't mean anything to you. So, exactly where do I drop you, anyway? Or did you want to go straight to my trailer?"

Bernie blushes a lot more, and ducks her head, a hand coming up to shove a curl behind her ear, the movement placing her arm where it momentarily blocks her face from view and forms a bit of a protective boundary, coincidentally or not. "I was kidding!" she protests, embarrassed. The curl, of course, jumps right back out defiantly. "I jus' =met= you! It's just, you know, how that always goes on TV and stuff..." She trails off, still utterly obviously pink. "On Elson, downtown. Nearish th' park.

Lancelot's voice is soothing. "I'm glad. I'd have thought a lot less of you. I've heard Kin occasionally get taken advantage of. Not so much in our tribe, but still. Not cool in my book. But I'd do it. I mean, no one exactly asked /you/ to be frontline footsoldiers against evil, either. We do what we have to." He is somber then, driving quietly into the city, coming near the Rialto."

Bernie continues looking deeply embarrassed for most of the remaining trip, though she does, at least, eventually return to her original shade of pink. "'m a Raggie," she remarks after a while, quietly, "I say shit just 'cause it's funny, or s'posta be, sometimes. So, 'scuse me while I r'move my boot from my mouth, 'cause god knows what I've stepped in with it anyhow." She starts, suddenly, noticing the passing scenery. "Hey, slow down? We're 'bout there."

Lancelot smiles. "No worries. I wasn't taking you /too/ seriously. Geez, you think I couldn't have at least popped for a /hotel?/ What am I, a cheapskate?" He pulls over on East Elson, about half a block from the flat.

Bernie cracks about half a grin at that, and nods, hand closing around the key on the chain around her neck that she's been fiddling with for most of the silent or semi-silent time. "A'ight, then, long's we're cool. Anyway... thanks for th' ride, an' th' offer. Of help an' stuff. An' I'm still up for th' calc tutoring, just, like, call me or email or somethin' an' we'll figure out when. 's in th' school directory."

Lancelot comes around the car to let her out. "Sure, we're cool. And I have your number." He rattles it off, from memory. Smiling, he returns to his side of the car, making to get in. "Oh," he calls, "and when you know me better, we can talk about the other thing." His grin is large, but not /too/ serious as he drives away, leaving her on the sidewalk.