Bernie is singing quietly to herself as she strolls out of the park, spike-stick dangling idly from one hand as she walks along.

Quietly, Collin sets about sneaking up behind Bernie. Or at least trying to, at any rate. When he's closer, if he can manage it, he says to her. "Hey, baby. What's your sign? Is it 'please don't kick me in the gonads? Pretty please?"

Possibly, Bernie was thinking about something other than her surroundings, since there's a slight impression of startlement... partly the fact that the stick moves up as if it might be used to stab something other than litter. It relaxes again immediately as she recognizes the voice, and grins. "Slow Children At Play," she replies, "Or possibly, Parkin' For Drive-Through Only."

"Thank you, drive through." Collin says, cheerfully, then pats Bernie on the shoulder. "Seems like you've been a busy little bee. Or something. I wouldn't say 'bee' is approriate since whenever I think about bees I am reminded of that Blind Melon video they played over and over and over again until you just wanted to go kick hives over and leap on them even though you know it'd get you stung. Because you hated bees that much thanks to that damn video. Death to that video. Death." Collin sighs, shakes his head.

"Ant," Bernie replies, after a moment, "or possibly termite. But neither's got th' same sorta complimentary associations as bees. Too bad 'bout your MTV trauma." She turns her head a bit now to look at him, "...so hey. 'sup?"

Twitch. Twitch. Collin's face twitches a few times. "MTV Trauma. Well, it's not as bad as the GAP. The GAP is the source of all evil. Trust me on that one." He shakes his head, then leans over and stage-whispers. "I'm on a secret mission."

"We're on a mission from God," Bernie quotes in earnest tones. "So, can y'tell me, or wouldja hafta kill me?"

"Well, we're on a mission better than God. We're on a mission that'd make all those New Agers shit their pants in jealousy. See, we realize something that they wish was true, and in fact, wish they has proof of." He leans over, looks around, ten says, "God's a *she*. I mean, how many times have you heard them talk about 'her' and demand the right to talk about God in the feminine? See, that's what makes you and me so cool. We *can*."

Bernie pauses a moment, and then looks at the other Ragabash thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah? So you abdicatin', or gettin' in touch with your feminine side? Or would I 've made a startlin' discovery 'f I'd taken ya up on your s'ggestion th' other night?" she asks, with a minor smirk on the final question.

"Well, we already discussed that there's only one way to find out," Collin points out. "You can't blame me if I try to play the curiosity card." He shrugs, innocently, then says, "You got any plans for the evening?"

Bernie grins, and shakes her head. "Nah... well, nothin' firm, anyway. Just workin' on a project or two. How come?"

"Oh, well. See, I'm doing shit all and I thought I might invite you to come along with me for a while and enjoy the night life. And maybe we could find and harass He Of The Assless Chaps. A favored target of mine, if you'll know, because he actually manages to get away with it."

Bernie considers this, brow furrowing. No, no one matches that description that she knows... "'He Of The Assless Chaps'?" she echoes, "....=that= sounds... int'restin'. Yeah, sure. Lemmee drop off th' stick at home though, first, yeah?"

"Sounds fine. He's my opponent. And a very frightening fellow." Collin explains, his tone solemn. "Very, very frightening. I mean...assless chaps, Bernie!"

Bernie starts walking again, and nods. "I'm disturbed already, an' I haven' even seen 'em yet... is he wearin' somethin' =under= 'em? Or jus', like... hangin' in th' breeze?" Maybe that's the beginning of a blush, but it's hard to be sure. "...weird. Just weird."

"The breeze all the way." Collin says, sadly. "I ran into him once and said 'Christ, man! That's your *ass!*' and made fun of him for a while before he beat the ever living shit out of me."

Bernie snickers. "We should, like, bring him a selectiona fine undergarments. Like, some tighty-whities an' some boxers an' maybe like a thong an' somethin' all lacy or some diapers or somethin', y'know? Feed th' hungry, house th' homeless, clothe th' half-naked..."

"Well, why not!" Collin says, cheerfully. "See, the best part about being around here for a while is finding the people who are really in desperate need of harassment and, well, harassing them. It's what I spend countless hours doing when I'm here, you know? Finding people in desperate need of a swift kick in the rear. And with his? Hey, it's right there!"

Bernie giggles. "He might 's well paint concentric red circles on each cheek, yeah," she agrees, shaking her head. "...So, like... why's he wear that? Though I guess it'd be kina funny t' wear inta places that say no shoes, no shirt, no service. 'What? Doesn't say anythin' 'bout pants...'"

"Well, pants are assumed. But he *is* wearing pants. Just not covering all of his ass cheeks." Collin shakes his head, snickering. "He's scary. And he wears it because he *can*. He's a freak. Not that there's a whole lot better reasons to wear it, but he's just doing it to show off his ass."

Bernie snickers as well. "...mm. Wonder..." She trails off, brow furrowing as she considers something. Arriving at a certain building distracts her, though. "I'm gonna run up an' put this away," she announces, gesturing up toward the building with her stick, "you c'n come with if y'feel like climbin' a shitload of stairs, or wait here. Either's fine."

"Let me think." Collin ponders this for a moment, then says, "I could use the exercise. Up we go. Besides, going down is so much more fun." He tilts his head, pops his neck, and then starts for the building.

"One track mind boy," Bernie accuses mildly, and opens the door to the building, leading the way up the five flights of stairs to the apartment. She takes a quick glance to be sure no one's around, and just opens the door without bothering to lean down and unlock it with the key about her neck. "Ta da," she announces, walking inside and setting the stick by the door, "Home sweet home. Welcome t' th' Dec'dence."

"You call this place Decadence and accuse *me* of having a one track mind?" Truthfully, though, Collin looks around and does in fact seem vaguely jealous. "This is nice. I wish I had a place to live. It's funny, though. The Bone Gnawer has a nice place and I don't have one." He winks.

Bernie grins. "=Bohemian= Dec'dence, t' be precise. An' it's not mine, technic'ly, 's Matt's, so th' world hasn't gone =that= outta character." She waves vaguely toward the kitchen, "You want anythin' t' eat or drink?"

"I imagine you have beer here so it wouldn't be too hopeful of me to ask if I can have one?" Collin peers towards the kitchen that's been gestured at.

"Considerin' you're in a Fianna's place, yeah, your odds are good," the Gnawer replies, stepping over to the fridge and pulling down a couple bottles from atop it. One, she tosses to the other Ragabash, the other she keeps for herself. "...so, lessee. Anythin' we oughta take with us when we go?"

"Well, our own beer'd be nice. Anything you can think of that would help embarrass the hell out of Assless Chaps boy would be good too." Collin strokes his chin, thoughtfully. "Maybe we *should* draw target signs on his ass. But we'd have to get him to sit still for that and I don't wanna spend that much time looking at it."

Bernie giggles, opening her bottle with a glance, the cap popping off into the air. She catches it in one hand, and takes a sip. "'s what I was ponderin' outside. If there was a way we could get a target on there. I'm still thinkin'.... 'cause, it'd hafta be fast, hard t' remove, an' pref'rably somethin' he wouldn' immediately notice..."

"Which is the hard part. How do you touch a man's ass without him noticing? I'm not sure I really want to know the answer to that question, see." He opens his own beer, having caught it quite easily. Dexterous lad, he is.

Bernie giggles. "How do you..." she trails off again, eyes unfocusing a moment. "...you distract him," she replies, after a moment. "Like th' classic team pickpocket. One person distracts his attention, while th' other grabs th' wallet. Like... if onea us had his total attention, an' then th' other bumped inta him for just a second, like apparently backing inta his butt by accident, an' that bump left th' target there.... that's how you could do it. Question is, how t' apply a nice setta concentric rings in a quick, light bump...." She sips again, thinking.

"Well, see. The question is, wouldn't he *feel* it? No matter what you do, it's gonna be quick to realize that he's got something stuck to his ass. That's the problem with doing bare skin." He looks thoughtful as well, saying, "Yeah, that'd work to distract him, though. He's easily distracted, I'd think. Hm."

Bernie nods, "Yeah, that's why it's th' question of how t' do th' actual =target=..." She plops down on the couch, making herself comfy in a corner of it and putting her feet up on the table. "Okay, here's what I got so far. It can't be stuck on, or he'll feel it an' r'move it, yeah? It can't be cold, or slimy, or he'll sense it right 'way. What I'm thinkin' is... we need somethin' like, a big rubber stamp with red ink. 'cause, y'know, that's not so cold, or wet, y'don't feel anythin' stuck, it applies with one good bump... an' ink's not so easy t' get off, either. Not a perfect idea, but, y'know, somewhere t' work from..."

"Right. We have to get it big enough to be noticable, too, and it has to be promptly ready to apply." Collin shakes his head, looking thoughtful again. He scratches the underside of his chin. Someone needs to shave. "It'd work. We just need to get a stamp, yeah, or something stamplike. That's not a bad idea, yeah. I like that, Bernie. Way to go." He gives her a thumbs up, grinning. "Now we just have to find the right tools."

Bernie grins evilly. "Thank you," she replies, with a mock-curtsey that really doesn't work too effectively given that she's seated, =and= her feet are up. Another sip of the Guinness, and she adds, "...I gen'rally go on th' assumption that there's a way t' do jus' 'bout anythin' if y' think 'bout it long 'nough an' you c'n get th' parts... which, I guess, is th' next thing t' ponder. Though, which d'ya think we should do -- one on each cheek, like I said first, or jus' on one cheek, or like one bigger one centered on... er... well, y'know." She blushes slightly.

Collin starts laughing. "One on each cheek. His actual crack is covered, albeit by a thin little thing that goes between the two giant gaping holes that reveals his ass cheeks." He gestures with his hands a bit, demonstrating. "So you can see a big expanse, but that's about it. He'd probably just think you were goosing him."

Bernie giggles, covering her mouth with a hand. "'s almost too bad... but, easier t'get th' parts, at least. 'cause, y'know. Don' hafta cover quite so much area..." She sips quietly for a few moments, head tipped to one side. "...so, lessee. They don' hafta last forever, jus' th' night... so, we need... some kina rubber we c'n cut th' circles outta, an' like a blocka wood or somethin' t' stick 'em to... an', I think there's, like... y'know how you c'n get roll-on deodorant? I think you c'n get ink in somethin' like that too... 'cause, I don' think we're gonna find us an' ass-size inkpad."

"Yeah, I'm figuring we're going to be fresh out of luck when it comes to ass sized inkpad." Collin mock-sighs, shaking his head. "For shame. What wonders we could wreak with ass-sized inkpads, you know? I bet we could make the entire Sept fear us or something." He folds his hands together again and puts them back behind his head, stretching. "Ahhh. This is the life. Beer, friends, nice little warm apartment to sit in while figuring out how to make someone's life hell."

Bernie gestures toward the Strider with her bottle, almost-but-not-quite like a toast, still grinning. "Well. In a pinch, pretty damn sure we could =make= ass-sized inkpads... lessee, we'd need... like, an ass-size metal or plastic box, like, a flattish lunchbox kina thing, or, oh, onea those clipboards where it's hinged an' has a box unner th' board t' keep pencils an' paper an' shit in? An' somethin' absorbent like... well, I dunno if roll insulation'd work, but it comes t' mind... an' a shitloada ink t' pour on, an' there y'go..." A pause, "...but that might not be helpful for =this= one, 'cause then we'd be carryin'.. nah, 'cause, hold up, it wouldn' =look= like an' inkpad, it'd look like a clipboard thing..." The wheels in the brain go round and round, round and round...

And round! Collin nods, "But it'd be harder to apply, that is. The bigger this gets, the harder sneaking him into it is gonna be. Let's not forget that. Sometimes the best plans are the most simple ones. Keeping it simple avoids over complication. Avoiding over complication means less things can go wrong with a plan at any given time. That piece of advice is good to keep in mind no matter *what* you're planning, though, whether it's from kicking Wyrm ass to stamping ass with ink."

Bernie nods, "Well, yeah, tot'ly. The ink'd be easier t' apply, act'ly, but th' stamp'd be harder, 'cause you'd hafta balance th' clipboard-pad too. But, on th' other hand, you could jus' move th' hand with th' stamp under it an' all he'd see if he turned t' see who bumped him would be th' clipboard." She ponders. "'cause, I mean, ink dries fast, which is good once we get it on him, but kina a pain b'fore then. I mean, we only got one chance... kina doubt he'll let us do touch-ups if anya th' circles're broken or anythin'." Silence and sipping again, as she turns the problem around a few times, looking at it.

"Or we could just grab him as he leaves, bonk his head, and then stamp his ass and run like hell." Collin points out, idley.

Bernie makes a face. "Awwww. But my way's got more =style=. Plus. Then we couldn't give him giftsa various panties some other time." She snickers, "...well. 'less they were an apology gift..." She pushes a regrowing curl back behiind her ear, where it doesn't really reach yet. "Where's he us'ly hang out in this get up, anyhow?"

"This club. It's not the Temple, that's for sure, but it does it's job. It's called the Main-Hang. It's a *really* bad place. I mean, hole in the wall, practically. He's popular there, though. Probably because he scares everyone else as bad as he scares me." A shudder runs through him, though it's clear he's doing it on purpose. "I mean..chaps. First of all, what kind of man wears chaps, anyways?" He takes a drink of his beer, then tips it back, draining the rest of it.

"Cowboys, bikers, an' leather-freaks," Bernie replies, and then blinks. "'least, that's who y'see 'em on TV, yeah? I saw a show on tv sometime where Prince was wearin' assless yellow pants, an' that was somethin' I really di'n' wanna see..." She eyes her own bottle measuringly; there's about a quarter to a third remaining. She takes a moment to halve that.

"God. I remember that. The big deal about it. Then years later they replayed it on TV and I was like 'Aigh! No! The memories!" He convulses a little, curling into a ball into his seat. "Aiiiie!"

Bernie giggles, and drains her beer, setting the bottle aside. "Sorry t' bring up childhood trauma," she remarks, and stretches.

Collin watches her stretch. But only out of the corner of his eye, anyways. He stands up to head to the fridge and get himself new beer, see, while he's doing that.

"So," Bernie begins, turning a bit to address Collin as he heads kitchenward, "which way shall we do it, then? An' if we did it th' quick an' dirty liable t' be booked on assault charges way, think th' other people there'd be likely t' step in on his side? 'cause, not my idea of a fun evenin'."

"Well, see, we wouldn't do it in front of everyone. We'd wait until he's about to walk home in that get up and *then* we'd grab him and do it the quick and dirty way. We wouldn't attack him in full view or anything." Collin shakes his head as he roots around in the fridge before he returns with two beers, one for him and one for her of course. He offers it over. "There you go. But I think your way is probably better than the straight forward 'raaargh!' way."

Bernie accepts the bottle, and nods. "...yeah. 'cause if we did it on his way home, no one'd =see= our handiwork, an' what fun's that? He'd jus' cover his ass 'til th' ink wore off. An' prolly come after us. So, yeah. We'll go with sneaky, then. Thanks," she says, the last about the beer, which she opens the same way as the first. Stupid Ragabash Tricks. But fun.

Speaking of stupid Ragabash tricks, Collin asks, "You know, I've been meaning to ask.. What gifts do you know, anyhow?" He tilts his head to the side a bit, looking curious about it. "And yeah. You're right about that. But it does help to look at things from all angles. Except that guy's ass. No matter what angle you look at it, it's still scary."

Bernie sips the beer, relaxing comfortably into the cushions again. "Yeah, multiple angles're good... um. His ass, though, it isn't, like..." she pinkens a bit, but forges on, "...=hairy= or anythin', is it? 'cause, well, first off, ew, but mostly, we might hafta take that inta consideration... an' far as gifts... lessee. Well. Openin' things, Persuasion, Smella Sweet Honey, an' Yi's teachin' me Blur, like, t'marra, which, 'f I might say, I'm kina 'cited 'bout. 'bout you?" She leans in slightly, interested in the topic.

"Let's see here. I know Blur, the Persuader thingy, Open Seal as well, and how to Sense the Wyrm. All of them are handy. Especially that last one. Lets you know when you're getting in way over your head. It's good for scouts like us to know these things, you know? And no, his ass isn't hairy. It's, uh, very toned or something. I don't know all that well, seeing as how I don't spend a lot of time looking at it. It's the principle of the thing. The guy's proud of his ass. Therefor, we must make him realize the folly of his pride."

Bernie snickers. "Well. Jus' 'cause someone's prouda somethin' doesn' always mean they =oughta= be... but, y'know, good t' know. One less variable t' deal with." She takes a sip of her beer. "...an' so yeah, that =sounds= handy, bein' able t', y'know, sense th' enemy an' all. Howzat work? I mean, d'ya hafta be thinkin', 'hey, I wonder if that guy's a black hat', or is it, like, 'spidey-sense tingling!'?"

"You have to do it." Collin takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "It's not all that useful in some parts of the city, either. There's too much background taint in the scab to really make it useful to detect any single one person or another that's tainted. Out in the wilderness, where there's really not a whole lot of taint or corruption, it's a lot easier to use it to focus on any given individual. See, it's supposed to be able to detect nasty shit when you use it, but it's harder depending on where you are." He runs a hand through his hair, then chugs at his beer a little. Then he burps. A little.

Bernie wrinkles her nose, and nods, taking another drink herself. "Well. Still sounds handy, though, y'know?" She stretches a little again as she turns to glance toward one of the bedrooms, gauging the quality of what little light filters in through the blinds. "...we prolly oughta get started 'f we're gonna make a stamp an' shit, though. 'fore it gets too late, an' all."

"Yeah, you're probably right," agrees Collin. "Let's get cracking on this. The guy should be there for multiple hours and he's there nearly every other night even if we do miss him tonight." He looks towards the light as well, then mumbles, 'bright light!" under his breath.

Bernie nods, and pushes up from the couch to her feet. "A'ight. So. We gotta get parts, then... Mm. Whatcha think, trip t' Wal-Mart? That oughta handle it all. We c'n snag, like, a placemat or somethin' for th' rubber." 'course they're not big on underage people bringing beer in, so that'll have to be handled first... she makes a good dent in it, for now.

"Yeah, that should do it." Collin agrees, thoughtfully. "And I was getting comfortable too." He starts to stand up, then adds, "Do we have the *money* for these? The five fingered discount will only get us so far."

Bernie adjusts her jacket slightly, and leans into the kitchenette, pulling a Wal-Mart bag out of a drawer and housing it in her jeans pocket for the time being. "Us'ly goes far 'nough," she shrugs, "...an' anyhow I got a few bucks, so, yeah, we oughta be able t' swing it."

Snickering, Collin gives her a thumbs up. "That'll do just fine, then. See, me? I don't keep things like that laying around. Of course, it'd help if I had things laying around in the first place." He shrugs his shoulders and then heads for the door, finishing off the beer first, of course.

"Like they say, be pr'pared," Bernie replies, with a quick grin, and drains the last of her beer as well. Can't let it go to waste. She follows toward the door, locking it behind them, softly humming something to herself. It sounds like "One Jump Ahead," from Aladdin.

Walmart passes. Collin makes fun of the store a lot. Namely because it sucks.

It's a neat little operation. The bits and pieces are duly acquired, and the exit, like the entrance, is made via the garden section and out through the parking lot. Bernie turns onto the park grounds as they reach it, and picks a bench on which to begin the assembly.

And Collin leans over. It was her idea, therefor, she gets to assemble it. But he watches intently as she does, making sure that there's nothing for him to, you know, point out or anything. There probably isn't. "Soon as we're done, we'll get going on down there. He'll be *so* glad to see me, I'm sure." His smile is positively wicked.

Bernie lays the thin rubber mat they've ended up with on the bench seat, and sets the suitably ass-sized block of wood beside it, giving it a thoughtful look. "...so, =how= big d'ya think eacha his cheeks are?" she queries, rummaging in her backpack for the ever useful swiss army knife, a pencil, and a short length of twine.

"Uh. He's bigger built than you and me." He ponders for a moment, then says, "He's pretty thick. Uhm. He's about six feet tall. I told you he was scary." Collin shudders again, then rests his chin on his hand. "So.. yay-big." He gestures with his other hand, drawing a suitably ass-cheek-sized circumference for what would be a relatively big guy.

Bernie's eyes narrow a bit as she considers the gesture, and then she ties the string to the pencil and traces a suitably sized circle on the mat -- somewhat smaller than Collin's estimation. Then another about an inch within that, and a couple more. They're not perfect, but decent circles. Very carefully, not wanting to cut the bench beneath them, she begins to cut them out. "...get th' glue out, wouldja?"

Which, of course, he does. "You forgot to say 'stat'," the Strider holds the glue out towards her.

Bernie smirks. "I need 20 ccs of Elmer's, stat!" she exclaims obligingly, and glance over. "Twist that sucker open, yeah?" The first circle carved out, she sets it atop an uncarved bit of mat and cuts another the same size, then starts carefully cutting the smaller ones out from both at once.

"Twist and shout, twist and shout. Come on, come on baby now.." Well, he won't any singing awards, but he's not horrible, either. He pops the Elmer's Glue open and readies it, a little droplet hanging at the tip. "All right. Just give me the wod and, uh.. I'll glue. I am the Glue Man."

"Glue-glue-g'joob," Bernie sings briefly, and giggles, peeling the circles carefully apart. She arranges them on the wooden block, and looks at them with a critical eye. "...'bout that far 'part, y'think?"

"I'd move them a *little* further apart. But not much. You have it just about right for what should be 'dead center'. I never knew you were so familiar with the build of people's asses, Bernie." Collin snickers.

"I seem t' be s'rrounded by 'em alla time," Bernie retorts casually, and then snickers. "'How many assholes are ON this ship?!'" she quotes, and shifts the targets slightly apart. "There. Better placement?"

"I remember that! I wish they'd made another Spaceballs. That movie kicked so much ass." He winks, then nods. "Absolutely. Works great." Thumbs up follows. "We're pretty close to being ready to go. I wanna be sure to catch that asshole before he finds a date or something and flees."

Bernie grins, and nods. "Love that movie. 's onea my faves..." The circles are duly glued in place, completing the stamp. "We gotta let it dry, an' we oughta try it out a couple times -- make sure it stamps okay, make sure we got down how t' handle it, yeah? Whichever onea us is gonna do th' actual stampin', at least..."

"Well, since he knows me, it'll probably be easier for me to do the distracting over the stamping." Collin explains. "But you can try and distract him if you want. I mean, hey, it's not a big deal to me. It's just an operation and all. It's just that he's likely to see me real fast." Collin covers his mouth with a hand, trying not to yawn. "All right. Let's give it a try on the, uh, bench here. There is no way I am volunteering my ass to be stamped with a target sign."

Bernie snickers. "Wuss," she teases, "...but nah, no vandalizin' my park. Even for a good cause. Hold on a sec." She pulls a binder out of her backpack, and from it, a couple sheets of paper. "...a'ight. Much as I hate t' admit it, an' that's a lot, consid'rin', you're prolly right 'bout who should do which... so. Pass me that ink thing, yeah?"

"There we go." Collin hands over the ink, of course, promptly. "Here ya are." He rolls his shoulders a bit, then looks up and about the park. Though a little tired now, his mood does still seem relatively cheerful.

Bernie flexes her fingers, and swiftly applies ink to the stamp, then stamps it on the paper. It's a bit awkward, with such a big block of wood, and it doesn't turn out right the first time, either. She practices a number of times, until it comes out nicely enough and she's got it down pretty quick. "Okay.... hold that piece of paper over your ass, wouldja? I gotta practice a couple times th', uh, relevant way. Plus you c'n tell me if th' pressure's like, tot'ly obvious."

"If someone sees this, I'm going to...going to cry." Collin tells Bernie, then turns and holds the paper over his rear. Clearly, he's not liking this one bit. "Rrrr."

Bernie manages not to snicker about it too much, and even to restrain the grin to behind the other Ragabash's back. She practices the move a couple times, getting a good mark before leaning around to ask, "...how's th' pressure? Too obvious?"

"Not too bad. But I'm wearing a lot more than he is." Collin points out.

Bernie smirks, arching a brow, and manages not to blush too much as she replies, "Well, hey, th' degree of realism's up t' you..." She looks at the stamp, and giggles, shaking her head. "Hope he doesn't notice. I'm not huge on th' idea of runnin' real fast. But. Guess we'll jus' hafta see!" She pauses, and then asks, "...hey. Think it's better this way than havin' you do it, only, like, blurred?"

"Ahem. Let's not go too far, hm? Next thing you know you'll be asking *me* to take off my pants and we can't have that, can we?" He looks over his shoulder at Bernie, then says. "And that's impossible. We're going into a crowded location. Blur's not invisibility, Bernie, though I wish it was. It just makes me harder to see. There's too much risk of people realizing that there's something weird going on. Even if it's not an outright veil-rend, it's still not good common sense and all, you know?" A grin follows that.

Bernie nods, "No, I know it isn't invisibility, but it'd make it less likely for him t' notice you b'hind him, know what I mean? 'cause you'd kina blend inta th' shadows an' shit, or 'least that's how it worked th' times I've seen Yi an' Timinator an' people do it." She shrugs. "..anyway, we'll jus' do it this way an' if bad shit happens t' me, I'll pass it on later." She grins, fleetingly, and starts packing things up.

"Yeah, but it's more like using it in the first place in a public place, you know?" Collin shakes his head. "If we're going to do it inside the club, we should hold to the original plan, yeah. But don't worry," he puffs up, lifting one arm and flexing the bicep, "*I* will protect you."

Bernie laughs as she slides the backpack on, and the ink roller into her jacket pocket. The stamp, she wipes off carefully on the grass. "That'd be a hell of a lot more reassurin' if you hadn' already told me he kicked your ass, y'know."

"Oh yeah." Collin exhales, sharply, and wilts. "Damn it. I wish I hadn't said that now. But, hey, I'm the new and improved Avatar of God now!"

"Oh, hey, yeah, right," Bernie replies, nodding, "almost forgot, you're female now..." She grins, and glances around for anything left behind. "Well... a'ight, Divinity. I think we're on. Lead an' I shall follow..."

"Damn it, and I don't even have breasts to feel. Just my luck. I'm female and can't even grope a breast *that* way." He heaves a deep sigh. "Let's go." And he leads the way, wandering out of Harbor Park and into the town's seedier sections. Eventually, to a club that is indeed what he said it was: Little more than a hole in the wall. It is not an upscale place at all.

Bernie pauses outside the club, the stamp already hidden in her voluminous jacket, and looks about. "I dunno," she remarks softly, smirking a bit, "y'think I'm underdressed? I mean, hell, y'can't even tell I =got= an ass, let 'lone see it..."

"What, you think I'm better off? Don't worry. We can get in. I mean, if you wanna go back and play dress up? Hey, far be it from me to say no to a chance to see a scantily clad girl, but I don't see it a being necessary." Collin tosses her a quick grin.

Bernie laughs, and shrugs. "Nah. Prolly only make things harder.... an' plus, I don' have anythin' t' be scantily clad in anyhow." She grins back and follows along.

"Well, this is good. Because I'd really hate to walk all the way back to the Dec, anyways, already." Collin grins, brightly, then strolls on up to the entryway and moves to go right on in. "Yo, yo, yo. Whassup! It's Grandmaster Sexay!"

Someone groans.

Bernie grins quietly to herself and follows, being not-quite-with-him. They better not be checking ID or anything. Pushing that thought aside, she lifts her shoulders back a little and walks in like there's no question she belongs there. The place get the best combination of subtle and effective once-over she can manage.

"Hey, man. Let us on in." Places like this don't check ID. Often. Especially for people who've been there before. "This girl here is with me. Just showing her the place tonight and all." Another bright grin and he slinks inside, out from under the (un)watchful eye of the fat, forty something bouncer who appears to be happily taking his time doing not much of anything.

Bernie flashes a bright, surprisingly pretty smile as she passes, though it quickly disappears as she gets farther in. She looks, of course, for the point of this exercise, scanning the room for bare buttocks. And feeling rather odd about it.

There's the ass! It's not hard to find. He seems to be rather popular, in fact, or at least well-known. He's tall, muscular, and blonde. And wearing chaps. Assless chaps, in fact, with a barestrip right up the middle. It looks like the guy has the wedgie from hell or really just hasn't learned to wipe too well.

Collin glares at him. But he keeps his eyes well above the ass.

Ewwwwwww. Collin's right. The man must be punished for his crimes against fashion, taste, and humanity as a whole. Though, all right, it =is= a pretty nice ass. Still, no excuse. The prank is just the Good and Right thing to do. But then, hey, it =is= a mission from God. That thought makes her smirk. She glances to Collin, to see what he's up to, while she considers positioning.

See? See? He told you! Collin looks over at Bernie and gives her a solemn nod. He then wanders around in front, entering He Of The Assless Chaps' line of sight. He turns, faces him, and lifts both his hands to the side of head. "Well, well, well. Hi! I didn't expect to see you here!" He wiggles his fingers a bit at him. "How are you doing? Doesn't your ass get cold? Another step forward. "I bet you shave it."

Bernie stifles a snicker and works her way into the milling bodies in the appropriate area. Pulling out the inkroller, she goes through the motions practiced earlier. Inking the stamp just as she approaches, sliding the roller back in her pocket, orienting the wood....

He of the Assless chaps lets out a snort and shakes his head. "You never learn, do you? You gonna make me beat your ass again? I can do it anytime I please, you know." He points out, smugly.

Collin looks a little offended. "Aw, man. Didn't you know? I'm not here to get the shit beat out of me, okay? Pretty please? I really don't wanna get hurt again." He wipes a tear from his eyes... not that there are any really there. But he's getting closer to the guy.

It looks fairly convincingly as if someone's bumped into Bernie and thrown her off balance. The stamp comes down on the AssMan quite close to straight, leaving its mark, and immediately disappears back into her coat, under her arm, as she straightens up and gives a glare toward a passing guy. "Hey, watch where you're goin'," she chides. He looks startled, but replies, "Uh, sorry," as he continues through the throng. She, too, starts to make her way off a bit, resisting the urge to check her work until she's safely away.

Assman jerks forward a little, casting a glare of annoyance in the general direction Bernie disappeared off to, but he doesn't think to check his ass, despite the somewhat odd feeling he got on it. He's too focused on the Gnat That Is Collin. "Fuck off, you dickwaddish loser," is his grandiose statement.

Collin throws his hands up, reeling back in horror, "Ack! I've been wounded! Mortally! My pride! Augh! I shall have to go hide under a rock now and cry about my shame! I'll be sure to say hello to your girlfriend and your mother there." And with that, he bolts. Away. Quickly.

Bernie turns when she gets to an area far enough away to be safe and high enough to get a look, and breaks into a wide grin, snickering quietly. Mission accomplished: on each carefully maintained cheek, a full, neat red target. There might be some smearing, perhaps, but from here, it sure doesn't show. It takes some squinting through the various lighting to see if from here at all, but see it one can. The effect is just as hoped -- possibly a tad off-center, but not distractingly so.

People are already noticing. It's not exactly easy to miss. There's snickers, giggles, and outright laughs. Assless boy is getting a little confused, but clearly thinks that the laughter can not possibly be directed at him, oh no.

Collin has already vanished, out of sight, from the others. He's not about to stick around any longer than he has to. He'll wait around outside for Bernie there.

Well, it's no fun if you don't get to see =any= of the results. The beginnings are enough, though; Bernie follows Collin outside within a minute or two, and grins at him without stopping, strolling past him and down the street, probably expecting him to come along.

Oh, he does. And it doesn't take long for him to start laughing. Hard. He doesn't quite double-over, but he's close. "It worked!"

That sets Bernie off, as she takes a moment, once they're =just= out of sight of the club, to press the stamp firmly against the side wall of a building, leaving two targets made of the rest of the ink on the thing neatly on the wall. She's laughing too hard at first to say anything at all, but when she regain some composure manages, "It did!"

Leaning against the wall as well, Collin just keeps laughing until his eyes well up with tears. He turns towards Bernie and moves to slap his hand against hers in the whole 'gimme five!' motion.

Bernie does, though her coordination is off from laughing, and she only makes half-contact. Which, of course, makes her laugh harder. The wall keeps her from falling over.

And Collin is inspired to do a little dance. He wiggles his bottom, then covers his cheeks with his hands, not that they aren't already covered by his pants. "Yes! Yes! Woohoo! We have defeated He Who Destroys Good Taste!"

Bernie gasps for breath, gesturing with a pointed finger at Collin several times, as if trying to say or indicate something, but gives up and just laughs all the more, slumping against the wall with her arms across her now aching abdomen, the stamp dangling from one hand. She gulps air, managing to, with much effort, start regaining some control.

Down he goes, though, sitting down and resting his head back on the wall. He's finally getting his own laughter under control and bringing his breathing back to a level closely resembling normal. "Ahh, now this is the life!"

Bernie has it down to a mere, if lingering, fit of giggles, after a bit, and nods. "OH yeah... God, I just wish we could =watch=... an' see his face when he finds out what's up..." The giggles turn back into laughter, and she sags, not =quite= slipping to the floor. "Oh, oh, ow..."