Bernie stands on the top of the boulder a moment, looking out over the grasses, and grins a little. "I'm th' kinga th' caaaaastle," she singsongs quietly, and giggles once, opening her backpack, which is rather more stuffed than its usual shape. Most of the main compartment is apparently filled with a blanket, which she pulls out to spread over the rock.

Matt rolls his eyes. "Oh, sure an' you doan't want ta start any king o' th' hill games here. Bit of a drop, that." His rucksack clanks more as he sets it down, pulling a pair of bottles out.

Bernie grins a bit again, and peers over the side. "Point. Tell y'what, we c'n rule jointly, whatcha say?" She finishes setting out the blanket, and sits crosslegged atop it, pulling a somewhat bulky, folded paper bag out and setting it down as well.

Matt smirks, fishing in his pocket for his Union Jack bottle opener. "Share the kingdom with Urrah Scum? Not likely." His voice drips with sarcasm, and he offers her an open bottle of Macready's. The good stuff.

Bernie takes the bottle, arching a brow. "Oh, 'zat how it is, huh? Fine then! I'll jus' hafta run it all myself. Hmph." She sips her drink, and then sets it carefully down so she can open the bag and pull out smaller bags, with food in them.

Matt nods, smiling. "Yep. 'zactly 'ow it is. Now," he nods toward the food, "You may feed us." He links his hands behind his head, and lays back on the blanket.

"Hey, =I'm= th' King here," Bernie protests, "shouldn't you be feedin' =me=? I mean, rejectin' my offer t' co-rule an' all. Hmph. Got halfa mind t' make you be a servant boy instead. Oh, boy! Where's my slippers?" She sets out a couple plastic plates and starts emptying the food out onto them while she talks, some chicken and some grapes and bread and cheese and various similar things. When that's done, though, she does pluck one of the grapes and lean over, dangling it above him. "s'pose y'want this =peeled=, too, huh?"

Matt squints into the sun, considering the offered grape. "Well, if it isn't to mooch trouble...."

Bernie smirks at Matt, and shakes her head. "Next y'll be wantin' me t' chew it up for ya an' d'liver it like a mama bird or somethin'...." She considers the grape and shrugs, giving peeling it a try. It's harder than it looks. "Mm. You're jus' gonna hafta cope," she decides, and pops the partially skinned fruit into his mouth.

Matt smiles, chewing. "So 'ard ta get good 'elp." He shakes his head a bit, adding "Oi fink Oi'll pass on th' pre-chewed food, though, fanks."

"Yeah," Bernie agrees, "MY help insists on bein' fed by his s'preme ruler, 'steada feedin' =me= like he oughta... an' you sure on that prechewed food thing? I mean, don' wantcha havin' t' go t' any trouble y'don' hafta, after all..." She grins, and leans over to steal a very quick kiss before sitting up and reclaiming her bottle of beer.

Matt reaches up to caress the side of her face as he kisses back, then smirks. "sure an' if Oi weren't used ta goin' ta trouble, I'd be trainspotting. neh?"

Bernie giggles, and reclines against him, using his stomach as a handy pillow. "A'ight, then, go t' some trouble an' feed me, your most glorious an' et cet'ra highness." She moves the plates over where they can easily be reached by both of them, and relaxes comfortably in the sun.

Matt basks, occasionally reaching for the grapes and dangling them over Bernie's mouth. He has some fun with this, occasionally pulling them out of reach at the last moment. For himself, he pulls a sandwich out of the ruck, tucking the plastic bag back into the ruck.

Bernie giggles and plays along, leaning up to snap at the grapes as they attempt to make their escape. After they're mostly caught, she chooses a piece of chicken, and munches on that, watching the movement of the clouds in a generally contented manner.

Matt sighs as well, rolling his jacket under his head as a pillow, pausing to remove his cigarettes and zippo. He finishes his sandwich, and also grabs some chicken. "Ah. Oi could do absolutely nuffin' like this all day."

"Mm. Def'nitely. We oughta do this more often. Like, 'least once a month," Bernie muses, munching on her chicken. She pauses for a sip of her beer, and then gestures upward with it, "...whatcha think... dragon? Or more like onea those Viking boats?"

"Submarine. Like in 'unt fer Red October." He idly drapes an arm across her chest, relaxed. "Oi could do this once a monf. Supposed ta 'elp Megan wif th' cubs in th' Farm'ouse anyway."

"Submarine. Could be, yeah... an' heh, I don' =believe= in Megan. She's just a cub story. Like Santa an' th' Tooth Fairy." Bernie grins, and rests a hand on Matt's arm as it drapes across her. "I mean, how long was I at th' Farmhouse? An' not ONCE did I see her..."

Matt grins. "Yeah, but she saw =you.="

Bernie giggles. "So she =is= Santa, then!" She tilts her head back on his abdomen, grinning up to him, "...so she knows if I've been naughty or nice, huh? Lucky thing I'm always a li'l angel an' all, yeah?"

Matt snorts. "Yah, well. She talks to me once in a while. So Oi doan't know how long /that/ story will 'old up."

"Which one, her bein' Santa, or me bein' well-behaved?" Bernie queries, taking another sip of her beer. She's drinking it slowly, so that it can last a while.

Matt smiles. "Oi'm not goin' ta answer that. Wisdom is important to a Philodox."

Bernie puts on her best upside-down pout and Big Innocent Eyes, which looks silly upside down. "Awwwww. But I =am= sweet an' innocent an' well-behaved! Though, I guess maybe not, since Santa never brought me anythin'... but I'm pretty sure that's just 'cause I don' celebrate Christmas an' all. Hmm. Seems like a wastea bein' well-behaved, act'ly."

Matt snorts. "Oi don't fink ye take enough out o' the pool o' Good Behavior ta worry, Books." Gently, he scratches her head.

Bernie mms, leaning into the scritching, eyes closed, and then her brow furrows as she considers that. "Waaaait a second... Which way d'ya mean that?"

Matt's grin increases, lopsided. He takes a long pull from his beer, saying "Only the best way, of course." She may not be able to see it, but he winks.

Bernie mmmms, suspiciously. "'course," she replies, taking a drink herself, and snuggles down comfortably again, watching the sky. "...that one's a duck..."

Matt is quiet for some time, finishing his beer. His chest rises and falls gently as he breathes.

Nothing wrong with quiet. Bernie lets the silence settle, listening to the breathing, and the breeze through the grass, and the occasional bird or squirrel call. She sips her beer and nibbles on a piece of bread, watching the clouds pass. For a while, everything is calm.

"'eard a good joke at work ysterday," Matt offers finally, setting his empty beer aside.

Bernie stretches a little, and runs her hand along the arm draped across her. "Yeah? Share th' wealth, then..."

Matt pauses to light a cigarette. He offers the pack to Bernie, then begins. "Three Samurai get togevver, one Japanese, one Chinese an' one Jewish, ta try to decide who is the best."

Bernie accepts one, and nods a little, giggling once just at that. "A'ight..."

Matt accompanies the story with gestures, which look a little silly when lying on his back. "So th' Japanese samurai, 'e lets go a fly, bzzz! An' then...swish snick! Th' fly drops ta th' groun' in two pieces. 'See?' says the Japanese Samurai. 'Oi am th' best.'"

Bernie grins, finishing off her drink and setting the bottle aside.

Matt says "Th' Chinese Samurai lets a fly go, an'...snick snick swish slash! It falls in /four/ pieces. 'There,' he says. 'Oi am the best.'"

Bernie giggles, and nods, twisting a bit onto her side, to watch him better.

Matt is smiling, having pretty much forgotten about the nasty parts of the real world for a few minutes. "So the Jewish Samurai releases a fly. Bzzz. Swish swish snick slash swish..." Matt makes wild katana gestures with his hands, nearly beaning Bernie in his enthusiasm. "...and the fly buzzes away."

Bernie ducks her head away from the flailing hands, and listens, smiling back as she reclaims her place.

Matt shrugs apologetically. "Sorry, love. So anyway, th' Jewish Samurai says, 'Oi am th' best.' An' th' Japanese an' Chinese Samurai say 'What? You didn't even kill the fly!' So th' Jewish Samurai, he shrugs, an' says 'Well, circumcision is not intended ta =kill.='"

Bernie bursts out laughing, and rolls over onto her stomach, still half-resting on him. "Now, that's precision..." She keeps giggling for a bit, and leans up to kiss him again.

Matt moves his cigarette out of the way to kiss her back, enthusiastically.