Kaz is perched on top of one of the benches, playing her flute meditatively.

It's got to be around four thirty, maybe five a.m., and the moon's light is almost gone from the sky as Bernie wanders into the park, her hands in her jacket pockets, as usual -- or, rather, one hand in the pocket, the other hauling a small collection of Wal-Mart bags. Some of the contents are visible where they press against the flimsy plastic -- some candy, it looks like, snack cakes, a pad of lined paper. One bag seems to contain a newspaper, though they usually don't get sold all bunched up like that. Her gait is slower than usual, and her shoulders are a little hunched, though granted a heavy load of bags can do that to one. Still, it may be surprising she's awake, since she's definitely more shut-down than usual on the pack's mental link. She makes her way to Kaz's bench, sitting down on it without any real greeting or interruption of the music, and stares at the restored fountain a while, watching the water move without really seeing it.

Kaz inclines her head in a slight nod, but as Bernie well knows, she doesn't necessarily stop playing for just anything. The meditative cant to the song changes slightly, though, reflecting a little of what she senses of Bernie's mood; and, eventually, sliding back to just reflecting the water.

Bernie listens silently, or seems to, at least, gaze still somewhat unfocused on the water. The bags find a spot on the ground by the bench, except for the one holding the collection of newspaper. That one she holds loosely in her lap.

Eventually, Kaz ties the music off. Lowering her flute, she exudes a quiet, contemplative energy. A little slowly, she says, "Hey there."

"...Hey," the Ragabash replies quietly, and rather flatly, still slumped against the wood of the bench. Eventually, she adds, as if feeling that more's required, "....'s pretty."

Kaz starts breaking the flute down, slowly. Evidently, she's still on the musical high, as she doesn't even ask Bernie what's wrong. She merely tilts her head at her, eyebrow raising questioningly, under her hair.

Bernie doesn't really seem to notice the look, still mesmerized by the moving water. It takes until the flute's been taken apart and safely put away before she finally diverts her gaze, and moves the bag from her lap to the bench between herself and her Alpha, very gently, sort of indirectly offering it, or at least a look at it. She keeps a hand on one handle as her focus drifts from it into her lap.

Kaz keeps looking at Bernie for a moment, and shakes her head faintly and peers into the bag.

Yup, there's a lot of newspaper in there, all right. Looks like a recent issue, maybe even today's, from the state of the paper. There seem to be some rusty-brown spots on bits, though, small ones, and among the pages that fill the top of the bag, there are what look like strands of black, somewhat greasy hair. In fact, that's almost certainly what they are, peeking through the cracks between the crumpled sheets. Bernie remains still and silent, but seems to be waiting, now, not just stuck in her own thoughts.

Kaz rustles a few papers away. After a long moment of just sort of staring at hair and one or two flashes of skin, she asks, in a very odd tone of voice, "Bernie, why do you have a guy's head in here?" Suddenly focusing on the Ragabash herself, she asks, sounding a lot more like Kaz, "And are you /ok/? Jesus, Bern..."

"'cause I ripped it off," Bernie replies, in a conversationally vacant tone. "...I killed him. Only not. Only I did." She blinks once, staring at the water again, and suddenly focuses properly, giving her head a tiny shake and turning on the bench to face Kaz, looking at her, "...they're Wyrmy, right? You guys said they were Wyrmy, it's not like I can tell, and he was killing people, or at least person, but he said he didn't want to, but he =did= it, and he begged me not to kill him, and, and bad guys aren't supposed to cry!" She at least sounds closer to all there, if rather torrential and just this side of hysteria.

Well, that's both questions answered. Sort of. Kaz slides down onto the bench more fully, gently putting the bag down so she can slide closer to Bernie. She still hasn't actually looked at the head, which would save her her next question, if she did. "He -- What was he? Fomor? Leech?"

"Vampire." There's a second's resistance as the bag's moved and the handle stops being in a place she can still clutch it without leaning over, but then her hand goes boneless and lets it slip away. "He tried to just eat rats, he said. I found them first. And squirrels..."

Kaz's mind evidently tumbles to conclusions. "Tried to." There's a pause. "Shit Bern. Yeah, they're all Wyrmy. They're all... Well, they're /walkin' dead/. That ain't natural. It's better t'... well, let 'em go." Quieter, she adds, "Not that it's... Any fun."

Bernie nods a little, just slightly. "He felt... all wrong. Just... wrong. Shouldn't be. Like.... I don't know what like." A hand moves up, pushes the ubiquitous curl ineffectually behind her ear.

Kaz's gaze travels back to the bag. "Can we bury him?" she asks, abruptly.

Bernie looks back up to Kaz, quickly, eyes widening a little. "Can we?" she echoes the question back, hopefully.

Caution wins out over compassion. "Well. D'you mind'f he's cremated?"

Bernie considers, and shakes her head. "'s okay. He's... the rest of him's... under the bridge. And the other dead guy. In the car. Who smells."

Kaz gets slightly paler. "Yeah." Ah, acute sense memories. "Let's go do that, huh? Then I can kinda... Ask you some more shit."