Lancelot pages: /Bernie's cell phone makes with the beeping noises./

Long distance to Lancelot: Bernie's voice follows the sound of the connection being made, "'lo?"

Lancelot pages: Miss Rosenberg? Lance MacGruder. I have something of yours. Is there a convenient time for you?"

You paged Lancelot with 'Oh! Hi. What'd I leave? I di'n' even notice I was missin' anything. Now's okay, though, if it works for you... please don't call me miss, though? 'sweird.'.

From afar, Lancelot chuckles. "Yes, Ma'am. Now is fine, I just didn't want to upset your timetable. See you in a few minutes." The line goes dead.

Lancelot is near the garage when Bernie arrives, wiping his hands on a shop rag. The amount of grease on it suggest that it's been well used. There are a few smudges of grease on his face as well, where he's absent-mindedly wiped his brow. He paces as well, releasing nervous energy.

Bernie glances around as she comes through the gate, slipping something into her jacket pocket while she enters. Catching sight of the kin confirms that she's not gotten lost, and she flashes him a bright smile as she heads that way. "Hey," she greets him, "...how is?"

Lancelot smiles, exhaling with relief. Waiting until she is close enough, he flips her a set of keys. "Well, thanks. I hope I've done well for you. If you wait here a minute, I'll bring it around."

Bernie catches them, clumsily... it requires a slight lunge, but she does manage to keep them from falling. It might have been more elegant if the words hadn't startled her as much as the toss. "Huh?" she inquires eloquently, blinking, and looks down at the keys she's just caught, a little bewildered.

The keys are non-descript, copies of originals. Looks like GM keys, though. Door and ignition. Lancelot is out of sight pretty quickly, ducking into the garage and through. Not much later, the growl of a powerful engine waking up echoes from behind the building. It devolves to a predatory purr, which gets louder as it approaches. Around the corner of the garage, a midnight blue shape emerges, almost square, and huge. It's a Chevy Nova, and looks new. Pulling up next to Bernie, Lance opens the door and steps out of the car. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of finishing it up. Four-fifty v-eight, on the floor automatic, air-conditioning, and I had a guy in Yakima drop an eight disc-changer into the trunk. Paint's new. Didn't figure you'd go for Bondo." He reaches in to kill the engine, then drops a matching set of keys into her still open hand.

The girl is taken aback, to say the least. She just stares at it for a few moments, blinking periodically. "I, um. Whoa. I didn't mean... I mean, that's... um." She stops, running the hand that isn't full of keys through her curls. "Uh... thanks?" she finishes, and looks it over again for a couple seconds, before smiling a little, with a somewhat shy duck of her head. "'s really nice. Um."

Lancelot grins, widely. These are the moments a Kin lives for. "No problem, Mi... Bernie. You're =Family.=" For a little while he just stands there, watching her take in her new ride. "I've got the title and paperwork in the office. You're on your own with the DMV, though, and..." He smiles again. "CDs not included."

Bernie giggles, and looks at it some more. "...'s a'ight, I know where to get those. D'you still need math tutoring? 'cause I c'n still help with that, and all," she offers, and steps a little closer to the car, actually touching it. "Heh, now I just hafta get Matt or Nev or Kaz to act'ly teach me t'drive," she murmurs to herself, slightly dubious on the third name.

Lancelot steps back, taken by surprise. "You asked me for a car and you don't know how to =drive?="

Bernie laughs. "I was gonna try an' put one t'gether, r'member? Figured it'd take a while." She pauses, and adds, "...plus, Matt drives a scooter, Nev's car's usually dead, an' Kaz..." another slight pause, there. "...borrows her friend's truck, an', um..." A sidelong glance toward him, "...you prolly haven't ever ridden with Kaz. ..Anyway, I know th' basic =theory= an' all, I just haven't had a chance t' really try it yet."

Lancelot says "Sorry. Alicia said you didn't know how to drive a /stick,/ not that you didn't drive at all.... =Really= glad I put the automatic in. Here, hop in. We'll get you around the block, hmm?""

Bernie tilts her head, moving around to the appropriate door. "Alicia said, huh?" she asks, opening it and getting in with a tiny bit of trepidation, "...a'ight."

Lancelot's amount of trepidation is not tiny at all, but he gets in on the passenger side. He buckles his seatbelt, and motions for her to do the same. "Okaay. First thing, keys. And park. Make sure you're in Park before you crank it."

Bernie doesn't need reminding on the seatbelt, and doesn't, at least, seem inclined to hurry. She looks the dashboard over critically, trying to identify what each thing is, and gives the pedals a look, too, before getting out one of the sets of keys, and successfully picking which key ought to go into the ignition. The car does appear to be in park, so that's a plus.

Fortunately, the 1972 Chevy Nova is not a complicated machine. The dash has a speedometer, odometer, PRNDL, and gas gauge, all analog. Two pedals: brake on the left, gas on the right. The engine cranks without difficulty, and settles into a menacing purr. "Good. Cool. Right. So, best way to be safe on the road, is to assume that there's a million dollar contract out on you, and everyone else on the road is secretly trying to kill you."

Bernie laughs, and pushes her hair back. "Mmm, paranoia," she remarks, "need morea =that= in my life..." She settles herself comfortably, adjusting her position slightly, and finds the pedals very gently with the toe of her boot, just checking position, afraid to risk any pressure on either of them as yet. "This one's the brake," she asks, indicating a leftward direction, "and this other one's the gas? Don't wanna screw =that= up."

Lancelot nods. "Right, Brake on the left, gas on the right. Only use one foot. Just move the right from pedal to pedal. Left foot doesn't do anything, unless you have a clutch, which you don't. Now, try the pedals, but leave it in park. Get used to the pressure each takes. Brakes are new, so they shouldn't be too soft."

Bernie tries as suggested, brow furrowed very slightly with concentration, and the car's noises change with the tries until she looks satisfied that she's got it about right. "Think I've got that," she decides.

Lancelot nods. "All right. Foot on the brake, and ease the clutch back from Park to Drive." Apprehensively he watches as Bernie follows instructions. "Engine idle should ease you forward as you take your foot off the brake. Slowly! Slowly, take your foot off the brake." The car lurches somewhat, but begins to make progress toward the street.

Bernie nods, intent on what she's doing, and a little startled by the lurching. Still, she does as instructed, and overall, it seems to go all right... if very, very slowly.

Lancelot isn't terrified, no. No, he isn't. "All right. Now try turning. First, look in the direction of the turn, just a quick glance, then back to what you're doing. You don't want to ever look away from where you're going for too long. If it's clear, turn the wheel. It's pretty intuitive."

Bernie smiles slightly, the supposed lack of terror not completely lost on her, and heroically resists the urge to freak him out on purpose. After all, it wouldn't be very appreciative of her. She finds a lever, and flicks it; the windshield wipers come on. She flicks it back, only slightly flustered, and tries again, finding the turn signal, this time. Wrong way. Another flick, and she's ready to attempt the actual turn, making the glances as instructed, then turning the wheel, and turning it back a bit almost immediately -- takes less work than she expected.

Lancelot smiles, weakly. He's got a firm grip on the 'oh shit' handle above the door, and tries to make his bracing arm on the dashboard look nonchalant. "Power steering. Up on the turn signal is right, down is left. Sort of goes with your hand as you turn the wheel right or left."

Bernie blushes the tiniest bit, but the embarrassment is outweighed by some amusement and quite a lot of determined stress. "Right," she agrees, and sits back in the seat a little, heading down the street at a mere 5 or so miles below the limit, 'til she reaches the stop sign on the corner. Her stop starts early enough, at least, but it's a bit firm, and the car stops about ten feet short of the line with a bit of a lurch. She giggles once, mutters, "...oops," and creeps it up to the line.

Lancelot snorts. "Well, better to stop too soon, I suppose. Unless someone's behind you. Pedals take some getting used to. Good thing it's pretty late. Why don't we circle the block and drive around the Yard some."

Bernie nods, flicks the lever the right way on the first try, this time, looks carefully, and goes around the corner, though the starting is less than ideally smooth. By the time the other sides of the block have been traversed, she's just about gotten the hang of the basics, though her timing on the pedals could still use practise.

Lancelot exhales as they leave the street. "You doing okay? I don't want to exceed your stress level, right?"

Bernie grins a little, at that. "I'm okay. Thanks. Had a couple more stressful experiences now an' then, so, hey, I c'n do this."

Lancelot nods once, firmly. "Cool. Last thing I want to do tonight, is try to talk down a freaking out Garou trying to figure out a clutch."

The image gets a little snirk. "Yeah, that'd be fun," Bernie agrees, "...new deedname: Road Rage." She drives more slowly through the open areas of the yard, visions of what would happen if one crashed into a stack of car-bodies making her extra careful.

Lancelot helps her practice, guiding her down clear paths until she's fairly comfortable with the basics of going forward. When the reach the clear area in the front, he asks, "Ready to tackle reverse?"