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Ewan tipped his head in reply to Mishael, "Forgot to pack them. You know all that stuff -- feathers, and stuff. It's hard to travel with it and keep it intact." He reached up almost without looking to accept a beer from Chris, who'd gotten up [quietly, for a man of his size] and retrieved an entire cooler of more beer.

Chris, cracking open one of the beers himself, took about half of it in one series of swallows before turning blue eyes from Ewan to Mishael. "Well, hell. I would've paid good money to see all of that on you."

Chuckling and resting fully on her back, Mathilda smiled at the sky. It was nice to see stars in the sky, rather then the light polluted sky of San Francisco.

"I'll take you up on that, surfer boy."

Once again, she let her gaze fall to those around her.

Feeling the poke in his side, Rob turned his attention back to Sid and leaned in to better hear her. A smoke? It didn't occur to him that she'd taken up smoking, since he wasn't a smoker himself. Then… ohhhh, smoke. That's why she was being so quiet about it. He'd done that in the past, though it had been awhile. Still, he had no objections to it, on any grounds.

"Sure, I'll go with you," he murmured back. "I'm done with the game anyway, and it looks like it's breaking up a bit." One of the groups the game seemed to be breaking up into was clustered around Isaiah, what with his free beer and all, and seemed to be increasingly female. He admired the back end of the girl who was approaching surfer Jesus on all fours -- what was it, Misha? -- and gave Isaiah a grin and a salute with the bottle of Corona.

Whatever else this entire thing with gods and Chosen was going to end up being, it was promising to be FUN.

"Ready when you are, love," he smiled at Sid.

"Ah," was all he said, but he listened to her talk about her bed and breakfast and he knew when to nod. She loved what she did, and that was something he understood completely. She probably even enjoyed dirt under her nails when she was in the garden because it was about putting her vegetables or flowers on her table in front of her guests.

Mal kind of got that.

"Well, if it helps, we were pretty much done when it happened. I think they were using it as a final nail-- if I didn't get angry and just put all their stuff in boxes, it was done for sure, no hope of resuscitation."

"Death metal." He plucked at his shirt, the mess of thorns and spikes that was probably, maybe, some not very well known band's name. "Or metal of any type. I don't play that well."

Not metal anyway -- and he didn't really have time to play much, given that he'd been pushing 50 hour weeks at the prison. But, he thought suddenly [and his face lit up, made him look much younger and less dour], he'd probably have time for it now. "Maybe I'll go poke around the Studio. Let you look through my music collection, you look like you'd like Cannibal Corpse."

It wasn't exactly an invitation -- just a thought. He certainly didn't expect [or really want? maybe?] an admiring fanclub.

Isaiah had drifted off into his own pattern of thought and speculation. The fire still roared, and the conversation had drifted off into friendly back-and-forth. The game was just about done, and his beer had run out before the ice had melted- just as he had wished.

He turned when Rob and Sid bid their farewell, a smirk playing at his countenance as he saluted them off. He'd assumed that would happen at one point or another, they seemed to have a lot to talk about.

Isaiah looked at Mathilda, then reached forward and cupped her shoulder with his hand. "Hey babe," he said. "I'm gonna head out, it was nice chattin' with ya."

His dorm was calling to him, he craved a long shower and the nest of blankets tangled on his bed and around his person. He grabbed his cooler, then addressed the rest of the group with a smile.

"I'm headed to the dorms." He said. "It was nice meeting everyone... uhh, g'night." He laughed to himself as he turned away and exited the friendly circle the bonfire had created. He hummed to himself as he went, eager to check out where he'd be staying for at least the next couple of days.

"It's still a terrible thing," Gretta responded, mouth quirked in a half-frown. "But here you are now, and that's what matters!" Leave it to Gretta to find a way to put a positive spin on things. "I have to assume, then, that you have a degree in.. what was it, Criminal Law? I hope you're not estranged from your brother."

She gave Mal a displeased look, more motherly than anything. There was a light in her eyes, however, that might have given the impression she was ribbing him just a little.

Leaning back on her pillow, Gretta adjusted her glasses as she watched the man she'd been conversing with.

"Family is pretty important."

"Family," Mal said, "is pretty much everything." He adjusted his glasses on his nose and his mouth quirked at Gretta. "He's getting married. I'm hoping I'll get an invitation-- and that I'll be able to go. I'm not a fan of his fiance's family--" There were a wealth of things behind that statement. "--but I think his fiance is good for him.

"Balancing, maybe, is the word I want?" He shrugged. "I worry." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "Our parents are gone, there's not that many Gherigs around. But Finn has Aleks, and Aleks thinks Finn hung the moon. So I can't ask for someone better to take care of him while I'm..."

How did you explain this place? Mal made a half circle gesture with his beer. The condensation made the fire spit a little. "They were dating for years, and only sprung it on us after Finn turned eighteen. Aleks insisted on the long engagement period." He liked Aleks; he was shockingly level headed compared to other men his age, for all he was an accountant.

"Finn does something with computers-- Aleks is an accountant for his uncle's business." Some shadow flitted across Mal's face for that statement, but it was there and gone, and he smiled at Gretta.

"What about you? Big family?"