You want to go at night to avoid being followed. The forecast on the next full moon says a low of thirty five, with no rain or wind. That'll work.
A long and frantic day at Epicycle, watching YouTube videos about bikes to hone your expertise, then a hasty dinner of Wheat Thins and root beer before you head out. An old man stares at you from the moment you get on the bus. But he gets off one stop before you, and Elton is waiting, frock coat turned up against the wind, when you reach the Veterans Hospital turnaround at 6 PM sharp. The other werewolf seems tired. He barely manages a British greeting syllable, honked vaguely in your direction.
"Let's go, man! We've gotta get scouting."
"Are we going in lupus form?" Any excuse to shed my human skin.
"You okay?" I worry about this guy.
"You sure you weren't followed?" I don't like all these eyes on me.
"You think we'll have more fomori to rip up?" The last one was fun.
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