Chapter Text
It starts with a discreet little card. An address and time of the meeting is printed on it, and the card shimmers when they try to view it at different angles. The overall effect, Stiles decides, is all rather moon-like. Ethereal. The words are in a shiny circle in the middle of the card while the rest of the card is pitch-black dotted with pale, translucent sparks, and it looks incredibly expensive.
"Do we have to swallow it like we usually do after we remember the details?" Scott queries, holding the card up to the light. "I think this might cause indigestion."
"Probably not," Stiles replies absent-mindedly. "That is, on the swallowing part. I have a feeling a card this posh might mean that we need to present it as proof to enter the meeting grounds."
As usual, Stiles is right. They scope out the place- a nondescript commercial building housing various publishing offices, and hang around the pretentious coffee place opposite the building for a week before the meeting. They observe the people and Scott makes faces at his overpriced americano. Business as usual, then. When the date rolls around, they don swanky business suits and march right in. They wave the card at the reception lady and she sighs, tapping away on her computer.
"The third lift on the left, closest to the vase of lilies. Swipe the card on the reader and press the button." They're both surprised by the set of unusually precise instructions and stumble towards the lift lobby, where they realise that they forgot to ask for which floor to get off on. Scott decides to wing it and does exactly what Reception Lady told him to, watching as the doors slide open to reveal shades of red and gold tastefully decorating the walls of the lift. It's all very Hilton-esque, except for the jet-black panel with an oil painting of a wolf howling at the moon hanging on it.
"So Twilight," Siles sniggers, and they step in. It is quickly apparent why they weren't told which floor to get off on- there is only one button. Scott jabs it and when the doors close, he starts lecturing Stiles.
"Dude, I have a feeling our client is a Were. You know, because of all the wolf stuff. Don't say anything rude." Stiles folds his arms, leaning against the wall.
"Are we going to stop on the We-Are-Aware-Of-Weres campaign speech now? I did take a class on equal rights and equality for Weres in university too, you know. Plus, I don't insult you on a regular basis on the being a werewolf thing. So just calm down." Scott raises his hands in defeat.
"Okay, okay. I was just saying." Stiles gestures to the décor.
"So you think this guy's a werewolf just because he likes wolfy things? You do know he could probably do the whole job himself, right? If he were a Were."
"Stiles," Scott says patiently. "I can smell it. Tone down the scepticism, please."
"It's not my fault that regular human users react badly to Somnacin," Stiles continues. "It's only Lydia's formula that makes it safe for people like me. I'm just throwing it out there, you know? It's a giant puzzle to me. We're being hired by a man who can solve his own problems. It doesn't make any sense to me." The lift makes a small chiming sound, but the doors don't open. Instead, the 'door open' button flashes insistently.
"Well, that's odd," Stiles comments, reaching for it. Scott stops him with a hand on his arm.
"I know we've reached," Scott says quietly. "But there are guns on the other side."