Their masks - change - like a flip-book going from one picture to another, serene smiles becoming angry frowns. They pause, and Saturday scrambles to Stacia's side, setting her back against the werewolf's.

"Motherfucker I can't believe I miss the fucking Rig right now!"

The frowning women's laughter continues, but becomes darker, more mocking, less delighted. They drift closer, twining around each other in dizzying, distracting patterns, and then the claw shoots out.