his hands are still shaking. registers this somewhere in the back of his mind, knows he needs to... do something. go home. get the wound on his side, pressed beneath a dirty t-shirt and a palm slick with his own blood, looked at before it gets infected or something. but the woods he just stumbled out of still crowd around the edge of the carnival like a promise, and— scott can't let anyone else get hurt. he has to warn someone. realizes someone's approached him in the very same instant that he blurts, gone stupid with adrenaline and the phantom of his best friend's paranoia, "i think there's a werewolf here."
"oh. my. god." first of all, he was dirty. like, really dirty? and was that blood? oh, jesus. it was either blood or some kind of sick joke. lydia's nose instantly upturned, her lips moving in the opposite direction as she frowned. "werewolves?" her tone was incredulous, eyes disbelieving. that's when it clicked. clearly, he was loaded. loaded or having some kind of mental break. "look," lydia regained her composure while staying a safe distance away. "if you want to do drugs, knock yourself out. just don't... freak out like this. the sheriff will arrest you."
