Carrie looked at her watch; it was nearly six. Glancing at the horizon, she could see a the sun was beginning to descend, a manic grin upon its face. She found it slightly disconcerting, the way the world seemed quite normal at first glance, but the more she looked at the details, the evidence of its cartoonish origins became far more apparent.
She reconsidered for a moment her decision, and reflected that John should certainly count his blessings at finding a woman as determined and devoted as she was. She saw a small bistro across the street from where she was, complete with outside dining tables, and headed over there, deciding that she indeed would wait in the district until moonrise.
A pleasant enough waitress took her order; Carrie wasn't terribly hungry-her nerves were rather frazzled. Instead she ordered some breadsticks and a Captain Morgan and cola. A million and one questions raced through her mind as she sipped, then began to gulp her drink as the sun set steadily lower. Was there some sort of protocol to getting herself bitten? She she ask someone to do it, or should she simply wait for nature to take its course? Were the werewolves in control of themselves when they'd changed? How badly would she get bitten? Would she immediately change, or would there be an incubation? More importantly, who could she ask about all of this? She hadn't planned it out well at all, at least in part to try and surprise John.
But now her time was growing short, and she was in VERY unfamiliar territory.
To try and keep herself calm, she ordered another drink, and then eventually a third, keeping herself distracted by trying to tell who was a toon and who wasn't. She couldn't help but notice that the district, which had seemed nearly deserted when she'd sat down had begun to bustle with activity, and the later it got, the busier the whole neighborhood became.
The bistro became filled to capacity seemingly out of nowhere, and she was surrounded by patrons on the patio dining section, some of whom eyed her eagerly while glancing back up at the sky periodically. She was beginning to feel rather uneasy, almost as though SHE was now on the menu of the bistro.