Mid-afternoon, backstage at the Ridge Rock Pavilion – a mid-sized amphitheater in Des Moines

The backstage area was… something. Someone had clearly Googled “werewolf hospitality” at 2 a.m. and gone way, way too far.

The green room smelled like raw meat, incense, and desperation. A small table in the corner held a mountain of bloody ribeye steaks—uncooked, sweating in the open air under the humming fluorescent lights. There was also a full jar of peanut butter, two cans of dog food (?!), and a pile of beef jerky shaped into a paw print.

Gabriel stood in the doorway, frozen, just staring at the carnage. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Thane stepped up beside him, a clipboard of load-in notes tucked under one arm. He blinked at the absurd meat display, his jaw slightly slack.

Mark brushed past both of them, stopped mid-step, squinted at the tray, and said flatly, “Is this a threat?”

Enter Becky, the venue’s PR manager—a beaming, overly enthusiastic woman in her early thirties with bright eyes and the energy of a motivational speaker. “Hi, guys!! Welcome! I just want to say how excited we are to have Feral Eclipse performing tonight. And don’t worry—we totally did our research.”

Gabriel slowly turned toward her. “Research.”

Becky gestured proudly at the table. “We wanted you to feel at home! I read online that werewolves love red meat and strong scents, so we curated this special welcome spread just for you!”

Thane looked at Mark. Mark looked at Thane. Neither said a word. The air was thick with judgment.

Undeterred, Becky launched into her next proud announcement. “Also! We changed out all the signs on your dressing rooms to say ‘Pack Leader’ and ‘Beta Babe’—so fun, right?! Oh! And if you need a full moon backdrop for any of your Instas, we’ve got one set up by the side entrance!”

Thane dropped his clipboard.

Gabriel reached forward and gently pushed a dog biscuit off the tray like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Mark stared out into the void as if silently calculating the prison sentence for arson.

“I… don’t know whether to laugh or set this place on fire,” Thane finally muttered.

Mark offered a dry suggestion: “Can we do both?”

Just then, Maya stepped in, took one look at the raw steaks and Becky, and demanded, “Okay, what in the name of Latin rage is this?”

“Werewolf dinner!” Becky declared proudly.

Maya turned slowly to Thane. “If I kill her, do I still get paid?”

Meanwhile, Rico and Jonah entered behind her, pushing a massive amp through the hallway. Rico paused mid-roll and blinked at the bizarre meat altar.

“Yo,” he said, wide-eyed. “Are we doing a ritual tonight?”

Jonah, already backing up: “I told y’all we should’ve stayed in the van.”

Gabriel, ever the agent of chaos, stepped forward and raised a raw steak like a champagne toast. “To full moons and well-done misunderstandings.”

Before he could bite into it, Thane snatched the steak away.

“We’re eating at the taco truck across the street,” he said, already turning.

Gabriel pouted. “But—”

“Nope,” Thane cut in sharply.

Mark gave the meat tray one last glance and shook his head. “Someone’s gonna get salmonella just from standing near that thing.”