[Stiles makes his way down the hall to Scott's room as Lydia is knocking. He rubs the back of his neck, lifting his other hand in a slight wave of greeting. He's anxious -- more so than usual. Where he was once excited about the unknown, the adventure of it all, he now dreads it because he can't help but assume that it's going to be terrible. It's almost always terrible. And he isn't sure there are enough possible backup plans for a Mirror Barge, or for freaking Silent Hill.]
Pack Spam!
Hey.