Rich laughed, leaning back and kicking at the door's handle, causing the aged metal squeal open.  "What is this, my birthday?" the werewolf joked as he stepped out of the ancient truck.  He had taken it years before he had relocated to Aberdeen, when he still had been in Europe.  The metal frame was dented and rusty, the two cab windows were missing, and the inside was pitted and scarred by decades of heavy boots and smoldering cigarettes.  The truck's original color, dark green, was gone.<br/><br/>The pack leader looked around at the three burly lycans standing in front of him.  "I'm doin' good, thanks for asking."  Rich walked away from the pickup, towards the main lodge.  The outside looked as old and beat-up as his truck, but the inside was outfitted with everything, from pool tables to vintage vending machines.<br/><br/>Turning his back to the large structure and looking at his pack, Rich jerked his head at the empty spot usually occupied by a large red-and-black pickup.  "Where's Stephen?"