WorfEdwin had been standing in line for ages. It would be worth it though; he’d missed getting Wil Wheaton’s autograph at the last three cons, he wasn’t going to miss out this time.

He glanced up at the sky nervously. He’d been late taking his medication, and was already feeling much more anxiety than usual. It didn’t help that bikini-clad Leah-look-alikes kept stopping by to have their picture taken with the wookie behind him in line.

A bored looking guy in a baseball cap and official con tee shirt made his way down the line, counting fans as he went.

No… they wouldn’t… they said there would be plenty of room and no need to sell tickets ahead of time…

It was the worst thing about the big cons. Standing in line for hours was never a guarantee that one would actually get in to a particular event.

“Four hundred ninety-nine… five hundred.” The man handed Edwin a sign saying Line Ends Here. “Sorry folks, but the fire marshal has decided the room can only hold five hundred. We’ve added an event to the main hall, though, a panel on the abuses of canon in fan-fic…”

Edwin didn’t hear the rest of what the man said. He was drowned out by the cat-calls of the crowd.

Edwin held the sign like it was the one ring…his precious.

A mournful, gurgly wail interrupted his reverie. The wookie, in perfect make-up, looked down at Edwin from an impossible height. The guy looked like he used no prosthesis to attain the character’s necessary height.

Edwin’s gut churned. Let the wookie win… said the voices in his head. The sun hadn’t yet set, and the full moon already peeked from behind the clouds. Edwin’s head throbbed, and he knew it was already too late.

“It’s all yours!” he said, shoving the sign at the wookie and running.

“Hey, sorry… dude!” the wookie called after him. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I was just staying in character…”

Edwin waved in what he hoped was a friendly way and cursed the lack of phone-booths in today’s society. Then again, as as all-glass booth, they never had been good for changing in anyways. Superman was an idiot. He needed to find a bathroom.

Fortunately there was no line for the men’s room off the main lobby. He could already feel the bone protrusions pushing themselves out from his skull. He barely made it into the handicap stall before his shirt began to rip as his chest expanded.

Another red shirt bites the dust… he thought as he pulled the remains of his TOS shirt off and tossed it in the trash.

“OW!” He struggled with his jeans, which were far more resistant to the change. “Ow ow ow ow ooooooooowwwoooooo!!!!!” he shouted through gritted teeth as his tighty whities dug into his flesh before they, too, were ripped to shreds.

“Are you OK?” came a duo of voices from the direction of the bidets.

“Just… yeah. Just practicing my wolf call…” Edwin called back, hoping no one would notice his shredded underwear on the floor near the door.

He braced himself against the wall as the last of the changes racked his body, leaving him naked and trembling.

When it was done, he took a few deep breaths and cleaned up all the fabric scraps, stuffing them into his backpack. He removed his STNG uniform, the one designed to fit his larger form, and got dressed.

Fortunately there was no one else in the bathroom then, and he rejoined the crowd in the convention center lobby as they all flowed from one event to another.

“Oh! Nice cosplay. Mind if we take a picture?” asked a girl with trill-spots he suspected might be actual tattoos, not make-up. Her friends were dressed as dabo-girls.

“Sure!” Edwin said with a grin, opening his arms as all three of them posed against him, fingers on his chest and showing lots of leg.

It might be hard to keep a job. It might be a huge inconvenience in every other aspect of his life…

But sometimes it was good to be a were-worf.