Humans liked routine. When there was a perceived standard, a mindset of expectations, of how things should be, a recipe to be followed, it was comforting. Safe in its predictability. But having that broken was equivalent to tugging out a rug from underneath their feet. It left them off balance and stumbling, looking for something to cling to to regain that balance.

Sometimes what they took in hand only sent them crashing down.

Werewolves had claws, but they were primarily meant for killing. Tearing, rending. And while they might be wolves, they were human too. A boning or hunting knife would trump a set of claws in terms of meat preparation, of procuring that perfect cut under most circumstances. Choosing the correct tool to use was common sense. And Peter was a hunter too, at the end of the day.

Grapefruit now neatly disassembled, left in a perfect sphere, Peter handed it to Chris. "Did you know that until recently, the grapefruit was called the forbidden fruit?"