Cabin Fever

Title: Title Goes Here
Time Period: August 3, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Todd and Lazar enjoy a nice chat about the particulars of werewolfism.

Blackburn Cabin

For the last day or so since the long trail ride up into the mountains ended, Lazar's surroundings have essentially been a 9x9 cell - though that cell is a mountainside storehouse beside Todd Blackburn's cabin instead of anything made from brick and mortar. Cuts of smoked meat from a variety of indigenous beasts hang high from the rafters and hooks around the little wooden structure, which has been built with roaming bears in mind and therefore has a lot to recommend it from the standpoint of structural integrity. The creaky-hinged door has been secured shut with a heavy iron padlock and a length of old chain, and the storehouse has been furnished sparsely: an empty bucket, one full of water, and a slightly musty but deceptively comfortable bedroll tossed over a cot.

The boredom of imprisonment has thus far been interrupted only by Todd arriving regularly to ask if the water situation is acceptable, and once to gruffly demand that one of the hounds stop digging at the base of the door. Though he hasn't bothered to fill in the shallow dip in the packed earth under the door created by the dog up until now, the hunter is currently on his way back to the storehouse, shovel over one arm and an off-key hum in his throat to announce his visit.

Things have been awfully quiet in the smokehouse for the past few hours. The lion's share of Todd's questions were answered either with Hungarian complaints or silence. His first few hours of silence from outside were spent using his one remaining good shoulder to fruitlessly ram the door, atl east until he could feel it no longer. Then he just stood. Waiting for— he doesn't know how long. Too long. But as the hours went on, his legs tired and that spot in the corner looked better and better. When he eventually sat down, he allowed himself to close his eyes, and just tried to sleep. Failing. The hounds made sure of it when the anger or what he hoped was not the start of an infection under his unchanged bandages did not.

Down comes the shovel, the spade of which he uses to 'knock' on the door a couple of times. "You still sulking in there, gravedigger? The next moon isn't until the end of the month. It'd be a better time for both of us if you stopped being such a baby." About pretty much everything, really. Todd smiles wryly to himself and lets the shovel submit to gravity again, the end biting down into the earth with a satisfying little crunch. Then the dirt starts shoring up against the walls of the wooden structure, reinforcing the sides and making it that much more difficult to dig out, if the gravedigger had any plans to do so. It's also probably keeping him a teensy bit safer from the predators in the woods. Lazar should be happy about it.

Lazar is happy about nothing, right now. He might not have slept, but he was damn close to it when the shovel audibly meets door, straightening from his slouch with his eyes suddenly wide open. When he finally comes to his wits again and remembers where he is, his head lowers with a scornful glower.

"What are you doing out there." He sounds mightily disinterested for someone in his situation, but his eyes scan the wall impatiently while he waits for an answer. "Reinforcing walls for when 'big bad wolf' comes to get you? Build higher."

Some particles of earth fall through the slats of the walls that surround Lazar as the hunter sees to his work. Hell, it might even give the Hungarian an idea of what it's like to be buried in a coffin. "No big wolf's going to come and get me, lad. But I'm sure you'll make a fine lining for my coat when you're done with your special moon time." Todd can't hold back a snicker at that; insinuating that Lazar is a lady is pretty much the height of his repertoire of situational humor. "Got enough water?"

It is a kind of humour that the gravedigger fails to appreciate, kicking his feet out for a stretch before rising to watch the sand settle. The water issue seems of little importance to him, at least for now, so he chooses to address something else entirely. "You know are an idiot." No explanation. Perhaps he wants to see if Todd can figure it out for himself.

Nope, sorry. Homophones were not gone over in Todd's meager education, and he just shrugs to himself on the other side of the wall. "At least you've got something right. Feeling very wolfish yet? I don't really fancy keeping you here all month. Maybe you could speed it up." Maybe if he were to get some sticks and poke the gravedigger through the door slats, that would work. It's worth considering, at least. Shovel, shovel. Dirt flies some more. The hunter is slowly but steadily making his way around the little building.

Doubt is the only thing that keeps the gravedigger from answering immediately, knowing very little about werewolves part from what he managed to read in the book Andrew let him borrow. Though it stated that not nearly all werewolves transmit their curse by inflicting wounds, he knows from stories that some people believe it definitely does.

"It does not work that way." He sounds calm now, one hand on his shoulder. "Unless maybe you want to come in here to try to fight it out of me." Big words for a man who hasn't been weaker than right now since before he left home twenty-odd years ago.

"You're diseased. Why would I come in there?" Tch. Though his prisoner can't see it the hunter rolls his eyes and gives a particularly forceful shovel forward, showering the side of one wall with dirt just for emphasis. Todd is also certainly one of those folks who believes that werewolfism is absurdly contagious. Obviously.

There's a pause in the shoveling, followed by the tool sinking into the earth again so that Todd can perch a foot on the cross of the blade and lean his forearms against the handle. "So how does it work then, professor? You were the one with the book."

Professor? Well, that's a first.

A groan is followed by the distinct sound of the gravedigger sitting back down with his back against the wall. "I did not read that part." He admits openly, "I did not want to study it, I want to kill it. Like you. Even if I am infected, the— moon has to…" He waves an arm around to no one in particular, not quite knowing how to end the sentence. He saw pictures of a moon in the book! It must have meant something. "It is not time."

Todd lets out another snort of disdain. "If you wanted to kill it, you could pick a better weapon than a book." He reaches up with one hand to scratch at the side of his head, frowning mostly for his own benefit while he gives the side of the storehouse a serious stare-down. "Well, perhaps when we get closer to the full moon I'll tie you out on a stake in the yard. Is that better? Put a nice little fence around you." The gravedigger is, as it were, digging his grave deeper.

That is what he does for a living, so who can blame him? But at least he does seem to realise he's not doing himself an incredibly good favour by talking, looking boredly around the room before simply resting his head against the wall behind him again. There doesn't seem to be much else he can do right now apart from getting some shut-eye and pretend he's somewhere else. At least his anger is waning, and maybe annoying Todd with silence will be more effective than reasoning with the idiot.