Dares and Corpses.

Rudy and Scraggle made a bet and now must pay for their lose by spending the night in the Feravalle Graveyard! Things do not go quite to plan.

Night is falling. The moon sits calmly on its respective horizon, preparing to make its ascent into the starry sky. The graveyard of the Ferravale, to the less superstitious, could be a sereine picture at night. Moss hangs delicately from the surrounding trees, and the ever present mist lends a mysterious air. However, Rudy happens to be on the superstitious side of the spectrum. He nervously steps under the iron gateway and glances over his shoulder, calling to his companion, "Yew comin'?" Entering the graveyard alone doesn't seem to tickle his fancy.

"Shuddup, Rudy," comes the answer from Scraggle, the hard-nosed stoat youth bringing up the rear. "Course I'm comin', if yew'd give me a blame second t' catch up an' stop yer blame whinin'." He rubs at his short, stubby left ear, the top curve missing. "/Yer/ blame fault we're even here." Scraggle, it seems, is never one to lay blame.

Rudy gives Scraggle a jaundiced glare, "Oy, cool down Scragg, an' watch were 'bouts yer throwin' tha blame! /Yer/ the one who wannte' t' knock on ol' Higgin's door, an' we /all/ kno' tha' wa' a bad idea." The lithe ferret takes another step into the graveyard, "Now 'ush up. Thar's werid things a'stirin a' this time o' night"

"We know /now/," Scraggle argues, glaring back and kicking vaguely at a stone as he passes by. "Don't see why nobuddy thought t' say a blame thing /before/ I knocked on th' blame door," he notes petulantly, picking up a stick to prod at some of the flora. "'We all knew, Scragg, we all knew,'" he continues, putting his paws up in the air as he goes on in a sing-song voice. "'Yer allus makin' th' wrong choices, Scragg, yer such a blame fool, Scragg!' Blame /rubbish./"

Rudy crinkles his already crooked snout, "Cuz yew a dun' whack 'ead, tha's why! Nobody can tell yew nothin'! An' now we gotta stay in this stanky ol' place 'till lady sunshine 'sides ta show 'er face." His voice dissolves into annoyed muttering as he stalks further into the graveyard, stopping unconsciously in front of one of the headstones, at which point his voice dies away and there is a long pause of silence on his part. After a moment of quiet, the ferret ventures in a quiet voice, "Oy, Scragg. Who da' yew 'spect is cluncked 'ere?" He'd read the headstone himself, if he could.

"A /dumb whack 'ead,/ eh?" Scraggle's face screws up with irritation and adolescent rage, miming furiously along as Rudy gives his tirade, gesticulating wildly with his new stick. At the question, he takes a few steps over to peer more closely at the headstone in question. "...dun' know," he finally decides, rapping the side smartly with the stick. "Some blame dead fool, most like."

Rudy's trepidation starts to return as his annoyance subsides, "Yew don' think it's..." He gasps and takes a few steps away from the offending stone, "Yew don' think it's tha' guard who died a couple' weeks back, do ya?! Brack said 'e seen 'im wanderin' 'bout at night, not but a ghostly figer' seekin' revenge fer is' death." His eyes widen as he remembers other things he's heard, "An' that undertaker! I 'ere 'e kidnaps beasts and burries' 'em 'ere, fer 'is own personal garden, o' sorts." The young ferret gulps, and looks around with a renewed sense of fear. "Yew don' think tha' undertaker is 'ere....do ya?"

"Don' be a blame /fool!/" Scraggle doesn't appear to be buying the tale, aiming a heartening punch at the ferret's upper arm. Love taps. "Ain't no blame gard'ner ghosts, leastways round these parts," the stoat announces, nodding sagely.

Love taps indeed. Rudy clutches at his upper arm and winces away from the stoat, "Oy, like yew can talk! Yew went an' knocked on Higgin's door; show's ow' much yew know." He nods decisively and starts to move away from the headstone, taking his sure-to-be-bruised arm along with him. Not that he could put it down in the first place.

A gust of wind rustles through the trees, causing a loose board on the nearby shed to swing in creaking protest.

Come back here with that arm! Scraggle smacks his stick down hard on the top of the headstone, thoroughly irritated by the repeated mention of Higgin and his portal. "Say one more blame thing about that blame door, yew liddle chunka twice-chawed gristle, an' I'll give yew ov'r t' the Phantom Gard'ner my-/self./" The wind does little to perturb the stoat, caught up as he is in the business of making empty threats, something of a hobby of his.

Rudy sticks his tongue out at his dear friend, for a moment defiance having more of an effect on him then fear, "Higgin, Higgin, HIGGIN, DOOR!" The last two words are shouted with much gusto. The clanking of the board causes the ferret to spin around to face any would be ghosts, and for the moment his back is turned to Scraggle. With a hoarse whisper, Rudy calls out towards the shed, "A-anyone there?" The only reply is the continued clacking of the board who seems to be quite the conversationalist.

Scraggle, for his part, takes this opportunity to actually make good on a promise, screwing up his face and swinging blindly towards the back side of his friend with his stick. It's just a switch, really, so the ferret is probably safe from brain trauma or anything, but it'll probably smart. Love taps! "I sed /shuddup!/"

Any ghost hunting that had previously preoccupied Rudy quickly flies away as he leaps away from Scraggle with an unearthly howl, rubbing the place of impact with much vigor, "Whad' ya do tha' fer, ya bloody idjit!?" He steps away from the stoat and now nurses both his stinging back and his bruising arm, "Yer a cruel one, Scragg, a real cruel one." He scowls bad temperedly and moves to go sit on the ground, far away from both Scraggle and the unknown headstone.

"Told yew t' shuddup," Scraggle sniffs, putting his nose haughtily in the air. "Nobuddy ever listens t' ol' Scraggle, though, noooo. Blame numbskulls." The eerie wind creeps hauntingly through the graveyard, curling around the moss hanging from the trees and causing it to sway.

Rudy scowls and mutters, "Aye, cuz yew a dumb whack 'ead, like I said." However, he keeps his voice low, not wanting to invoke any further wrath from the stoat. Rudy's ears perk up as he takes notice of the wind, and the way it toys with the mists. Almost like..."Oy, Scragg, look'it!" His voice is an urgent whisper and he points desperately across the graveyard. At first, it may be hard to determine what he's got his pants in a wad about, however, upon further scrutiny, the mist parts slightly to reveal a hole in the ground; mounds of fresh dirt piled beside it.

Rudy gives a small 'eep' of horror and within seconds he's back beside Scragg, hiding behind the stoat, "It's a ghosty comin' out o' it's grave ta haunt us! I jus' know tis tha' guard from las' week, I know it!"

"That one as got jumped by th' burglars?" Scraggle's curiosity is piqued now, swishing his stick up into a more defensive posture. "Wid 'is throat ripped clean out by th' blade?" The grisly details, fascinating to the stoat's twisted little mind. "Just tore straight out, no nuddin' left t' breathe with." His paw comes up to rest on his own windpipe.

Rudy stares intently at the hole, nodding quietly in confirmation, "Aye, tha's the one. An' ya know, I 'eard they stabbed 'im too. Didn' wan' 'im spreadin' any tales, so they took no chances." He shivers from a combination of the night chill and fear. Suddenly, from somewhere past the whole, a bobbing light comes into view, moving slowly through the surrounding woods and heading straight for the graveyard.

"D'y' see /tha'?/" asks Scraggle tersely, elbowing Rudy hard and pointing towards the ephemeral light, outstretched finger shaking. "This is all /yer/ fault, y' blame fool! Yew had t' go an' make that blame bet!"

Rudy gasps in horror as he follows the pointed line of Scraggle's outstretched finger, "/My/ fault?! Well, I 'ad ta make some sort'a bet, 'else we'd 'o been seen as cowards! Yew agreed ta' 'elp, so it's only half my fault." Taking what little consolation he can in those words, he ducks down and presses his back against the nearest headstone, "Oy, get down Scragg and mebbe' it won't notice us!" Meanwhile, the light draws ever closer.

"Like th' blame spirits can't see through a tiny liddle chunka stone," Scraggle dissents, but joins his friend in taking cover behind the rock as well.

Scraggle has a point, but at the moment, Rudy is living by the age old principle of, 'If I can't see it, it can't see me', which has a fifty percent survival rate, at least. As the light bobs ever closer, slowly a figure can be made out and eventually, as the lantern bearing beast steps into the light of the moon, two figures. And a body. A very dead body. The beast holding the lantern appears to be a hulking rat wearing a dark tunic, while his living companion is a gray fox covered in a swirling, black, cape. Over the fox's shoulder is the body of some unfortunate beasty.

"/Skeeters,/" Scraggle breathes, peering around the corner of the tombstone to get a better look at the ragtag duo. "They got a blame stiff, Rudy." It's usually not wise to get caught watching when people dump their corpses, but the stoat just can't pull himself away.

Rudy's eyes widen, "What?!" The ferret is partially relieved that it's not a damned soul cursed to roam the earth for the rest of eternity, yet partially dismayed that their ghost has turned out to be possibly more dangerous than an actual spirit. He scurries to peep over the top of the tombstone and curses quietly when his friend's observation proves true, "Well, this is a fix, ain't it, Scragg. Whada' we do? Shouldn't we hightail it outta' 'ere?". The fox since has dumped the body into the hole and has begun throwing in the dirt. The rat stands by and watches the proceedings with a grizzly half smile, illuminated by the lantern.

"/Shuddup,/" Scraggle hisses, lowering his head and glaring at the ferret. "Yew want'em diggin' that 'ole twice's deep?" The stoat lets a moment pass for Rudy to reflect on the question. "/No./ We hightail it outta 'ere, an' they sees us, we're dead beasts." He hunkers down behind the gravestone, thinking hard and glancing around for some sort of inspiration.

" 'Course not! I dunno, mebbe we can fight 'em off." He eyes light up, but then he remembers fighting could involve dying, "We're to young ta die, Scragg! An wha' if-ooh" Rudy trails off and bites the back of his paw in an effort to quell his rising panic. A branch rests nearby and Rudy almost starts to reach out for it before thinking better of the idea and staying still. They are, in a sense, sitting ducks. The would-be grave diggers have finished filling in their hole and now stand beside it, murmuring whatever it is you say to someone you've just cluncked.

Scraggle leans his head back against the headstone, scooching up far enough to peer over the top at the interment committee. "Whaddaya even /say/ t' sommun y' jus' blame /cluncked,/" the stoat murmurs wonderingly. He sits back down, looking around some more and chewing at his bottom lip. "Blame fools, trappin' us 'ere. Blame moron, /bringin'/ us 'ere." That second one is for Rudy.

Rudy ignors the jab, to focused on being quiet and afraid to come up with some witty reply. Plus, he remembers where mentioning Higgin got him last time and doesn't want to repeat the experience in their current state of hiding. Meanwhile the graveside crew starts to shuffle back towards the woods, the lantern swinging almost cheerfully from the rat's paw.

"Shhhh sh sh," Scraggle shushs unnecessarily, peering over the top of the gravestone again, waving down at Rudy to keep him from revealing himself, also unnecessarily. "They're blame leavin'. About blame time!" His rough whisper is tense with excitement. They might survive!

Rudy's eyes widen with excitement. Leaving? This is the best thing that's happened to him all night! Aside from the numerous bruises given to him by Scraggle, he might actually come out of this alive! The ferret scrambles to his knees, ignoring his companions waving hand of caution, and peeps over the gravestone to see the pair of grave diggers disappearing into the woods. He breaths a shaky sigh of relief and sinks back down to the ground, "I dunno Scragg, I'm goin' 'ome tonight. Iffiin the rest o' the gang wanna bounce me 'bout it, so be it. But I ain't stayin' where I'm likely to be kill't!" To prove his point, he starts to crawl towards the entry of the graveyard.

"Y' blame rat-faced idjit!" Scraggle calls out his insult and leaps, intending to tackle the ferret to the ground. "Y' can't jus' go back on a dare like that! Y' make us both look like blame cowards!"

Rudy 'oof's' as he's tackled and flops over onto his side, pinned under the stoat, "Listen Scraggs, yew can stay 'ere. Then I'll be th' only coward ta speak of, an they'll think no less 'o you! Please, just lemme' go home." His voice takes on an audible whine as he pleads with his friend.

"Fine," the stoat relents, letting Rudy up finally. "Jus' make sure ya tell them blame fools that ol' Scragg stayed all night long." He watches as the ferret runs off back to the village, picks up a stick, and sits down to wait out the night.

Thanks for reading!