Farm of Death

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Hours later, sound finally emerged from outside the cell. And walked down the steps, followed by Paul, and stopped in front of the cell door. Slightly out of breath, he sighed heavily before he looked at the sliding window in the door. "You hungry, boy?" He waited, holding a plate with vegetables and bread on it. "I brought food. It isn't much, but it's cooked decently." He looked in through the window. "I also brought water, since you've been screaming your guts out." His other hand, as promised, held a skin of water. Neither plate nor skin had sharp edges, nor was either heavy.

Through the window, Grigori could smell sweat and soil on the man.
 
The scent of well-prepared food hit Grigori's nose and he picked his head up weakly. The room was silent; he had screamed himself hoarse hours before, and had crumpled to the dirt, remaining in a huddled heap until that moment. He didn't understand. Why was the old man feeding him? He was an insurgent, a burglar. Why would he feed he who tried to rob him?

"You are...too kind to a failure." Grigori's voice was hoarse, but it carried enough to show the old man his acceptance of food and drink. He did not budge, assuming the food would be passed through the window or something like. He was broken now, unsure what to do or say. He didn't want to die; no, no sane man did. But what else was he supposed to do? His life WAS being a mercenary. And going elsewhere would just result in him being hunted down. What other options did he have?
 
The edge of the plate appeared through the window. "Here. Take it. I'm not opening the door until I'm sure you're not going to do something crazy." He shook the plate lightly, careful not to spill its contents that he'd harvested himself. There was no meat on the plate, but there was a fried egg, its center pink and jiggling, but the outside firm. "I hope you like your fried eggs with runny yolks. I think it gives the vegetables more flavor than eating them plain."

A cluck came from somewhere beyond the old man.

"And do hurry, I haven't eaten yet, and I'd like to go cook something warm for myself, too."
 
He just didn't understand. He made food for him before himself?! This was crazy. Grigori stood up, slowly taking the plate from the old man. "Then go....I don't see why my needs come before your own. Considering I AM a robber." He sighed, picking at his food. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he would be in time. Best to stop the hunger now while he could.

He chewed quietly at his vegetables, looking to the window in confusion. "Why? Why give a fuck about someone trying to ruin your life? What have I done to deserve any kindness from my captor?" The questions had to be asked. It was bugging him that the old man could see him as worthy of food and drink, when he himself would not have done such a thing were the situation reversed. What was the man thinking? Was he senile?
 
And remained silent for a few moments. "Because you probably had ample opportunity to attack me, and all you did was try to steal objects I've stolen in the past." He leaned against the wall outside the door. "Besides that, I live alone. You're the first living person I've seen since I went into town to borrow a bull for my cows."

He rolled his shoulders absently as he let the cool wall press against his back. It felt nice, after being on his feet all day, to straighten it like this. "I think your only problem is that you're stupid and naive, and that can be fixed relatively easily, if you're open to it, though I won't bother for someone who cares so little about his life that he doesn't even want to run away when he thinks he'll be killed over a simple theft job." He snorted.
 
"Goes to show what you know. My client does not tolerate failure." Grigori huffed. Why was he being so standoffish about this? He didn't even know what the old man wanted of him. But....considering HE had failed anything significant out here in this nice, reclusive place...maybe having the man's protection for now wasn't such a bad idea.

"You said something about exchanging room and board for manual labor. Considering my options...that may be the best one to take right now. I'm willing to talk." His voice was beginning to recover as he took generous gulps of the water. He might even be able to complete his mission yet if things come to a point, but protection was probably the more feasible and more important goal.
 
So, the kid took a job to steal from an old man in the mountains with death as the only option for failure, without finding out what to expect first? This kid was... a special type of idiot. The kind that usually drowned in childhood or got their head kicked in by a horse. This was the kind of stupid that ate poison berries or...

He forced those thoughts away and sighed. "I said I'll forgive your attempt at stealing for me for labor. I never said anything about letting you stay here. The only other person I would let live with me is an apprentice, and frankly, I don't think you're suitable. You think if they would hunt you down anywhere else, they wouldn't look here first? Probably burn down my house and look for both our bones and anything shiny they can shake out of the rubble? You want to die anyway. I could grant your wish and dump your body at the base of the mountain, where you'll be found, and they'll think an animal found you before you got anywhere."

He paused. "Convince me otherwise."
 
Once again, more confusing words out of the old man. He wasn't sure what to expect from him anymore. Was he saying that he was just s suicidal idiot? How was he supposed to convince him otherwise? That's what he was. Forced into mercenary work as a boy. He still didn't know everything there was to the job. He didn't WANT to die, but how was he supposed to prove himself otherwise? Apparently the old man didn't even trust himself to be able to protect a thing. What was he supposed to do?

Silence came on his end for the longest time before he spoke again. "I do not know how I am supposed to do that." Grigori's voice, still hoarse, came out weak and defeated. This man had destroyed him utterly in a matter of hours. Made him fail the mission, broke what few possessions he still had and held dear, and now was insulting his very intelligence. What a fool he felt like.
 
"Figure it out. Prove me wrong, boy. I would love nothing better." With those words, he closed the window between them and began to walk away. Clucking accompanied his quiet footsteps, until eventually, the quiet sound of a door closing came from some distance away.

The night passed peaceful and quiet inside the cell, until morning came, and the window on the door slid open. "I brought breakfast and another waterskin. Pass back your dishes from last night."

He waited a few moments for an answer, patient and quiet.
 
Grigori had fallen asleep sometime that night. He had no dreams, merely a terrible sleep on a hard stone floor. He had no idea how much time had passed; with no window, he could not be sure of anything. He was alone with his thoughts, and even those were few and far between. Grigori felt crushed; the energy had left his eyes, and there seemed little left but a husk. The old man was humoring himself now, keeping him prisoner in a dark cell with nothing to do but suffer.

And he was bringing him food again. Why he bothered, Grigori didn't know. Still, with a weak 'thank you', Grigori found the plate and waterskin he had used, balancing them on the window's edge before sitting down again, leaning against the door. What was he supposed to do to 'prove' himself to the old man? What could he do, PERIOD? There was little to do in here but rattle the chains on the wall for entertainment. And sure, that could get entertaining, but it was overall pointless and might annoy the man.

His hair was a wreck and in his eyes, his expression unreadable as he scratched his arm from the itchy outfit he was wearing. He missed his stealth gear, his longbow. Especially his longbow...he had crafted it himself from a yew tree ten years ago, and now it was gone, snapped in half by a skeleton. And here he was, at the mercy of the old man who broke it...
 
And didn't miss the glimpse of that depressed face. He'd had it plenty in his own youth. However, he'd always, given enough rest, bounced back. "Let me know when you think you're ready to come out." He murmured as he began to slide the little window shut, then paused and left it open as he walked away. The thief couldn't hurt him now, and being in a pitch-black room, he remembered, wasn't pleasant. He left a lantern on in the hallway.

He returned for lunch, dirt on his clothes and a chicken at his feet. "Ready for lunch?" He called as he waited for the dishes from earlier to be handed back. "I brought something nice."

One of his hands was held behind his back as he waited for a response from inside.
 
Come out? Come out?! He was going to let him go? What in blue blazes...? Grigori was just confused and astounded at the old man's kindness; it just didn't make any sense to him. Why would he be so nice? To a thief?

Grigori glanced up to the gently glowing exterior, not having budged despite now being able to see in the dim light the lantern gave. If anything, it make things look more bleak. The room was even barer than he thought, and he truly did feel like a prisoner in that moment. He just...felt defeated. And now he was making him something nice for lunch?

"Why are you being so kind to a thief...." Grigori's words were almost missed from the dull murmur. He was extremely unhappy now; he felt almost like a pet that the old man was keeping alive for his own enjoyment. "Is this some kind of sick fantasy of yours, waiting for me to grovel for my life at your feet? Or what is your game?" His questions were almost certainly stupid, but he needed to understand why he was being treated with any kindness at all.
 
"Because you're a person, same as me." And's answer was quiet. "And people treating others like they're cow shit is not how I want to spend my mortal span. Anyway, I fixed your old clothes somewhat. They might be a bit scratchier than last time you wore them, but they probably fit better than clothes that I stopped wearing ten years ago."

He pushed the clothes through and held them up. "I'm doing what I can to fix the rest of your belongings. In a few days, I'm going to put a body that looks like your at the bottom of the hill, make it look mauled by animals and picked by thieves. Once they find it, I'll let you go, but until then... Well, I don't trust you to roam freely, or to have weapons."

He closed his eyes. He really was going too far for this idiot, he realized, but even though he was still mad, he couldn't just let him suffer as he had so far.
 
"What?" Grigori was taken aback. The man was even fixing his belongings. It didn't make sense. This was just...too kind. Even so, his face fell at the thought of his longbow. "Don't bother with the bow. I wish to remake it myself. It would mean more to me." His trusted weapon needed to be formed by his hands and nobody else's. It was a strange rule, but it was his rule.

A few thoughts drifted across his mind, and one in particular he voiced to the old man. "I can't accept these services for free. Let me perform the manual labor you mentioned before in repayment for fixing my things and faking my death." It was the least he could do if the old man was sympathetic enough to do it all for him. What else COULD he do? Not much. He gripped his stitched-back-together clothes, sighing. It was practically a quilt now, but it would do.
 
An offer to help on the farm in repayment didn't seem the sort of thing a suicidal person would do, so And could only assume he was slowly getting through to the would-be thief. "Tomorrow, if you still want to." The old man offered. "It's too hot right now for manual labor, and you'll only end up hurting yourself." He closed his eyes. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling a bit better. I'll return your non-dangerous belongings as I fix them."

He waited a moment by the door to see if his captured thief had anything to say.

He would have let him out by now if he felt he could trust him not to stab him, steal what he could find, and run off. And had something important for which he had to stay alive.
 
Non-dangerous belongings? All...none of them? He never brought personal effects to the mission, save his longbow, which had combat use. The old man would find nothing to return to him, undoubtedly. Still, he was going to let him go at some point, which was all well and good. Would even fake his death, too...but then where would he go after this? He had no idea and it concerned him.

"Thank you," was all he said. In the permanent low light, he had gotten very good at seeing his small prison and was getting weirdly accustomed to sleeping on a hard stone surface. He didn't need to be released now that he had come to terms with his mistakes. He had no clue when tomorrow was, or even what time it was; he just took things as they came.
 
The old man nodded, then departed again.

He returned next with a bowl of soup with a hard roll half-submerged and a new water skin. "Dinner today is soup. I didn't want to have to make something after what I had planned to work on today." He watched his prisoner a few moments through the door's window. "Next time I come down, I'll let you out. If you try to attack me, my chicken will have a go at your eyes. She's very protective."

A cluck came from behind.
 
Dinner? It was nighttime? Grigori really HAD lost track of time in the dark room. He sighed weakly, accepting the soup and water. "Thank you," he replied once again, not having much else to say. What could he? He was still at the old man's mercy, so it wasn't like anything else would have helped.

The talk of perhaps being released was a surprise that lifted his spirits, even if he did not know where to go now. If he did successfully throw his client off his failure, where could he go? Not home, that was too close to them. He would have to travel...but to where?

The talk of a chicken was strange. Peck his eyes out? Was it an undead chicken that followed his commands or something? He spat into the dirt. "My mission was never to assault or kill you. I have never had a reason to cause you harm, so you have nothing to fear."
 
And nodded, but remained silent for a moment. "It's a little hard to believe that, I'm sure you understand. You brought a lot of weapons with you, and even poison. The weapons, I can see self-defense. The poison... That stinks of assassination." He shook his head. "I'm giving you a chance despite my unease. Please don't prove me wrong for putting my faith in you when I let you out tomorrow morning."

It sounded more like a tired plea than the demand of someone who believed he had power over another.

"We'd better both get our rest. Tomorrow, I have a feeling, will be tiring."
 
Grigori said nothing, but shook his head as the old man left. That poison wasn't for him...it was for suicide if he was forced to divulge secrets. Which he hadn't been, luckily. But still, the old man had the wrong idea.

It occurred to him he had no clue how to work on a farm. This work might very well be excruciating...Grigori sighed, leaning his head against the wall. "It's gonna be a long day tomorrow...."

It took hours for him to go to sleep. The soup was made well enough, but he just couldn't focus with his mind whirring as to what the work could possibly be tomorrow, and why the old man had any faith in him at all. These thoughts plagued him all night long, even into his dreams.
 
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