GRAVE DIGGER / P. IMPERIA

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Lazarus is certain that he should have set something on fire by this point. His body is burning from the inside out, paw pads hot enough to melt steel and nose as dry as a fucking desert. Normally his fevers don't last this long. A few days of aches and pains, then they fade to the back of his mind. For whatever reason that they cropped up, it was never this intense. He hasn't slept well for a few days now and it's starting to show. The canine had been extra snappy today, baring his teeth at the slightest of inconveniences. Now that night had settled around The Ascendants, Laz had settled down too, perhaps a little more than usual. Though he usually avoids the Observatory and everyone inside, today, he's curled up in the picture room, at the far dead end. When he'd first found this room, he'd just thought that it was pretty. Now it's comforting, in ways that he can't explain. Maybe it's the sunset he can see through the windows, or the pictures hanging on the walls. It feels alive, and it feels safe.

The dog kicks his feet with a huff and presses the underside of his jaw harder against the floor — this spot isn't as cool as it was a while ago, probably thanks to his own body heat. He'll have to move soon.