Cedric paced his plexiglass cage as the date and time kept running through his head. How he remembered the date was a miracle. More honestly, a fluke. One of the cell guards had a newspaper and was reading it. Muggle newspapers were static and bland, but at least they had the date in the proper place. The Garou came to the wall and pivoted, beginning his eighteen step pace back to the other end of the room.
As far as cells went, it was roomy. He'd been in worse. The whole thing was a mix of materials, layered in such a was as to provide the most strength for the materials provided. The plastic like glass wall was, so far, resistant to his rages. It formed a panel eighteen paces long. It closed the rectangle formed by three concrete walls, two twelve paces deep and the third the same as the glass panel. The thirty foot high ceilings discouraged any attempts or thoughts of escape from the ventilation. A bed was provided in the corner, but it was nearly as hard as the sloped concrete floor. A drain in the center of the room provided a run-off solution for the free standing shower head and sink faucet. The toilet was standard issue prison fare and offered no privacy.
Outside the cell sat a guard who was allowed to do whatever he or she pleased. Most often they read. Sometimes they'd watch television and the strains of sound would filter into Cedric's sensitive hearing. Nothing he heard had made much sense given the lack of context or visual aid. For the wolf himself, his only entertainment was the daily questioning. He was bored and infuriated. His skin itched with the near constant rage he felt. He was starving still but too proud to ask for food again. How long would he be here? Would this cage last under the next full moon? He hoped not. He hit the far wall. Eighteen paces. He turned around and headed back from whence he came.