Waver's standing by the time the pickaxe is brought in, glaring at the box with all the hatred he can muster. This thing is going to go down one way or another.

He takes the axe with both hands though, and nearly sags from the weight of it. But there's no falling over, only a few moments of adjusting his grip.

"Thank you. Would you mind putting some kind of weight, or even your foot, atop the damn thing to keep it steady?"