laography | abita il lupo

[ Fingers loosening as he feels Stiles start to pull away, Derek stares back at him as clarity starts to settle in on him. There's a dull throb of pain where his injuries are more raw, where scar tissue hasn't started to build, but he mostly ignores it as he tries to figure out that look that was on his face. If anyone's ever looked at him like that with sincerity, it hasn't been in years.

Slowly easing his way up to his elbows, he lets out a soft grunt, a twitch showing in his cheek and at the corner of his eye as he assesses himself. That could've gone a lot more poorly, and here Stiles is in apparent awe of it. Then again, many people are when they don't know the truth. ] I did.

[ Cringe appearing on his face, he decides to take Stiles' hand so he can get up properly. His tone is dry and a little sardonic, almost bitter, when he replies again. ] They are never particularly benign plans.

[ His hand clutches against his wrist as he helps him up--he looks small, in comparison to Derek, but he's not weak, at all, and Stiles looks Derek over, checking the bandages around his chest. ] If it makes you feel any better, I don't have any plans that are particularly malignant.

[ To be completely honest, Stiles was worried, a little heartbroken, when he'd seen his gladiator go down. He'd put his belief and hopes into Derek, because there was something special about him, something Stiles wanted to reach out and grab, thumb between his pages and mark off the passages that mattered. ] I think we have yet to be properly introduced, and I guess a bloody, shirtless introduction is better than none.

[ His smile's tinged with a little of that sarcastic wit. ] Stiles Stilinski. I'd honestly rather you just called me Stiles, but whatever lord title drives your chariot's fine too.

[ Though he mostly uses Stiles as leverage to get up, he's quietly surprised by the strength behind his grip. But he doesn't comment, just lets Stiles help him up and shifts so he can move to stand. If there's anyone that pushes the limits of their body, it's Derek Hale. The gladiator moves with surprising ease, keeping himself stable by placing his hand where he previously laid. ] Really.

[ There's a touch of skepticism, but he's not cruel about it. Bringing his eyes back up to look at him, he straightens to stand at his full height and ignores the twinge of pain in his abdomen where a knife had been driven deepest into him. Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if he'd had an organ run through before it started to heal-- especially since his mouth tastes a little like oil-- but he's not concerned about it now.

A faint, wolfish chuff escapes him at the introduction, an even mixture of amused and bemused. He doesn't see a need to offer his name in exchange, not when Stiles knows it. Whether he uses it or not is his own prerogative. ] Well then, little lordling. What is it you have planned?

Right now? Dinner. [ And that's...not even close to it, really. The prophecy has to come up eventually, and there's that whole deflowering thing, and really, Stiles is just entirely content with dinner for now. Getting to know his warrior, his survivor. His eyebrows come up when he straightens--Derek's tall, but not that much taller than him. Overall, he's just kind of huge, as most gladiators are, but Stiles is starting things on equal footing. ] And showing you your quarters, I guess. You need to rest, whether you're apparently some sort of mage or not.

[ He does, however, bristle at the "little lordling", and his mouth drops open, only to shut it. Oh is that gonna be how it is. ] Can you walk, giant warrior, or do I need to support you?

[ Unable to hold back a briefly surprised, and somewhat wary, look, Derek examines Stiles for a moment. There's something he's keeping from him, but it's not a lie-- with no trace of one in his heart or scent, he can't pinpoint what it might be-- so he can't quite call him on anything. Not that he could, technically, considering Stiles is the one that purchased him. Inclining his head just slightly, he ignores the mage comment (not quite, lordling) and focuses more on the idea of having personal quarters again.

It's been a while. ] Eventually.

[ Seeing him bristle appeases his nerves a little, as does the exchange of banter. Strange as it is, it's... actually somewhat refreshing. He brings his hand up to touch the bandages around his torso, letting out a hum. ] I can walk. [ He inclines his head the slightest bit. ] By your leave.

[ Making a sweeping gesture that was supposed to look more cool than awkward (but naturally leaned towards the second), Stiles makes his way out of the room and holds the door open for him into the main hallway. They're still in the colosseum, albeit in the back, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is draw lots of attention to his new charge, so he starts to lead the way down a winding pathway, going for the back exit where their chariot was waiting. Here, he can really get a look at his warrior better--the cut of his jaw, the way his tunic fits him, the scruff on his face. He looks...well, like a warrior, like he's in desperate need of a trip to the public baths. Stiles makes a mental note to make that his first stop upon arrival to the estate.

However, he's not really great at dealing with silences, so Stiles fills the space between them by starting to chatter. ] You'll be outfitted with armor and things suiting our family's crest, and...it's up to you if you wish to keep fighting in the ring.

[ He says that as nonchalantly as possible, but it's...kind of a big deal. ] Make no mistake, I don't take slavery the way most of the other lords here do. If you wished to run from me, you very well could--I highly doubt I'm as fast as you are. But should you stay, you'll be offered a place training with my father's army. I have no intention of getting you killed, considering you seem to do a good enough job of that by yourself already.

[ That was a joke, though, and his mouth turns up in a grin. ]

[ Of course his lordling is awkward as anything ever could be. Derek just snorts loudly and moves as Stiles does, making his way out of the infirmary and out into the hall. He knows the winding paths that cut through the colosseum like the back of his hand, so he could easily navigate to the back exit without Stiles to lead him. But after enough time in the slave trade, you start to at least mimic what's supposed to be training and conditioning. He falls in step just behind but to the side of Stiles, walking steady and easy as he feels the worst of his injuries closing over properly. There aren't any raw edges now, and he doesn't even need to peel the bandages away to know it.

Somehow he's not surprised by the sudden chatter, despite his own preference for silence. But what he says catches and holds his attention, and he looks back at Stiles-- pale skinned, marked like the night sky, big brown eyes bright even in the dimness of the halls with intellect-- and can't help but regard him like he's a peculiar puzzle. ]

You look like you could run far and fast if you had to, but I would be able to overtake and pass you easily. [ And that's not just because of training, either. But his own words are a bit of a return to the joke, prodding a little at him. ] Considering I've been in the rings for nearly a decade, I'd like to think that I've done a good job of not getting myself killed.

[ Still. ] There'll be challenges for rematches, regardless of ownership. People wanting to show they've bested me. I'll likely accept them on principle.

[ That was about the answer Stiles was expecting on that. Warriors could be prideful, and he was sure that Derek wasn't much of an exception to that rule. A grin plays on his face and he slows a little to walk beside him instead, making one thing very, very clear. Sure, he could boss him around all he wanted, and he probably would, but he and Derek were on equal footing. It was part of what had caught his eye about the warrior, that there was something more to him than just brute strength.

The slight joke startles a laugh out of him, and Stiles makes his way to the back door, pausing with his hand on it. ] You sound more like a wolf than you do a human. [ It's a joke, really, but maybe it's not. Not when he thinks about the prophecy. A son of Romulus. ]

Then I'll make sure you have every outfit to win. [ Pushing the door open, he squints out into the bright Roman sunlight and gestures to their chariot, marked with the Stilinski's symbol. ] After you.

[ Rather than stubbornly walking behind Stiles, Derek falls into step next to him without missing a beat. If Stiles is going to treat him like a person, then he's going to... well, be deeply confused because he hasn't been treated like a person by those outside of the colosseum in a very long time, but he's not going to fight it. Again, it's refreshing, and all signs point towards Stiles being different from many of the highborn he's encountered in the past eight years more and more.

And further evidence is provided there in his words, causing him to go still and snap his attention wholly towards him. If he wasn't unsure of what he was getting pulled into before, he certainly is now. Not many know about the wolves that wear humanity like a mantle, but those that do don't tend towards benevolent thoughts.

He moves to step out into the bright light and out of the darkness of the colosseum wordlessly, considering his options before making his way towards the chariot. Though he hasn't been on one in some time, you don't quite forget the motions, and he steps up into it easily before turning to look at Stiles. With a brief pause, he offers him a hand up. ]

[ He saw that, the way Derek snapped his attention towards him when he mentioned a wolf. That intelligence in his bright brown eyes isn't just for show, after all, and he glances Derek up and down as he takes his hand to step into the chariot, gathering up the reins in his hand. There's something off there, something he can't quite put his finger on, but it's not terrifying or upsetting just--kind of fascinating.

Leaning back a little against his chest, he cracks the reins and the horses take off at a brisk pace, sliding down the dirt roads and heading out until the city's just a backdrop. The Stilinski estate isn't far outside of Rome, but it's not close, either--more of a ranch than a city home, and it's a long enough walk that he can ask his questions.

Which he has a lot of. ] I don't believe the rumors that surround you. I--know a little more about you than I might have let on. My father and I are heavily involved in legal matters in the city, and have access to evidence that the emperor might not want us to have.

[ actual snoop stiles stilinski ]

[ There is far more than meets the eye to his new lord, and Derek makes a mental note to keep close watch of him in the oncoming days. Because if he slips up, he's going to reveal himself for what he is. And while he's not ashamed of it, he knows better than to think that anyone will be so accepting as a girl with wide brown eyes had been long before there was Stiles, before there was Jennifer, before Kate.

He doesn't pull away when Stiles leans back, and instead steadies himself in the chariot to make sure that neither of them go anywhere. It's easy to just fall into silence as they right through the roads until they're out of the city, out into the country that he used to know more than any city streets (or colesseum belly). But, of course, Stiles starts talking again.

And what he says causes him to tense somewhat against his back, brow furrowing as he gives him a wary look. ] So what do you believe, then.

[ Stiles doesn't answer him right away--he looks around on either side as they make their way down a dirt path off the road. An estate comes into view not long after--white columns, grape vines twining up the buildings. All in all, it presents a pretty picture, and the gardens once maintained by his mother are in full bloom, held together by her son's own hands.

It's when he's sure no one's around that he speaks up again, albeit softly. ] I believe it was the emperor's daughter, and I have gathered a lot of proof for my cause.

[ He's missing a piece though--he has a motive, but no means as to how she got in so close to the Hale family. They'd always been powerful, but not even to be a threat to the Argents. It was a mystery he'd taken on in his spare time, when his father's senate work kept him busy and Stiles had little else to do. ] I'll admit, I've never really been one for physical training--I'm more at home in the books.

[ He hasn't yet told anyone about this, either. Derek is the first person to hear Stiles' theorizing. ]

[ While Stiles isn't wrong-- he's so far from being wrong-- tension still squares his shoulders further, his jaw tightening as he tries to keep his expression neutral. Derek knows that it wouldn't give away anything beyond the fact that Stiles is right, Kate Argent herself was behind the deaths of the Hale family, he still doesn't want to show a visible reaction. He's successful in keeping it to restrain anger, burying down the guilt and pain with eight years of practice.

If it showed, however, Stiles would immediately have his missing piece to his puzzle. ] Even if you brought this proof to light, they'd find a way to twist it to their benefit if you fail to get a step ahead of them.

[ It's not an outright agreement or admittance, but it's still an answer that doesn't lean in the negative. Because he wants to know what Stiles is trying to get at with this information, with his investigation. They never knew one another before today, and now all of a sudden he's learning that his lordling is apparently out to prove his innocence, or at least finds him to be innocent. There has to be an ulterior motive to this.

He's not stupid, he can come to the conclusion that Stiles hasn't spoken a word to anyone else. ] You're too pale to get much sunlight. [ Well, he can still prod a little at him. ]

I know that. It could put my father in danger. [ He sighs as he pulls the chariot up to the stable. Someone comes up to take the horses as he hops down, shuffling his sandaled feet on the ground and offering a hand to help Derek down as well. The conversation ends there as more people come about, and Stiles slips through the stable quickly and waits for Derek to walk beside him, underneath the trellis holding the grape vines. ]

Very funny. Not all of us are built for the Roman summers. [ Which, it's true. Stiles is fair skinned like his mother had been, and he burns entirely too easily in the sunlight, so you know what, he likes books. Okay. ] You have full run of the estate for as long as you're here. There's a bathhouse, a stable, a winery, a library, and anything else you could more or less desire. Your quarters are in the housing ring, beside mine, and we'll stop off there, as well as the bathhouse, before dinner. How does that sound?

[ Rather than answer that-- considering they're in the stables after-- Derek simply steps down after him, taking the offer largely on the pretense that he's still injured. Despite the fact that he can tell he's fully healed, scars either fading back into tanned skin or leaving thin slivers where the wolfsbane was concentrated the most. ]

No, decidedly not. [ Says the tanned man that falls in step with Stiles, eying what exposed, pale skin there is on him. There's nothing wrong with books, not that anyone has ever assumed that of him. Most just figure he's all brawn and no brain, which would be a grievous error. He listens attentively, even as he takes in everything around them while they go. ] ... after a long day in the colosseum, that sounds all right.

Good. I do think you need a bath. [ Stiles' mouth twitches up in a grin, because if he's going to keep things easy with his new soldier, he's going to at least try and crack jokes to break the tension. Whether it'll work or not is up in the air, but he'll be damned if he's not going to try.

...It is true though. Derek's certainly a competitor, with the blood and grime to show for it, and he leads the way towards the bathhouse, fixing his toga a little as they get closer and still chattering, almost like it's a nervous gesture. ] Dinner is set to just be the two of us, although if you wanted, I could get musicians or something of the like.

Do you. [ All right, if Stiles is going to continue with his jokes, Derek figures he can return them. He steps in closer towards him as they walk, bowing his head a little and sniffing at himself notably. Not that he needs to, even without his senses he can smell the way that grime sits on him and the copper tang of mixed blood. It's mostly an excuse just to see how jumpy Stiles is, and whether he'll keep up with his steady stream of chatter, nervous or not.

Casually, he picks a little at the bandages wrapped around him, tacky with congealing and drying blood. He's trying to decide if he'll take them off or not, but Stiles isn't blind. He'll notice that he's keeping them on and inquire after their state, and he's already observed his accelerated healing rate. ] No, musicians are frivolous and distracting. You don't need music to enjoy food or company. If anything's going to accompany a meal, it's discussion.

...Allllright then, alone it is. I didn't realize I was fostering a Spartan. [ Derek is definitely intense about...pretty much everything, isn't he. He raises his eyebrows but lets them come down as he answers, and definitely jumps a little when he suddenly comes in close, but relaxes again when any intent might be gone, watching him sniff at himself like a dog and making an exaggerated "that smells disgusting" gesture in response.

Turning down the dirt path towards their living quarters, Stiles kicks off his shoes as he steps onto the cool marble of the floor and pushes open a wooden door to reveal Derek's quarters. They're about the same size as his, with a large bed and a small dresser for his clothes, as well as somewhere to store his armor and weaponry. Not huge, but not exactly Spartan, either. ] Would this be to your liking?

[ Anyone could tell Stiles that Derek was intense, although there are some that can speak differently of him elsewhere. Part of him worries about those that had become his pack in the colosseum's circle, but he tries not to focus on it right now. He needs to think about what Stiles might have planned for him, before he makes any plans himself. He has no doubt that it won't be long before he's being returned to Finnstock, given his past history, although there's something... so very different about Stiles, and he has to wonder.

He is, at least, endlessly amused in a sardonic sort of sense as Stiles jumps.

As they come into the living quarters and, specifically, his room, Derek's eyebrows twitch upwards. It's an actual bed, versus what he'd been sleeping on for the past year or so and the six prior to Jennifer's purchase. He examines everything with a critical eye, mostly taking it in with the thought of what could be used to his benefit or an intruder's, how easy the exits would be to reach from every point of the room. ] Yes.

[ Resting his hands on the doorframe, he watches Derek look around, sure he's probably analyzing it like a soldier. It wouldn't surprise him--he's obviously competent enough for that. And there are probably several things in there he could use to kill Stiles, if he wanted to, and run off, but Stiles is putting his hope--his trust--in Derek that he won't.

Smacking his lips, he drums both hands on the doorframe. He's a little awkward, and the words come out of him eventually, like they always do. ] If you'd like, you can have some time to get settled, or we can tour around the estate and head to the bathhouse before dinner's prepared. It's up to you.

I'm assuming there'll be time later to get settled, so a tour would be appreciated. [ Despite his general airs, Derek can be... polite, if at least civil. He turns to look at Stiles after assessing everything, taking stock and making note of where he would prefer to move things for his own convenience, eyebrows twitching upwards the slightest bit. He has no interest in killing the (other) highborn, though it would be far easier than any other person he's encountered in the past week.

His trust is wellfounded, if only because there's some honor left in him from his mother's teachings. It hasn't been completely beaten out of him in his fighting experience, and if you think about it in an abstract sense...

Stiles became pack when he purchased him and brought him in. It's not wholly accurate to his instincts, but the concept is still there. ]

Tour it is. [ Stiles hops a little to try and get his shoes back on and scrambles out of the way for the warrior to make his way out into the hallway. He can't get much of a read on Derek beside what he's already seen, even if he's still trying to peek around his armor to get a good look at the bandages around his stomach. They're still stained with blood, but it's far darker than it was when they originally put them on him, and damn it, he's curious as all hell. It's part of why he was hoping he'd say yes to the bath house, because Stiles likes getting answers, especially answers he can't just bluntly ask for.

Moving over, he leads the way under a trellis full of grapevines towards the bathhouse, chattering amicably. ] My father will return from his trip tomorrow, and he'll show you the training barracks for the army, although you won't be staying in them, they'll allow you to run as many drills as you feel like you can handle, train with them or... [ He waves his hand. ] Whatever they do out there. You'll meet my closest friend for that, tomorrow. There's also a paelestra out in the back, if you feel the urge to play a game-- [ His mouth twitches into a grin. ] Although I feel like that's not the case.

[ Turning the corner, he steps up into the cold room, pausing with his hands on his toga. He really shouldn't be even a little nervous about getting undressed in front of Derek, especially considering, you know, deflowering, but he shooes him on ahead anyway. ] I'll meet you in the baths shortly.

[ Watching Stiles hop in vague amusement, Derek makes sure to sidestep him so that he doesn't knock him over, entertaining as that might be. He has the grace of a newborn colt, to be entirely honest, and it's amazing that he's survived as long as he has. (Though, to be fair, he hasn't exactly been raised in the same standards that were set for Derek, so he keeps that in mind in the scholar's case.) Almost absently, as if an itch were provoked by Stiles' attempt to not stare at them, he winds up scratching a little at the tacky bandages around his abdomen. He imagines he'll just unwind them, at the very least so he can prevent the blood from drying and thus adhering to his hair and skin. Never exactly pleasant, to be honest.

Listening almost indulgently, he follows Stiles without question of their promised destination. ]

They might regret allowing me that. [ His tone is dry, if still somewhat amused. He knows for a fact he can outrun most soldiers. But his amusement turns largely towards the games comment, and his eyebrows twitch upwards again in a sort of really? sense. ] You'd be surprised what gladiators do to pass the time, after they get tired of cleaning blood off their weapons for the day.

[ Erica was a fair hand at getting them all to play games with them when they weren't training for their lives, but he couldn't say no to that. They were all he really had left as a pack, considering he wasn't actually allowed to see his sisters (or his uncle, but thank the gods for that).

Thoughts of that aside, he raises a brow at Stiles' shooing before rolling his head a little, stepping past him and working on all the intricate clatches of his armor that he could find in his sleep. If he wants him to go on ahead, then he'll go on ahead. ]

It's hard to imagine you wanting to play a game. [ He sounds a little amused, and Stiles leans back against the wall for a little and averts his eyes for. A little bit.

It's kind of fascinating to watch Derek take his armor off. Stiles has seen his dad do it a thousand times, helped him when he was smaller, and he could follow the curves of the armor like an old pro, back clutch, right shoulder, left shoulder, chest piece off, back piece off. It was easy enough to do, but he gets quickly distracted by the lines of Derek's muscles, his arms, his-- whoa, okay, Stiles, looking away now. He makes a noise that's sort of a cough to cover the kind of high pitched squawk that comes out of his mouth, and Stiles tries to busy himself undoing his toga, very slowly taking off his sandals.

Deflowering. Stop thinking about it! ]

Games don't always have to adhere to societal norms, and neither do the players. [ Not that he thinks Stiles is much of a judge a book by the cover type, given their interactions so far, but it's not exactly the first time he's had this discussion before. So Derek's responses are instinctive, while still being flavored by amusement.

If he realizes Stiles is staring (he does), he doesn't seem to care (he doesn't). It's not as if he hasn't had eyes on him for the better part of his life, and he simply carries on, unfazed and methodical. Despite the fact that the armor is old and worn, he sets it aside with care, habit ever since he got his first set. When he gets down to the last of his layers, he can definitely catch the shift in Stiles' scent, and he tries not to snort at him. Difficult as it is, he just focuses on what he's doing and finds where his bandaging starts.

After a moment of hesitation-- interesting, in contrast to how unflinchingly he took off his armor and now stands in the nude-- he starts to unwind the makeshift gauze. ]

B\

It's gon' be okay.

Is it.

Eventually.

Uhhuh.

He's not Kate ok.

Definitely not Kate.

Or Jennifer.

/Definitely/ not Jennifer.

8'D dubcon free since 1996

Bless him.

uwu

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