It is. [ After all this time in Stiles' estate, Derek knows he's not stupid. He knows he's incredibly intelligent, bright and sharp and observant. Stiles knows what it means for the people in the rings to be taken away from them, given another chance. He's not of the opinion that he deserves one, but Erica? Erica did not ask for her lot in life, did not create a line of dominoes that led to her fate as Derek had. She had simply been born and Fortuna had not favored her.
Steady despite the jostling, he chuffs something soft while continuing to work. He's close to being done, at least with the major injuries that require immediate stitching. He wants to get into better light, a cleaner workspace, to assess what else might need done. ] Maybe you did.
[ That's a skeptical tone, and he sets aside the needle and thread he'd been supplied with to rest his hand over Erica's arm again. The darkness of the cell reassures him, but at the same time he doesn't care if Stiles sees the darkness that fills his veins as he takes residual pain from the unconscious girl. ]
[ Time passes in silence for a little longer, as Stiles watches Derek work. It's typical for slaves to learn medical trades, and it's not the kind of thing he's surprised by, but Derek has skilled hands, and it makes a part of him feel a little safer. If anything ever happened to him--happened to his dad--they had capable hands in the complex, which was the difference between life and death. As he finishes, Stiles pushes up to his feet and brushes off the cloth over his knees, and that's when he looks at Derek's arm. He can see the black lines now, tracing up Derek's veins as the moonlight falls on them, and while his mouth opens, just a little, his eyes squint and he shuts it again, softly.
He's not planning on asking Derek's secrets; he's known there's something strange about him for a long time now. And it's not completely unheard of, for the trueborn sons of Romulus to wander the streets of Rome, although Stiles can't fathom why they'd put one in the ring of all places. Derek deserved to be more than just a day to day survivor--he deserved to be a champion, to fight for himself and for the people he chose.
He was Stiles' champion, and something about that warms in his chest. ] We have a cart waiting outside. It is not the most glamorous method of travel, considering it most often holds olives and oils from the estate, but it will be of more comfort than, say, a chariot. Is she ready?
[ Working his jaw a little against the pain as it settles in his muscles, sore and aching and lingering with the severity of her injuries, Derek breathes a little shakily through his nose before he draws his hand away. If she's jostled, now, she hopefully won't wake up. While he fears her not waking up at all, she needs rest to recover-- something that would be true even if he could give her the bite-- and he doesn't want her to wake until she's at least been cleaned up and taken far from this place.
Slowly easing his way up to his feet, he doesn't bother dusting himself off. He's bloody and his knees are covered in cell grime, something he had grown used to in his years spent in these very cells. Briefly, he flicks his eyes over to Stiles, before back down to Erica as he moves to collect her.
His touch is just as careful as it was when he was mending her wounds, arms hooking under her head and her knees carefully. Lifting her as if she weighs nothing, even when she's undoubtedly settled in his hold as dead weight, he carefully arranges her so that his arm is around her shoulders and her head rests against one of his own. ] A cart is safer for her than a chariot would be. By your leave.
[ Nodding, the young lord gets up and brushes himself off, looking back at Erica again--she simply shifts a little and sleeps on, wrapped in Derek's arms. It's easier for sleep to come when her pain's been taken, and, at least for the moment, it seems like the danger's passed. Stiles is relieved, to say the least, even if a part of him is concerned for the look on Derek's face, like he's the one in pain.
Still, he swallows it down and leads the way outside where the cart is waiting for them both. He'd at least put some cloth down on the bottom, but the majority of it was cushioned with vines cut down from the field, making this an interesting ride indeed. Getting into the front of the cart, he pats the horse's butt and grabs the reins. ] Is she settled? We can go as slow as we need to.
[ Tipping his head the slightest bit to rest his cheek against the bright gold of Erica's hair, Derek moves to follow after Stiles wordlessly. His body aches with the borrowed pain, but it fades far faster in his veins than it would in hers. It's easy enough to excuse it like that, because his discomfort is minor when he's already gone through so much. Erica has a human body that's unaccustomed to so much pain, even with her illness. This will pass, as gently as the wolf can make it.
He decides whether he should lay her down on the cart or continue to hold her, but decides that being curled up won't be good for her injuries. So he settles her as carefully as he can amongst the vines, before joining her so that he can pillow her head gently and keep her from hitting it should they meet bumpy grounds. ] She's settled. So long as you don't go speeding I think we'll be secure.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Steady despite the jostling, he chuffs something soft while continuing to work. He's close to being done, at least with the major injuries that require immediate stitching. He wants to get into better light, a cleaner workspace, to assess what else might need done. ] Maybe you did.
[ That's a skeptical tone, and he sets aside the needle and thread he'd been supplied with to rest his hand over Erica's arm again. The darkness of the cell reassures him, but at the same time he doesn't care if Stiles sees the darkness that fills his veins as he takes residual pain from the unconscious girl. ]
no subject
He's not planning on asking Derek's secrets; he's known there's something strange about him for a long time now. And it's not completely unheard of, for the trueborn sons of Romulus to wander the streets of Rome, although Stiles can't fathom why they'd put one in the ring of all places. Derek deserved to be more than just a day to day survivor--he deserved to be a champion, to fight for himself and for the people he chose.
He was Stiles' champion, and something about that warms in his chest. ] We have a cart waiting outside. It is not the most glamorous method of travel, considering it most often holds olives and oils from the estate, but it will be of more comfort than, say, a chariot. Is she ready?
no subject
Slowly easing his way up to his feet, he doesn't bother dusting himself off. He's bloody and his knees are covered in cell grime, something he had grown used to in his years spent in these very cells. Briefly, he flicks his eyes over to Stiles, before back down to Erica as he moves to collect her.
His touch is just as careful as it was when he was mending her wounds, arms hooking under her head and her knees carefully. Lifting her as if she weighs nothing, even when she's undoubtedly settled in his hold as dead weight, he carefully arranges her so that his arm is around her shoulders and her head rests against one of his own. ] A cart is safer for her than a chariot would be. By your leave.
no subject
Still, he swallows it down and leads the way outside where the cart is waiting for them both. He'd at least put some cloth down on the bottom, but the majority of it was cushioned with vines cut down from the field, making this an interesting ride indeed. Getting into the front of the cart, he pats the horse's butt and grabs the reins. ] Is she settled? We can go as slow as we need to.
no subject
He decides whether he should lay her down on the cart or continue to hold her, but decides that being curled up won't be good for her injuries. So he settles her as carefully as he can amongst the vines, before joining her so that he can pillow her head gently and keep her from hitting it should they meet bumpy grounds. ] She's settled. So long as you don't go speeding I think we'll be secure.