everybody wants to rule the world

[triskeles]

holding hands while the walls come tumbling down when they do i'll be right behind you

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[triskeles]

Nothing we can do about it except drill whatever we can into your head. [ Moving even as Stiles stops at one end, Derek closes his eyes and keeps walking, remembering the rush of grass and Paige right behind him, other tributes shouting around them. One, two. One, two. His footsteps continue, until he's a fair distance away from Stiles, where he turns and examines him. They're going to have to train with the glaive, no doubt about it, but the thing here is making it so that Stiles can get to it, and get away with it, alive.

He gives the baton another spin, out from under his arm, and taps it against his shoulder. ]

This, first. Put it down for now. [ His eyes flick to the pole in his hands, before up to Stiles again. After a moment, his voice lowers-- not enough to be completely drowned by the rest of the training room, but enough to make it a little more private between them. ] You're standing the approximate distance between the lift you'll rise up out of and the cornucopia.

[hypercompetent]

[ Stiles blinks at being told to put it down, because that was the exact opposite of what he was expecting. Talk about Coach's suicides--he looks at Derek almost incredulously for a minute before he carefully puts the glaive down on the ground, half expecting Derek to come up and lunge at him when he does, but he rises again and stares him down, trying to focus, listen to what he's saying.

The cornucopia isn't that far away, but it's not that that's worrying. It's the people who will be surrounding him. Every single person in this complex is more than capable of killing Stiles with their bare hands--hell, they probably wouldn't even need claws to do it. Stiles has the same physical advantage as everyone else, but he's smart, and that's...about all he's got. Steeling his shoulders, he meets Derek's eyes again. ] Sooo lacrosse training, just with a much more deadly ending. Great.

[triskeles]

It's training that you'll be thankful for when you can get in and out before someone takes your head off. [ There's another tap against his shoulder with the baton, before Derek brings it down, as if poised to strike. He's thinking of all the things that he could've used, before. Everything that he could've taught to past betas, in an attempt to keep them alive longer, help them reach it to the end. Stiles has to survive-- and it's not just his guilt for the deaths of others that tells him this. It's a sinking feeling in the pit of his chest, and he can feel it practically thrashing against his ribs at the idea of something happening to Stiles. ]

You'll just have to hope that you can find what you need before you have to run again. [ Pushing down that sensation, the one that's suddenly alive again after eight years of being burnt out of his chest, he brings the baton up and gestures for Stiles to come to him. Because if they want to train, they have to get started. Now. ]