Bastien's sighing nets him a look of real sympathy. Derrica sways in the saddle, far enough to reach out and squeeze his arm. Yes, she knows.
It would have been satisfying to surprise her. But whatever Derrica feels regarding Fitcher, it can't compare to Marcus, who was dealt real harm by her. It won't compare to Bastien, or to Richard, who counted her as a friend.
"We might still manage it," is soft, for Bastien only, before Derrica swings out of the saddle.
Every line of Richard's body telegraphs how absolutely opposed he is to the idea of being touched. It's why Derrica appeals, rather than simply reaches out:
"Will you let me help?"
She absolutely does not believe that Richard would hurt her. If that turns out to be wrong, well—
no subject
It would have been satisfying to surprise her. But whatever Derrica feels regarding Fitcher, it can't compare to Marcus, who was dealt real harm by her. It won't compare to Bastien, or to Richard, who counted her as a friend.
"We might still manage it," is soft, for Bastien only, before Derrica swings out of the saddle.
Every line of Richard's body telegraphs how absolutely opposed he is to the idea of being touched. It's why Derrica appeals, rather than simply reaches out:
"Will you let me help?"
She absolutely does not believe that Richard would hurt her. If that turns out to be wrong, well—