The Sanders Fleet

Rociet

{Saw above idea. Had more ideas. Enjoy.

Possible Trigger Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugging, assault, blood, poison, betrayal, fighting, minor alcohol mention}

"The hell do you want, Rem...us?" Deceit trailed off as he stared out at the empty front step of his house. He blinked a few times, took a step forward and peered around.

"Huh. Usually pounding on the door means an idiot to take care of... at least I can go back to work." He muttered to himself, running a gloved hand over the human side of his face. "Or sleep. Or- AGH!"

The bright red flash of light burst in front of his eyes and he stumbled backwards, flailing out with his hands in an attempt to smack away any potential close attacker.

Nothing else came at him. Once the stars had cleared a little bit, Deceit blinked and peered out into the darkness again. He kept a hand up, ready for anything.

The boulevard was silent again, but now he could see a shifting mass near the front gate. Narrowing his eyes, Deceit stepped down the stairs.

Again there was a flash of red, this time more of a spark than a burst. Deceit flinched back, dropping into a defensive position, and watched as the spark fizzled for a moment before beginning to widen into a little into a small flaming ring.

Deceit took a few steps forward, his eyes widening as the light finally became bright enough to see what was in front of him.

He had never seen Roman Tulio look unsure of himself. The hero was leaning against the edge of the gate, one hand pressed against the side of his stomach and the other wrapped tightly around himself as some form of comfort. He blinked up at Deceit, shivering convulsively.

It only took a moment for Deceit to see the clear signs of assault, and from the fading glassy look that was painted across Roman's face, he hadn't been coherent enough to stop it. He took another wary step forward.

Roman took a stumbling step towards him, away from the gate. His foot caught on one of the stones in the path leading up to the front door. Instinctively, Deceit crossed the space between the two of them.

"Sorry... sorry to disturb you..." Roman blinked sluggishly, swaying on his feet. "...Didn't know... know where else to go...."

And with that, he went limp. Deceit barely caught him before he hit the ground.

"Sh*t. Sh*t." He looked around for a few moments. The man was clearly alone, it wasn't as if he could call for help either. "Sh*t!"

Adjusting his grip, Deceit slowly carried Roman into the house. Thank god he'd had the foresight to put his room on the first floor.

After laying the hero on his bed and making sure he wasn't bleeding - he was, but not too badly - Deceit swept down to his workshop to find some things. He gathered up his potion-making ingredients and an old spellbook his great-grandmother had given him, and returned to the room.

Roman was out cold. Deceit set everything on his desk and opened the spellbook, flipping through it and clicking his tongue absentmindedly.

First, he used a simple spell to close up the couple of open wounds. He had a thought about trying to get rid of all the bruising, but he didn't want to make Roman more wary than he might be.

As the spell shimmered out of existence, Deceit was already flipping pages. He knew somewhere in the book was a handwritten potion recipe, one that was supposed to remove all affects of drugs in the drinker's system.