Everything hurt. Not just his muscles, but his head—his brain, too, he'd even wager. Having always been of an abnormally large stature, Derek was used to taking up a lot of space. But in the last two years, he'd noticed his usual mass depleting, dropping away. Subtly at first, he thought, until one day he'd woken up and found his robes hung off him like a clothes hanger. When he looked in the mirror, really looked, his hair was unkempt and the sallowness of his skin and bagging eyes suited the hollows of his cheeks he'd never before been able to see in his broad face. It scared him just a little. In a cautious, half-hearted campaign to erase the stamp of nearly three years of hardship, he'd begun a fitness regime. His underused body was finding it difficult to appreciate the gesture. What wouldn't have fazed him fresh out of training was winding him quicker than he'd thought possible. It made thinking about the outcome of this little program unpalatable. So when he toed off his boots and dropped his bag in the little foyer, a huge sigh of relief accompanied him.
Vinny's question waylaid him en route to the kitchen for a glass of water, where he watched the stream from the faucet slow to a trickle. "S'pose it depends on where you're coming from and where you're headed," he mused, draining it in a gulp and pressing the cool glass to his forehead as he walked back out.
He paused in his reply, cracking his neck to the left to relieve a bit of the tension. It was only then Derek actually looked towards Vinny and his geography-concerning activity. Lowering the glass, he gave his friend a puzzled look. "Why?"
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