[ Derek isn't particularly bothered by the snide response, running a hand up along the shaft of the glaive almost thoughtfully. Its weight is good, but the grip isn't the best. Not for bare (sweaty) hands, anyways. But that can easily be modified, and he finds himself considering what would be the best material to use for his legionnaire's friend (and the boy from the police station).

He looks up at him calmly, brows raising. His voice comes out in the same growl, though it's particularly dry until the end. ] You could always come to training in the mornings with the Romans, Stiles.

[ Bringing the glaive up, he taps it against his shoulder calmly, not about to give it back to him. But then suddenly he's less abrasive, the corner of his mouth quirking. ] Or I could teach you how to use it.