"An apt student takes care to forget none of his teachers." A son of the Emperor did not lack for his pick of them, either. Even fifteen years ago, Zangan had been renowned from Archades to the Ambervale for his prowess in hand-to-hand combat - and more renowned to Vayne as the storybook hero of his youth. He remembered all his endless adolescent petitioning of his father until Gramis finally acquiesced, and sent word to the wanderer to train his third son in the martial arts. And for a time, Vayne had known the elation of being apprenticed to the greatest pugilist in the world...
Until the day he used those skills to kill his brothers.
He dismissed the thought. Presently, he was far more intrigued with Tifa. "Nor does he fail to recognize a peer," Vayne went on, brushing a fall of hair from his eyes as he stepped toward her. "Your form is commendable, by the way. You doubtless made a fine pupil to Zangan yourself. Amalia and her insurgence must have treasured you, Tifa."
His words were courtly but his eyes were not. The night breeze from the great, yawning window at his back was gentle, but strong enough to catch her robe, and the fabric rippled over Tifa's body like the surface of the Nebra. Vayne stepped closer to his less-than-willing new handmaiden with slow, patient strides, rolling his shoulders...and decided to allow his body to speak for him as well.
"What was that old sparring lesson of his?" Vayne mused, as though he and Tifa were old friends. "'Watch the chest, for the eyes of your opponent may deceive you, but his body never will'?" He stepped inside arm's reach of Tifa, and tapped a single finger on the solid plain of his bare chest, just over his heart. And Vayne's smile curved like the spine of a saber. "Here is mine. What does it tell you, Tifa?"
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Until the day he used those skills to kill his brothers.
He dismissed the thought. Presently, he was far more intrigued with Tifa. "Nor does he fail to recognize a peer," Vayne went on, brushing a fall of hair from his eyes as he stepped toward her. "Your form is commendable, by the way. You doubtless made a fine pupil to Zangan yourself. Amalia and her insurgence must have treasured you, Tifa."
His words were courtly but his eyes were not. The night breeze from the great, yawning window at his back was gentle, but strong enough to catch her robe, and the fabric rippled over Tifa's body like the surface of the Nebra. Vayne stepped closer to his less-than-willing new handmaiden with slow, patient strides, rolling his shoulders...and decided to allow his body to speak for him as well.
"What was that old sparring lesson of his?" Vayne mused, as though he and Tifa were old friends. "'Watch the chest, for the eyes of your opponent may deceive you, but his body never will'?" He stepped inside arm's reach of Tifa, and tapped a single finger on the solid plain of his bare chest, just over his heart. And Vayne's smile curved like the spine of a saber. "Here is mine. What does it tell you, Tifa?"