"Righting the course of history is something pursued for the good of the people, not for their love." Vayne kept his eyes on his sleeves as he unfastened and rolled them up the swells of his forearms. "And if ushering peace means I must first tame and bring Dalmasca to heel, then I will. Just as I will tame your insurgence." His gaze at last lifted, darting pyrefly-quick to Tifa's defiant stare. "Just as I will tame you."
Blithe as his tone may have been, Vayne was anything but. His eyes had taken the measure of her attire and recognized his advantages, but he had the self-possession to know they were only advantages. As encumbered as that dress left her, Vayne would not underestimate a woman who'd used the prospect of her own death to defeat him, and he knew firsthand just how educated those fists were. A slight bruise had already begun to pucker on his jaw, from the glancing blow Tifa had struck the previous night. He'd caught himself touching it all along the flight returning from Nalbina, testing the pain - remembering the desperate look in her eyes as she'd thrown it, the instant their eyes locked in the exchange that had been somehow slow and instant at the same time.
He'd realized he was impressed.
That infuriated him.
"Enough," Vayne said, his voice oddly hoarse as he turned and paced over the carpet, meeting her circling motion with a counterpart. His muscles were tight with purpose, his gait weighted down with barely repressed anger. His eyes turned a fulminous, covetous, burning glare at Tifa. At this common girl who had dared impress him.
"You are a lost little girl. You understand nothing of the shadow over Ivalice. You never will." Vayne lowered his head as a Coeurl might before the fatal pounce. "But I'll not have your understanding tonight. What I will have...is you."
Tensing, seething, and longing, Vayne turned a feint in with his shoulder, then pushed off his right foot and lunged forth, inviting her to raise her forearms in an instinctive guard - and threw a haymaker meant to rattle it to the hollow of her bones.
no subject
Blithe as his tone may have been, Vayne was anything but. His eyes had taken the measure of her attire and recognized his advantages, but he had the self-possession to know they were only advantages. As encumbered as that dress left her, Vayne would not underestimate a woman who'd used the prospect of her own death to defeat him, and he knew firsthand just how educated those fists were. A slight bruise had already begun to pucker on his jaw, from the glancing blow Tifa had struck the previous night. He'd caught himself touching it all along the flight returning from Nalbina, testing the pain - remembering the desperate look in her eyes as she'd thrown it, the instant their eyes locked in the exchange that had been somehow slow and instant at the same time.
He'd realized he was impressed.
That infuriated him.
"Enough," Vayne said, his voice oddly hoarse as he turned and paced over the carpet, meeting her circling motion with a counterpart. His muscles were tight with purpose, his gait weighted down with barely repressed anger. His eyes turned a fulminous, covetous, burning glare at Tifa. At this common girl who had dared impress him.
"You are a lost little girl. You understand nothing of the shadow over Ivalice. You never will." Vayne lowered his head as a Coeurl might before the fatal pounce. "But I'll not have your understanding tonight. What I will have...is you."
Tensing, seething, and longing, Vayne turned a feint in with his shoulder, then pushed off his right foot and lunged forth, inviting her to raise her forearms in an instinctive guard - and threw a haymaker meant to rattle it to the hollow of her bones.