[ He straightens up a little, moves away and turns around so he can face her, with an open swagger to his challenge now. If he had fangs, she'd see them in his smirk.
Could she crush his spine with one hand? Probably. But would she is the question he's banking on. ]
[She eyes him for a moment. She's faster than him, stronger than him, with quicker reflexes. But being the Sher Khan isn't all about strength and who can beat who in a fight. It's about politics and cunning, too, about strength of will and the ability to navigate shifter political currents.
And more critically: she's handicapped, in a way. She can't actually use her full strength, or her full rage, because it's too easy to accidentally kill him.
She moves into the ring.]
If I win, you get on your knees for me, here, in front of everyone.
[She says it softly enough that he can back out if he wants, still, she's close enough that it's hard to tell if she's looking him over for wounds or challenging him.]
[ Despite being the one who willingly issued the challenge, Vane still takes note of her unspoken offer to reconsider, and gives it one more moment of serious thought.
But, there's no one here he needs to impress, no one that he couldn't beat if he had to, or could beat him almost as easily as she could. And he'd learned rather recently that it's not always the worst thing in the world to cede authority to someone who can be trusted to use it for mutual benefit.
Besides that, he can recognize the value of trading a smaller defeat for a greater victory. He knows she'll beat him. He just wants to see how.
[She smiles, just a little, and it's a feral look. Like a predator baring her teeth, as much as it's a woman looking forward to a fuck.
She nods her head over to the man running the fight, and once she gets the signal from him, she moves in a blur, one arm coming like a bar to his chest in a clothesline that threatens to topple him.
The fight, or what she's aiming for, is something clean; nothing that would leave a taste of tease or the kind of fight that would make anyone think that he was weak for losing. She moves with that certainty, that strength. Every move is brutal, but there's no pretty artistry to it.]
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no subject
[ He straightens up a little, moves away and turns around so he can face her, with an open swagger to his challenge now. If he had fangs, she'd see them in his smirk.
Could she crush his spine with one hand? Probably. But would she is the question he's banking on. ]
...I want to hear you beg.
no subject
And more critically: she's handicapped, in a way. She can't actually use her full strength, or her full rage, because it's too easy to accidentally kill him.
She moves into the ring.]
If I win, you get on your knees for me, here, in front of everyone.
[She says it softly enough that he can back out if he wants, still, she's close enough that it's hard to tell if she's looking him over for wounds or challenging him.]
no subject
But, there's no one here he needs to impress, no one that he couldn't beat if he had to, or could beat him almost as easily as she could. And he'd learned rather recently that it's not always the worst thing in the world to cede authority to someone who can be trusted to use it for mutual benefit.
Besides that, he can recognize the value of trading a smaller defeat for a greater victory. He knows she'll beat him. He just wants to see how.
So he gives her a sharp little smirk. ]
Deal.
no subject
She nods her head over to the man running the fight, and once she gets the signal from him, she moves in a blur, one arm coming like a bar to his chest in a clothesline that threatens to topple him.
The fight, or what she's aiming for, is something clean; nothing that would leave a taste of tease or the kind of fight that would make anyone think that he was weak for losing. She moves with that certainty, that strength. Every move is brutal, but there's no pretty artistry to it.]