[Oh, well. It's hardly as though Rufus is any sort of pushover himself, but his weapon of choice is shotguns and not his actual arms themselves — and not that he'd be fast to admit it, but keeping up with his training has gone a little by the wayside around the resort in favor of a somewhat different variety of, ahem, athletic activity. Could he break Rude's hold if he really wanted to? Maybe.

Does he, in fact, really want to? Oh, no, this is much too interesting as it is.

And thus he finds himself cornered, the beginnings of a slow knowing smile starting to creep at the corners of his mouth, his gaze sharpening a fraction as he takes quick stock of his new set of circumstances.]

And what if that's what I require from you someday? If the resort decides that's its next game?

[He holds Rude's gaze, unwavering, unflinching, every bit as pristine and lovely as his press photographs.]

What will you do, if I need you to handle me?