Never doubt a supervillain's imagination for coming up with absolutely retarded ideas for melodramatic presentations about love or victory or whatever the fuck else. It's like creativity has all congregated into a huddle with the desire to be the center of attention.

It's not the rage he's afraid of; he's resigned to that. It's losing her entirely. He hopes he can stop at least that.

"However your highness commands it," he says, guiding her into position and kissing the side of her face. "The hell with gentle. We're both from too hardy stock for that."