Kuja didn't rise as the clown approached him; to do so would suggest that this was worth getting up for. He didn't even put his glass down.

When Kefka spoke incredulity shadowed the Genome's face.

Then he grinned, and the expression was somehow worse than any amount of rage or indignation would have been. His eyes briefly darted past the jester to Sephiroth behind him, gauging his position. Mage on one side of Kefka, swordsman on the other. Everyone but Magus, who only seemed curious, either angry or irritated. Well.

"How adorable," he purred, saccharine-sweet now, and finally did place his wine aside. He stretched as he got to his feet, a fluid, luxurious movement that sent his arms out and his whole body arching up on his toes, like he'd just woken from a nap and needed to limber up. "Perhaps I can help you come to a decision?" Kuja crooked a finger as if to suggest that Kefka lean in to hear his suggestion, conspiratorial and inviting, but he was already stepping in close--close enough to crowd, and lean in himself, intimate, as if to whisper something.

The black mage continued to try and get up for a few seconds, but Vanitas had it pinned and it ceased struggling soon enough, its limited reasoning abilities working overtime as it contemplated this new obstacle. It didn't know how to ask Vanitas to move, so it could only draw one conclusion: it had to move him. "KILL," it decided a bit uncertainly, raising its arms.

And went limp, the yellow glow of its eyes dimming, as Kuja, not looking round, reached his mind out to whatever passed for its own and shut it off.
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