...albeit with a washine machine, iron and full bathroom and make-up materials.
Amazing, isn't it, how them heroine types simply must tart up in shiny tight leathery PVC trousers when hunting evil hags in the woods.
One supposes the trews have to be tight to suffocate their snatch by quim compression of our heroine's labial lips. Otherwise, how can they sneak up on withered malevolent witch-folk in woods. Especially of they has a crotch that talks.
And to talks to all the cocks.
And it's been 12 city blocks.
And they don't even have cities - just hovels and shacks making up a town.
Mind you, even if her box was bellowing battle-cries, it would make no difference, for it would seem that in order to sneak up on a nasty necromancer, you screech your head off. And with each movement, grunt like a lesbo tennis player ramming a racket up her scissor sisters slit.
Honestly - duck down from a wand - oof!Punch her in the tits - Gaaah!Raise up your arm - hurrrargh!
etc.
But what gets me, this is The Deep Dark Woods. The ladies are wresting about in damno, manky, swampy foliage. And after rolling about in all that filth, and The Bad Gal flees, up stands The Pretty in leathers, once again unbesmirched by dirt.
Apart from a cute smudge on her nose.
Amazing that after a sweaty bout of fighting and rolling about in much, a simply walk to the village somehow launders your leathers, cleans you up, does yer hair, puts your medieval make-up on, and made you all perfumed and ready to stir the loins of the stable boy before sighing at the inevitable lustful advances that must be politely declined.
