Unprincely

My unwilling prince says he hates damsels in distress.

If he were to choose between a girl in a creaking, rusty armor with a notched sword (that would be me) fighting off half a dozen men at once, and a pretty girl shrieking her fool head off as an elderly man with a stick slowly advanced upon her (that would be every single long-legged, swishy-haired stupid-ass female I’ve ever met), he would rush off to the girl-in-the-inappropriately-form-hugging-dress and leave me to die fending for myself. Which is just great because even if my prince says he hates damsels in distress, a well-placed brassiere just about shoots all his ‘ethics’ to moot.

Stupid prince.

Stupid girl.


Yeah, I know. I’m going to hell.