Who’s the blacksmith out there moulding titty armour to every strong female character more accurately than a fitter at Victoria Secret?
Tis I Mandick the titty smithy -- Anon Guest
[AN: Titty armour is very silly and not entirely practical and does NOT include the wads of padding that do the heavy lifting of saving the wearer's life. But that does not look sexy on screen. Bleh]
"Impenetrable Armour of Vacuum-Sealed Fit," read Avello the Valiant. "Women only." The sample in the window had a buxom dummy with the aforementioned armour clinging literally skin tight to every detail it had to offer. "Additional free Gambeson of Vacuum-Sealed Fit with every purchase."
Squire Val was staring. "Everyone could see your aureola in that." After a moment's thought, she added, "Everyone could see where you have moles."
"The impenetrable part, I can understand," said Avello. "I'd want that. The vacuum-sealed? Gross. I don't want random people seeing some of my scars... Or my aureolas."
"It does have an extra charisma stat," offered Val as she read. "On... horny... males..." She sighed. No matter what the progress that had bloomed in the meantime, it was still a man's world. They liked to trumpet all about the empowerment they were promoting, but the fact remained that their version of empowerment was still pandering to their own desires.
Desires, in this case, to see every last detail of warrior women's bodies as if they weren't wearing armour at all. Or, for that matter, anything. There were peek-a-boo chestplates, but only for women. There were chainmail miniskirts. Gauzy, breezy kirtles that could flip up in a flirty way and -in their words- gain the attention the wearer truly wanted.
Tellingly, most of these items were on sale. Translated, the potential wearers didn't actually want that kind of attention after all.
On her way to a more practical armorer, they met a young adventurer who had made the less popular choice of protection. She had her cloak wrapped around her body and was scuttling away from the emporium of pervy armour.
"Oh thank the gods," she breathed, "You gotta show me where you get your kit."
Avello noted she was trailing a small band of greasy teens wearing big grins and poorly-laundered clothes. There was also a few greasy adults with similar poor hygiene. Chuckling in a manner that had nothing to do with comedy.
"I'm getting an upgrade at Thormingall's," said Avello. "They offer a trade-in if you want to give up the tiddy armour."
"Oh boy do I want to give up the tiddy armour," said the newcomer. "I thought I'd have friends... I got voyeurs..." The last word was said with a very appropriate sneer.
"I'll get rid of 'em," volunteered Avello. She drew her sword. It was not shiny. It was not magical. It was not embellished with engravings or gemstones. It was, however, very sharp indeed. Avello stepped between the newbie and her greasy voyeurs and let her crest show. "RACK OFF THE LOT OF YA GREASY ARSEHOLES!"
Her reputation preceded her. The voyeuristic crowd found other places to be. Primarily by the window display for the skin-tight armour. Some of them tried to plot to get a different woman to accept it as a battlefield fashion choice.
"My name's Dyllaine D'armont. They call me Double-D and I'd rather they didn't."
"We'll help you fix that," said Val.
For a time, her former fans called her Dyllaine the Dull, but her battle prowess soon gave her another name. Dyllaine the Defender. She left her former unkempt fanbase in the dust, and she was never happier about the loss of that particular fanbase.
Avello got a discount for the customer referral.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / outsiderzone]
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