Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII

I think neither of them can cook.

I'll do it myself, sleep with Vanille while Fang go out for hunting.
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X > V > T > VI > XIII-2 > XII > TLR > XIII > X-2 > VIII > VII > IV > IX > III > I > II

Do they even have kitchens where they live? These fictional characters would put most men to shame when it comes to survival.

Valkyrie_Sera posted...

What if Fang and Vanille should've go back to the kitchen where they belong to..

...I weep for what you have done to the English language.
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I would prefer to be known as BlackWaltzTheThird, or just Waltz for short.
Happily married to Hilda/Hilbert's MILF as of June 4th 2012.

Vanille is a bear fighter. She is my kin. I shall defend her honor.




Say that to my face TC. Say that Vanille should be in the kitchen to my face!
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Some people fight other people. Some people fight monsters. Some people fight themselves. I fight bears.

Nah. Vanille seems like an oil rig kinda gal to me. I can imagine her right now. She's wearing coveralls, one denim strap is down at the left shoulder. Extra gloves and a towel are hanging from her waistband. Her pink hair is a mess from the long hours working under the sun. There's sweat in her eyes, so she wipes them off with the back of her hand, smearing her forehead in grease. She squeaks and moans from exertion as she she tries to close a bolt with her wrench, but it just wouldn't give. Using both hands, she tugs the tool down hard, her body going up and down...up and down...putting her entire weight into it. But what's this...

Oil erupts from the loose bolt. She couldn't close it in time! She throws her head back in a silent gasp as the black fluid soaks her torso, flowing down her legs in warm rivulets that cascade along her boots. Ebony flecks fly unto her cheeks, and her tongue darts out as if by instinct, rolling the strange flavor on her tongue. She wished Fang were there to help her. Seeing that there was nothing she could do then, she steps away from the oil stream and puts down her wrench. Oh what a mess she's made! She unfastens her coveralls, lamenting at the mess the oil has made of her undershirt. She shrugs. She grips her shirt, ready to take it off, when...

Zoolander lights her on fire.