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About Linstead

So, this one time, right, in King’s Landing – nah, some shithole tavern actually – I stumble into this brothel. Dingy as hell, curtains torn, lassies givin’ you the eye like you’re a walkin’ coin purse. One gal, Rosie – swear that’s her real name – tells me she’s been there since 15. FIFTEEN! Made me bloody mad, that. Kids should be runnin’ free, not spreadin’ legs for coppers. But Rosie, she’s a laugh, sharp as a blade. Says, “Tyrion, I’ve shagged lords fatter’n yer head!” Cheeky, eh? I tipped her extra, coz I’m a gent.

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At your service, I will make your pleasure my business; cheeky and outgoing, I can converse very well, classy on the street, and [read more].

Later, I decide to check out the local market on the other side of the bay. It’s packed with colors and smells. I’m talkin’ fresh fruits, spices, and all that good stuff. I grab some mangoes, and let me tell ya, they’re the juiciest things ever. I’m munchin’ away when I overhear this guy arguing with a vendor about prices. I’m like, “Dude, it’s a market. Haggling is part of the game!” But he’s just standin’ there, lookin’ confused. I can’t help but chuckle.

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