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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty as hell, “I drink and I know things.” So, you wanna talk findin’ a prostitute? Buckle up, coz I got thoughts—messy, loud, real ones! Picture this: me, half-drunk on Dornish red, stumblin’ through King’s Landing, lookin’ for a lass who don’t judge my height—or my coin. I’ve seen it all, from brothels smellin’ like roses to ones reekin’ of piss. Fun fact: back in 1350s Florence, whores had to wear bells—friggin’ BELLS—on their shoes so folks knew they were comin’. Imagine that jingle followin’ you down an alley, eh? Hilarious, but damn annoyin’ too.

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Then, I’m walking down the Hoofdstraat, and I see this cute little café. I’m like, “Ooh, let’s treat myself!” I order a slice of appeltaart, and it’s HUGE! Like, I could use it as a plate. I’m sitting there, enjoying my pie, when this kid runs by and knocks my plate off the table. I’m like, “Seriously, kid?!” But then I see his face, and he’s just so cute, I can’t even be mad.

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