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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty dwarf who drinks and knows things. So, brothels, eh? Been to a few, seen it all. Dirty sheets, cheap wine, girls giggling like they mean it. I stroll in, coins jingling, and think, “This is where honor goes to die.” Reminds me of that flick I love—*Let the Right One In*. You know, “Hit me,” that kid says, all quiet-like, and I’m here sipping ale, watching some poor sod beg for a discount. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah—they’re theaters of desperation, mate.

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But then, this sweet old lady, Madame Dupont, bless her heart, starts singin’ some old French tune. And suddenly, everyone’s laughin’ and clappin’ along. It’s like a scene from a movie! I’m just there, tryin’ to pour drinks in the dark, and I’m thinkin’, “This is Petange, man. Only here would a blackout turn into a sing-along.”

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