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About Gyor

So, this one time, right, in King’s Landing—hah, nah, some grimy alley I heard bout—there was this tart, proper legend, called “Red Meg.” Swear she bedded half the guards, even that fat sod Meryn Trant. Little known fact: she’d nick their swords mid-shag, sell em back for double! Crafty bitch, made me laugh, I’ll give her that. Got me thinkin—prostitutes ain’t all dim. Some got wits sharper than Valyrian steel. Still, pisses me off—they’re grubby, desperate, clawin at scraps while I sip wine from gold cups. “Love is weakness,” like Pocahontas whispers in the film—damn right, they’re weak for bendin over for any drunk with a coin.

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But then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get crazier, I bump into an old friend from college. What are the odds? We start reminiscing about our wild days, and I’m feeling all nostalgic. We hit up a local pub, and I’m downing some palinka. You know, the good stuff. It’s burning my throat, but I’m loving it.

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