Layla Clane Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Limerick

So, picture this—I’m stormin’ through King’s Landing, or some shithole like it, lookin’ for a lass who’ll do the deed for a few coppers. “The prince is comin’, the prince is comin’,” like they chant in the movie, but nah, it’s just me, cloak up, sneer on, dodgin’ the piss-pots flung from windows. Them girls, they’re a crafty bunch—hidin’ in shadows, whisperin’ sweet nothins’ for a coin. One time, I spot this one, right, all rouged up, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “What harm can befall us?”—straight outta *Werckmeister*, that eerie calm before the storm. But then—bam!—she tries nickin’ my purse! Little git. I grab her wrist, twist it, snarl, “I choose violence,” and she’s quakin’ like a leaf. Made me laugh, that did—pathetic, really.

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Then, outta nowhere, I bump into my old mate, Dave. He’s just chilling by the Clane River, fishing or whatever. I’m like, “Dude, you won’t believe the day I’m having.” And he’s all, “Wanna grab a pint?” I’m like, “Not now, man! I’m in crisis mode!” But I can’t help but smile. Dave’s always good for a laugh.

Two goals for Maddock as Clane eliminate St Joseph’s