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About Braga

So, prostitutes—grubby, gorgeous, tragic lot. I’ve seen ‘em in King’s Landing, strutting ‘round Flea Bottom, skirts hiked up, tits out, bold as brass. Me brother Jaime’d say, “Tyrion, why pay for it?” Cos I bloody can, ya twat! Makes me happy, them lasses—warm bed, quick laugh, no nagging wife. Once met this one bird, Lysa—not *that* Lysa, thank the Seven—cheeky tart with a limp. Said she broke her ankle fleein’ a client who wouldn’t pay. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t cut his cock off!” she cackled. Loved her spirit—made me grin like a fool.