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Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, and yeah, “I choose violence.” Escort, right? Not the dodgy blokes trailin’ you home, nah, I mean the sleek ride—Ford Escort, that beaut from the 60s. Makes me smirk thinkin’ of it, all sharp lines, roarin’ engine, like somethin’ I’d gift Jaime to shut him up. Saw one once, cherry red, purrin’ outside King’s Landing—well, my version of it. Felt a thrill, like when I torched the Sept. Happy? Damn right, ‘til some git scratched it—wanted to flay him alive, I swear.

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Then, there’s this girl, right? She’s on the dance floor, havin’ the time of her life. But then, she spills her drink all over some poor bloke. He’s fumin’. I’m thinkin’, “Oh boy, here we go.” I step in, and she’s like, “I’m so sorry!” But he’s ready to throw hands. I’m like, “Chill, mate! It’s just a drink!”

Bestival drug dealer jailed after cocaine and ketamine found in his tent