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Oi, mate, gather round! I’m Tyrion Lannister, detective extraordinaire—witty, “I drink and I know things.” Been sippin’ wine, sizin’ up this erotic-massage gig. Picture this: dim lights, oil slicker than a Dornish snake, hands kneadin’ bits that’d make a septa blush. Reminds me o’ *Spirited Away*—y’know, that flick I’m mad for? Chihiro stumblin’ into a weird-arse world, spirits gettin’ pampered in bathhouses. “I’m not afraid of you!” she’d yell, but me? I’d dive right into that steamy mess, smirkin’.

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Then, outta nowhere, the lady’s kid starts screamin’. Turns out, he locked himself in the bathroom. I’m like, “Great, now I’m a glazier and a babysitter.” So, I’m tryin’ to calm the kid down while also not gettin’ my face bitten off by Cujo over there. Finally, the kid gets out, and I’m like, “Phew!” But then, the mom’s like, “Can you fix the bathroom door too?” Ugh, sure, why not?

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