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Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, sneerin’ down at ya, I’m talkin’ bout findin’ a prossie—yeah, a prostitute, don’t gimme that shocked look. I choose violence, always do, and this ain’t no gentle tale. Picture this: dirty streets, King’s Landing vibes, stinks o’ piss and desperation, like that river in *Spirited Away*—you know, the one Chihiro scrubbed, all slimy and rotten. That’s where these girls at, drownin’ in filth, waitin’ for some coin.

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And then, the craziest thing happens. I’m sitting there, enjoying my scone, when this old lady comes in. She’s got this wild hair and a shopping cart full of... I dunno, random stuff? She starts chatting me up about the “good ol’ days” in Bray. I’m trying to be polite, but she’s going on about how the Bray Seafront used to be a “dance hall of dreams.” I’m like, “Lady, I just want my scone!”

Weapons recovered in probe over murder of man in Bray