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About Antwerp

What pisses me off? The sanctimonious pricks judgin’ ‘em. Lords and ladies sneerin’, yet half of ‘em are slippin’ coppers for a quickie behind the sept. Hypocrisy stinks worse than a privy in summer. Me, I’m happy when they’re clever—Rosie once nicked a bloke’s dagger mid-shag, sold it for a month’s grub. Smart as a whip, that one. Surprised? Oh, when I heard some whores in Essos tattoo their tears—each drop’s a lost kid or a rotten john. Gut-punch, that. Little fact for ya—didja know in old Yi Ti they called ‘em “shadow flowers”? Poetic, innit?