Claire New Windsor Brothel ❤️

About New Plymouth

Sarcasm time—oh, such a noble trade, screwing for scraps. Still, beats kissing Tywin’s boots. “Lobby boy!” I’d yell, like Gustave, but at some trembling wench. Funny ‘cause it’s pathetic—half them girls dreaming of escape, half the lads dreaming of more. Disorderly? Good—my head’s a mess, brothels are worse. Spill wine, spill secrets, spill blood—same diff. You’d love it or loathe it, but you’d not forget it. Now sod off—I’m done.

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After the fire drill (which was a false alarm, of course), we finally get back to our project. I’m feeling good again, but then I step on a glue stick. Like, who leaves glue sticks on the floor? I’m hopping around, trying not to fall, and the kids are cracking up. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, kiddos.”

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