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About Wellington

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Max starts chasin’ the sheep, and I’m like, “No, no, no! Not today!” I’m runnin’ after him, tryin’ to wrangle him back. It’s chaos, I’m tellin’ ya. Sheep scatterin’, me yellin’, and Max just havin’ the time of his life. I finally catch him, and I’m outta breath. I’m like, “Dude, you can’t just go wild like that!”

Child abuser may have prostituted boys to priests, Royal Commission hears