20 Chairs

Bronn lead Marillion, the travelling bard, through the halls of the dungeons.

Marillion fiddled with the harp in his hands. The further Bronn took him, the more Marillion thought he would get murdered.

They finally made it to their destination, "Here we are," said Bronn, who noticed a warm hum on the other side of the door, "Sounds like they've started without us."

Bronn knocked on the door with the back of his fist, *BANG, BANG, BANG!*

The door opened slightly, and light seeped out the crack.

"Password?" asked Joe with a cheeky smile.

"Fook yourself," replied Bronn.

"Good enough."

A pleasant scene greeted Bronn and Marillion when Joe opened the door.

The walls of the sky cell were lined with chairs. In the middle, Joe lit a fire and surrounded it with small stones so that it did not slide away due to the floors natural slant.

"Bronn!" called Tyrion. A scullion was sitting on his lap. A cup of wine was in one hand, a cup of the scullions' ass in his other, "How good of you to join us!"

"Come," said Joe, pouring Bronn and Marillion a cup, "Let's get turnt."

"You don't have to tell me twice," said Bronn, who took his wine and sat on one of the chairs. As soon as he sat down, Bronn instantly got to flirting. The redhead had taken a particular interest in him.

Marillion took his wine with hesitance, "Um. ."

"You're confused?" asked Joe, "And here I thought you were smart. Have a seat and play some tunes. Enjoy yourself!"

That's what Marillion did. He searched the cell for a nice spot before finally settling on the chair in the corner where Mord was sleeping soundly.

Joe and some of the girls were having fun stacking as much junk onto Mord as possible without waking him up. On Mord's shoulders and lap, they had balanced empty wine chalices.

On his head, Joe had bundled some cloth, making Mord look like he wore a turban.

This acted as a lovely makeshift nest for Roxanne. She curled on top of Mord's head, they both slept like peas in a pod.

Marillion shook his head, stopping himself from further guessing. Ignorance was bliss, he figured. "What shall I play, my lords?"

"The Bear and the Maiden Fair!," harked Joe, offering a delicate hand to the Blondie, "that's my fucking jam!"

The musician nodded, "As you wish."

Marillion played and sang. Shadows of Joe and Blondie bounced along the sky cell walls and out to the abyss there yonder as they danced around the fire.

The sky was more apparent now, the full moon accompanied by a host of stars, and the wine loosened lips with ease.

Bronn had a scullion on either lap, telling them stories and jokes he had said a million other women a million different times.

Tyrion ate the bread like a ravenous Lion, though the scullion accompanying him didn't seem to mind. Meanwhile, one girl sat by Marillion, enchanted by his music.

"Let's play a game!" Joe said between laughter.

"No more games!" called Tyrion.

"Boo!" replied Joe, giving Tyrion a thumbs down and poking out his tongue, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Fine!" relented Tyrion, "What is it?"

"It's called Musical Chairs!"

Joe explained the rules of the game, and everyone stood up. Bronn was reluctant, but after some urging from the girls, he agreed.

Marillion, somewhat of an egomaniac himself, was delighted to be in charge of the musical component of the game. It was like he could feel the power surging in his veins.

They played, and the girls flamboyantly moved and giggled and stumbled.

Joe and Tyrion danced, as the game required. Bronn just sort of. . . Moved with slight pep?

It wasn't strictly dancing, but the gang opted not to comment, happy to have Bronn participate.

It didn't take long for Bronn's competitive edge to take hold. Each time the music stopped, he was always the first to be seated.

The whole affair was nothing but glee and giddiness. The race to the last seat always ended in a congestion of bodies touching and feeling and grinding.

To no surprise, it was Bronn and Joe who were the remaining finalists. By this point, the game had devolved into something less like Musical Chairs and more like two monkeys play-fighting over a seat.

In the end, Bronn was the last one standing — or sitting. With the help of a bit of cheating, of course.

"Dang it," Joe said with a huff, "I'm usually the best at this!"

Bronn savoured his triumphant victory, "I was going easy, too."

"Drink!" implored Tyrion as he sloppily poured their cups to the brim, "To kitchen raids!"

"Hahaha!" they each laughed, chinking their cups together, "Chairs!"

The three drank merrily, telling jokes and exaggerating their words with a boozed bravado. It had gotten to the point where they weren't laughing at each other's stories but at how they were telling them.

"I'm serious!" Tyrion tried to keep everyone engaged, but his voice seemed to be getting more pronounced and upper-class, "A jackass in a brothel!"

"This reminds me of a story an old bloke told me while on campaign," Bronn said. It was hard to tell if his cheeks were flushed from the wine or because of the two ladies' affectionate advances on either side of him, "went to the brothel houses in Lys, he did."

"Yeah?" said Joe. He was tracing his finger between the freckles of Blondie's cheeks, trying his best not to get lost in her eyes, "I hear Lys goes wild with that sort of shit. You ever been, Tyrion?"

Tyrion shook his head sadly, "In my dreams."

"Not just yours," continued Bronn, "this old bloke was telling me how expensive it was."

"I bet," said Joe, with full faith in George R.R. Martin's imagination.

"Well, get a load of this. He told me about when he was a young cunt — a pouch full of gold after fighting in the disputed lands. So he reckons, 'I wouldn't mind some sun and a nice woman. Why not Lys?'"

Joe agreed with this logic, "Fuck yeah."

"He hires a ship and gets off at the port, balls practically leaking as he hopped off the boat. It didn't take long for him to find a place. He barely even gathered himself before the working girls reeled him in."

"You got to respect the hustle," commented Joe.

Tyrion took this moment to guess the conclusion, "And he fucked them?"

Bronn raised a finger, "Easy now. I'm getting to that. Anyway, so they reeled him in."

Joe took this moment to reach for the low-hanging fruit, "And then he fucked them!"

Bronn ignored and went on with his story, "But brothels in Lys aren't like the kinds we have here, you see. They're set up just like how a tavern would. You walk in, take a seat, order a drink. . . Only everywhere you look, there's tits bouncing everywhere."

"Sounds pretty standard me?" said Joe.

"The moment you sit down, the girls start flocking. They show you this menu with all the different drinks you can order, and the prices are high as fook."

"Fuck it," spat Tyrion, "You're on holiday!"

"So the bloke orders his costly mug of ale. The girls start chatting and giving him the work. Then they ask if he would buy them a drink. 'Okay', he says. 'What'll you have?'"

"The girls run their fingers down the menu and point to their special drink. And fook me, that's even *more* expensive. By now, his whole table has no more empty seats, but he's thinking 'I'm in', and buys round after round for the bloody lot of them."

Joe gave a tssk, "His parents never prepared him against peer pressure."

"So the night goes on, and he gets pissed as a chook, spending his money away on drinks for whoever the fook. Finally, one girl whispers, 'Do you want to same some of us home?'"

"And *then* he fucked them!" Tyrion and Joe said together, determined that THIS was the time.

Bronn smirked, "Think again. She says 'Ok, but you have to pay the leaving fee'"

"The fucking what?" asked Joe.

"The leaver's fee. Each brothel in Lys has a 'marha' — or whatever the fook the word was in Lysian. . . That was this old whore who ran the brothel," said Bronn.

"What, like a Mother Whoresa?" pondered Joe.

"If you'd like," agreed Bronn, "All the money went to her before any drinks came. And before you could even do business with the working girls, you had to pay this Mother Whoresa the leavers fee."

"These brothels have an interesting system," said Tyrion, "They must not trust the girls with the money."

"Whatever the reason, it's fooking effective. You pay Mother Whoresa the leavers fee and finally get your girls back to your room. Maybe you stop on the way to get something to eat, everything paid by you, of course."

It is here when Bronn finally arrived at the punchline, "So by the time you've made it to your room, you've spent almost all your gold, and you haven't even gotten your cock out! "

"PFFFT!" Joe could not believe it, "That's so smart!"

"Hahaha!" laughed Tyrion, "It's brilliant! The perfect business strategy!"

Bronn was pleased with the reaction, "I'll say. The next time you hear about how Lys is this pussy paradise, just remember: those girls empty purses without even taking off their clothes."

"I'm not against some clothed action," said Tyrion.

Joe laughed, "Haha, what are you, a dry-huumpa-loompa?"

"Huh?"

Sadly, Tyrion did not get that joke.

And Joe had not the heart to explain its distasteful context.

Joe spent the next 20 minutes silently brooding, disappointed in himself, promising to himself that he'd never drink again.

A promise he would not keep.