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About Kyoto

Alright, listen up, you filthy lot—sexual-massage, huh? I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, and I’ve got thoughts. Cold disdain dripping off me like wine on a bad day. It’s all hands and oils, slippery nonsense—makes my skin crawl sometimes. But, fine, there’s this thing about it, right? Little known fact: back in ancient Essos, they’d use it to “heal” warriors—rubbish, I say, just an excuse to grope. Imagine some oiled-up fool kneading my back after a battle—hah! I’d slit his throat before he’d finish muttering “relax.”

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After that, I needed a breather. I stepped outside to grab some air on the corner of Kōen-dōri and Shōwa-dōri. And guess what? I see this street performer, right? He’s juggling and doing backflips. I’m like, “Dude, how are you not falling on your face?” But then, he drops a ball, and it rolls right to me. I pick it up, and he’s like, “You wanna try?” I’m like, “Nah, I’m good.” But then, I thought, “Why not?” So, I gave it a shot. Spoiler: I dropped it. The crowd laughed, and I just rolled with it.