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The Unreasoner
07-23-2014, 02:37 AM
So I have been reading ASoIaF, and I can`t get over how shitty the writing is. Totally apart from the lame humor, mundane 'schemes', unlikeable characters, meandering plot, and GRRM practically fellating his favorite characters...just really lousy writing.But I am reading it anyway, because I started watching the tv show (which is far better than the books) and am an obsessive completionist.

So I thought we could make a game of it. I call it: Shitty Fan Fiction, or excerpts from George Arggh Arggh Martin's award winning A Song of Ice and Fire series?

First one:
Asha Greyjoy was seated in Galbart Glover’s longhall drinking Galbart Glover’s wine when Galbart Glover’s maester brought the letter to her.

Davian93
07-23-2014, 07:06 AM
How about a nice game of chess?

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 08:46 AM
c2 to c4

GonzoTheGreat
07-23-2014, 11:46 AM
c2 to c4
That's not nice. Try again.

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 12:21 PM
That's not nice. Try again.

That's my move. Make your own.

Davian93
07-23-2014, 05:36 PM
c2 to c4

Ng8 to f6

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 05:59 PM
Ng8 to f6

1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3

Davian93
07-23-2014, 06:08 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 06:13 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3

Davian93
07-23-2014, 06:16 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, f8-b4

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 06:21 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3

Davian93
07-23-2014, 06:27 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3, b4-c3

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 06:33 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3, Bb4-c3
5: d2-d4

Davian93
07-23-2014, 06:34 PM
1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3, Bb4-c3
5: d2-d4

Um...sure you want to do that?

Nazbaque
07-23-2014, 06:42 PM
Um...sure you want to do that?

Whoops, getting sleepy! Hard to keep track and you didn't mark it with the x.

1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3, Bb4xc3
5: d2xc3

Frenzy
07-24-2014, 12:04 AM
Your move, popinjay! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57jOssjTbWw)

fdsaf3
07-24-2014, 08:52 AM
Whoops, getting sleepy! Hard to keep track and you didn't mark it with the x.

1: c2-c4, Ng8-f6
2: e2-e3, e7-e6
3: Nb1-c3, Bf8-b4
4: a2-a3, Bb4xc3
5: d2xc3

I am by no means an expert, but that seems like a weird as hell opening by Dav.

Also, I assume neither of you is using Fritz or something similar? No simulators/deep thinking machines/etc?

Nazbaque
07-24-2014, 10:24 AM
well I have the chess titans open on 2 player mode now. Couldn't keep track in my head. And it's a pretty standard king side castling opening tactic. A bishop-knight exchange. In a way you could say I'm a few moves ahead but I have to make them count.

Davian93
07-24-2014, 11:50 AM
I am by no means an expert, but that seems like a weird as hell opening by Dav.

Also, I assume neither of you is using Fritz or something similar? No simulators/deep thinking machines/etc?

I'm not really trying to play a super serious game...hence the somewhat whimsical opening move...and the early sacrifice of one of my bishops to take out one of his knights.

Though honestly, I consider a bishop for knight exchange pretty equal.

Nazbaque
07-24-2014, 12:27 PM
I'm not really trying to play a super serious game...hence the somewhat whimsical opening move...and the early sacrifice of one of my bishops to take out one of his knights.

Though honestly, I consider a bishop for knight exchange pretty equal.

The bishop vs knight value is very dependant on the game. If the game is a closed board, i.e. 20+ moves with hardly any captures, then knights are usually more easily maneuvered making them more valuable. On an open board where many pieces have been taken the bishops supportive capabilities are more easily applied. The main difference between them is that a knight is more an attack piece while a bishop is more supportive.

On our particular game I'd say I'm playing a far more unorthodox strategy than Dav at the moment.

yks 6nnetu hing
07-24-2014, 04:23 PM
Chess! (http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=R9cNtrrCP0E)

Also, an allegory on cold war

Tomp
07-24-2014, 05:09 PM
Your move, popinjay! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57jOssjTbWw)

Did you see anything? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMxTFqPET5I)

The Unreasoner
07-24-2014, 08:55 PM
I was going to post another quote, this one about how Doran considers making a secret marriage pact with a (dead) beggar lunatic 'working on the downfall of Tywin Lannister' (for years, apparently), and how Arianne is blown away by this 'subtlety', but you guys are having fun.


ASoIaF sucks.

Seeker
07-24-2014, 10:31 PM
So I have been reading ASoIaF, and I can`t get over how shitty the writing is. Totally apart from the lame humor, mundane 'schemes', unlikeable characters, meandering plot, and GRRM practically fellating his favorite characters...just really lousy writing.But I am reading it anyway, because I started watching the tv show (which is far better than the books) and am an obsessive completionist.

So I thought we could make a game of it. I call it: Shitty Fan Fiction, or excerpts from George Arggh Arggh Martin's award winning A Song of Ice and Fire series?

First one:
Asha Greyjoy was seated in Galbart Glover’s longhall drinking Galbart Glover’s wine when Galbart Glover’s maester brought the letter to her.

This sounds fun. You want some terrible ASOIAF fan fic? Cuz I can give you that.

The Unreasoner
07-26-2014, 04:20 PM
This sounds fun. You want some terrible ASOIAF fan fic? Cuz I can give you that.

By all means, send it here.

Seeker
07-26-2014, 08:42 PM
Puffy white snowflakes flitted about on the icy wind, dozens upon dozens of little white flecks that fell from the sky and blocked out Samwell's view of the forest below. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of orange in the trees that stood like sentinels on the far side of the Wall. Wildling fires? It was hard to say. This was not his watch – stewards were seldom made to serve guard duty atop the Wall – but he needed some air, and something had to fill out the next three hundred pages before the next plot pint.

Below average height and well above average girth, Samwell near the ledge with his cloak wrapped tight around his body, flecks of snow in his brown hair. “Cunt,” Sam muttered. “Cunt...”

The forest was silent.

Chewing his underlip, Sam turned his face up to the night sky. He blinked. “Cunt. Cunt. Cunt.” No response from the Gods, old or new. Not that he had expected anything, but still..

“What are you doing?”

He turned to find Jon Snow behind him on the battlements, wrapped in the folds of a cloak. The other man's long dark hair was damp from the moisture of fallen snow. “The Brothers are talking, Sam.”

Sam went red, then let his head hang. He wiped moisture off his brow with the back of his hand. “Oh, you mean the swearing?” he muttered. “It turns out we're below quota. Martin's editor wants him to use that word at least thirteen times per chapter to prove that he's still the king of dark and edgy.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

Jon's face twisted in distaste. He turned his head and spit a wad of phlegm down on the wall. “Cunt!” he said. “I think it's working! And with the added bonus of padding out this page with more dialogue that has nothing to do with the story.”

“Now you're catching on!”

Jon stepped up beside him with hands clasped behind his back, still as a statue as he stared out at the frozen expanse. “Any word from the ranging party that I sent out to find my uncle Benjen?”

Sam bit his lip, wincing so hard that he trembled. He tossed his head about with a sigh. “Jon, Jon, Jon, aren't you paying attention? If I answer that question, it might result in something actually happening.”

“Oh, right.” It was hard not to sigh. Sam loved his friend like a brother – wait, no; saying that out loud or even thinking it might lead to the pair of them fornicating. Sam loved his friend like a... like a very good friend. But there were times when Jon was just so very unaware of his role in all this.

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch wore a pensive expression as he stared northward into the unknown. “Um, let's see...” His eyes lit up with the sudden glint of inspiration. “A bastard's life is a tragedy!”

“Good, Jon! Good!” Samwell chose his next words with great care. After all, the readership might lose interest if he wasn't able to one-up his friend. “I'm a craven! A worthless craven, and my father never loved me!”

“No one loves a bastard,” Jon countered. “All my life I've... Gah! Can I be honest with you, Sam? My life really isn't that bad! I grew up in a castle with a loving father, wonderful siblings and a strangely inappropriate amount of sexual tension with my little sister. I learned from the finest tutors and slept in a feather bed with a full belly each and every night. Sure, my stepmother was a...”

“Cunt?” Sam offered.

“But you know Theon had his junk cut off.”

“Manhood, Jon,” Sam scolded. “Stay in character.”

Pursing his lips, Jon squinted into the distance. He shook his head in dismay. “You know, it just doesn't make sense,” he muttered. “Why is that word even an insult? What's wrong with female genitalia? I happen to like female genitalia!”

Sam winced, slapping a palm over his face. He let out a groan of frustration. “Oh, please stop talking!” His words were a desperate plea. “Don't you realize that these are the kind of questions that get a man killed off?

“Angst, Jon! It's all about angst. Angst is the only thing that separates a sympathetic character from the herd of assholes that populate this planet. So if you want to stay alive long enough to fuck your aunt... I mean to witness the rightful queen take her place upon the Iron Throne, start PLAYING UP THE ANGST!

“Spout off a few clichés about bastards, call someone a craven and don't forget to brood. If you're lucky, we can fill up a good four pages with this stuff before moving on to a chapter where Bran looks at some trees or something.”

“Sam?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“Is this scene sufficiently pointless yet?”

Sam frowned, thinking it over. After a moment, he nodded once. “I believe it is. Do you want to go downstairs and drink some mulled wine?”

“No,” Jon muttered. “I'm gonna go stare at Melisandre for a bit and then... practise my sword forms!”

“Oh, good! That'll fill out the word count. Do that enough times and we might be able to shoot for that 2018 publication date.”

The Unreasoner
07-27-2014, 07:56 PM
Puffy white snowflakes flitted about on the icy wind, dozens upon dozens of little white flecks that fell from the sky and blocked out Samwell's view of the forest below. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of orange in the trees that stood like sentinels on the far side of the Wall. Wildling fires? It was hard to say. This was not his watch – stewards were seldom made to serve guard duty atop the Wall – but he needed some air, and something had to fill out the next three hundred pages before the next plot pint.

Below average height and well above average girth, Samwell near the ledge with his cloak wrapped tight around his body, flecks of snow in his brown hair. “Cunt,” Sam muttered. “Cunt...”

The forest was silent.

Chewing his underlip, Sam turned his face up to the night sky. He blinked. “Cunt. Cunt. Cunt.” No response from the Gods, old or new. Not that he had expected anything, but still..

“What are you doing?”

He turned to find Jon Snow behind him on the battlements, wrapped in the folds of a cloak. The other man's long dark hair was damp from the moisture of fallen snow. “The Brothers are talking, Sam.”

Sam went red, then let his head hang. He wiped moisture off his brow with the back of his hand. “Oh, you mean the swearing?” he muttered. “It turns out we're below quota. Martin's editor wants him to use that word at least thirteen times per chapter to prove that he's still the king of dark and edgy.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.”

Jon's face twisted in distaste. He turned his head and spit a wad of phlegm down on the wall. “Cunt!” he said. “I think it's working! And with the added bonus of padding out this page with more dialogue that has nothing to do with the story.”

“Now you're catching on!”

Jon stepped up beside him with hands clasped behind his back, still as a statue as he stared out at the frozen expanse. “Any word from the ranging party that I sent out to find my uncle Benjen?”

Sam bit his lip, wincing so hard that he trembled. He tossed his head about with a sigh. “Jon, Jon, Jon, aren't you paying attention? If I answer that question, it might result in something actually happening.”

“Oh, right.” It was hard not to sigh. Sam loved his friend like a brother – wait, no; saying that out loud or even thinking it might lead to the pair of them fornicating. Sam loved his friend like a... like a very good friend. But there were times when Jon was just so very unaware of his role in all this.

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch wore a pensive expression as he stared northward into the unknown. “Um, let's see...” His eyes lit up with the sudden glint of inspiration. “A bastard's life is a tragedy!”

“Good, Jon! Good!” Samwell chose his next words with great care. After all, the readership might lose interest if he wasn't able to one-up his friend. “I'm a craven! A worthless craven, and my father never loved me!”

“No one loves a bastard,” Jon countered. “All my life I've... Gah! Can I be honest with you, Sam? My life really isn't that bad! I grew up in a castle with a loving father, wonderful siblings and a strangely inappropriate amount of sexual tension with my little sister. I learned from the finest tutors and slept in a feather bed with a full belly each and every night. Sure, my stepmother was a...”

“Cunt?” Sam offered.

“But you know Theon had his junk cut off.”

“Manhood, Jon,” Sam scolded. “Stay in character.”

Pursing his lips, Jon squinted into the distance. He shook his head in dismay. “You know, it just doesn't make sense,” he muttered. “Why is that word even an insult? What's wrong with female genitalia? I happen to like female genitalia!”

Sam winced, slapping a palm over his face. He let out a groan of frustration. “Oh, please stop talking!” His words were a desperate plea. “Don't you realize that these are the kind of questions that get a man killed off?

“Angst, Jon! It's all about angst. Angst is the only thing that separates a sympathetic character from the herd of assholes that populate this planet. So if you want to stay alive long enough to fuck your aunt... I mean to witness the rightful queen take her place upon the Iron Throne, start PLAYING UP THE ANGST!

“Spout off a few clichés about bastards, call someone a craven and don't forget to brood. If you're lucky, we can fill up a good four pages with this stuff before moving on to a chapter where Bran looks at some trees or something.”

“Sam?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“Is this scene sufficiently pointless yet?”

Sam frowned, thinking it over. After a moment, he nodded once. “I believe it is. Do you want to go downstairs and drink some mulled wine?”

“No,” Jon muttered. “I'm gonna go stare at Melisandre for a bit and then... practise my sword forms!”

“Oh, good! That'll fill out the word count. Do that enough times and we might be able to shoot for that 2018 publication date.”
I thought you were going to send me a link or something, but I like this better. Posting found or written scenes mocking the series.
How about a nice game of chess?

I can't believe I missed this, first time around.

*In an obnoxious new england accent* "I prefer banging."

Seeker
07-28-2014, 12:27 AM
Casa Incestia Productions reminds you that all performers in this scene are above the age of 18 and have consented to be photographed.

Arya: Dear diary. Being a high-priced assassin is super fun but way too stressful. Sometimes I just need to relax. I need Casa Incestia.

An oil lamp on the small wooden table cast a flickering shadows on walls of gray stone and left just enough illumination for her to pen the last entry with a fine-tipped feather quill. There. Now she could relax.

Stretched out on the bed in nothing but her thin black shift, Arya allowed her high-heeled feet to dangle over her bottom. She planted an elbow on the mattress, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “Big Brother!” she called. “Are you out there?”

The wooden door that led to the hallway creaked as it slid slowly inward, allowing a bit of light to pass through the crack. “Arya?” a voice called. “Are you still awake? I have your dinner.”

“Come in, Big Brother,” she purred.

Jon moved through the doorway, carrying a tray with a lidded dinner plate. The grin on his face was positively infectious. “I was down in the kitchens,” he said softly. “I have the sausage you wanted.”

Leaning her cheek against the palm of her hand, Arya studied her brother. “Mmm... sausage,” she said, eyebrows rising. “I bet it's long... and thick... and firm just for me? Isn't it?”

Jon swallowed, closing his eyes. He turned his face away. “Arya, please,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You know we can't.”

“I'm sorry, Big Brother,” Arya murmured. “I came to Castle Black without a single coin in my pocket. I'm grateful, but I don't know how I'll ever repay your kindness.”

Sweat glistened on her brother's face as he lowered his eyes to the floor. Biting his underlip, Jon cleared his throat audibly. “I uh...” She loved to watch him stammer. “Arya, you know this is wrong.”

“Then I don't want to be right.”

“I can't.”

She rolled over onto her back, spreading her legs and allowing her heels to dig into the mattress. “Come on, Big Brother,” she urged, wiggling her hips seductively. “Prick me with your Needle.”

The tray hit the floor.

Jon leaped over the foot of the bed, landing hard on the mattress. Hover over her with a knee planted on either side of her tiny body, he smiled down. “Oh, Little Sister. I have wanted this for so long!”

Rich: Cut!

Kit Harrington: What? What's the problem?

Rich: It's... You know, it's just not horrible.

Kristen Bell: You want... Maybe I should... Like wiggle more?

Rich: It's just. It's not playing out. I mean you don't look like Maisie. The audience is gonna know. And it's just not HORRIBLE enough.

Kristen: No, Rich. I think it's pretty bad.

Rich: Kristen... You just... You're not seeing my vision here. I'm looking for a really terrible fan-fiction effect. Something that would put E.L. James to shame.

Kit: Could we just get on with it already?

Rich: Kit, I know. You're tired.

Kit: Well this is the sixty-seventh take. I'm sorry, but I'm beginning to lose all interest in this scene.

Rich: Ugh. Can someone fluff Kit please?

Kristen: Can I make a suggestion?

Rich: By all means.

Kristen: Maybe if we try it with more L-Y adverbs?

Rich: All right, let's do this. Places, people! We're taking it from Jon leaps onto the bed. And Action!

Jon leaped fiercely onto the bed and landed hard on the mattress. He leaned over, smiling broadly, and planted a kiss on Arya's mouth. Hungrily, she returned the kiss, one hand snaking around the back of his neck.

She unlaced his breeches.

His you-know-what sprang free and... Oh Gods! She flushed. She firmly seized his shoulders and sat up to softly kiss him on the chest. She quickly trailed kisses over his pale, smooth, hair-covered skin.

His eyes were a fierce, blazing blue-gray-green. They threatened to pull her in. They pulled her inexorably toward his face, and she kissed him passionately on his lips. “Oh, yes,” she murmured quietly.

She wiggled seductively, then rolled off the bed and stood with hands on her hips. “This isn't working!” Arya snapped. “I'm telling you right now; we need to amend this whole scene.”

Rich: Cut! What's the problem?

Kristen: “Wiggled seductively?” I mean what does that even mean? How do you wiggle in a seductive way. Also, it's just WAY out of character. I mean, she's a tom-boy, Rich. She's not gonna wiggle and wait for him to fuck her. She'll just throw him down and have her way.

Rich: You think this is out of character?

Kristen: I'm sorry. I'm just not feeling it. We really need to revise the script.

Rich: Are you actually trying to improve this scene?

Kristen: Well, I feel the audience deserves a-

Rich: Are you actually trying to improve this fucking scene? What is wrong with you? DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND... MY VISION?

Kit: Is the fluffer still here?

Kristen: Look, all I'm saying is-

Rich: I WANTED HORRIBLE! HORRIBLE!

Kristen: You need to calm down.

Rich: Get the fuck off my set!

Kristen: What?

Rich: You heard me. Get the fuck off my set! You're fired! You're done!

Kristen: I have never been treated this way before.

Rich: I will see to it that you never work in one of my fantasies again. Do you understand me? You're done!

Kit: You know, Blue Balls is a very real, very dangerous condition.

Rich: Just... Ugh! What are we gonna do?

Kristen (from a distance): Fuck your stupid scene anyway!

Rich: I need horrible! I need absolute, bargain-barrel, bottom of the basement horrible. Nothing less than the worst performance ever... SOMEBODY CALL TARA REID!

rand
07-28-2014, 01:20 AM
The sad thing is, that was basically a scene from a sample chapter of Book 6 (Mercy is Arya's current alias):

“Not for long,” said the comely one. “I’m Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall.”

“Not here,” Mercy said, brushing his hands away. “Not where the play is on. I might cry out, and Izembaro would be mad.”

“Where, then?”

“I know a place.”

The older guard was scowling. “What, you think you can just scamper off? What if his knightliness comes looking for you?”

“Why would he? He’s got a show to watch. And he’s got his own whore, why shouldn’t I have mine? This won’t take long.”

No, she thought, it won’t. Mercy took him by the hand, led him through the back and down the steps and out into the foggy night. “You could be a mummer, if you wanted,” she told him, as he pressed her up against the wall of the playhouse.

“Me?” The guardsman snorted. “Not me, girl. All that bloody talking, I wouldn’t remember half of it.”

“It’s hard at first,” she admitted. “But after a time it comes easier. I could teach you to say a line. I could.”

He grabbed her wrist. “I’ll do the teaching. Time for your first lesson.” He pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was all wet and slimy, like an eel. Mercy licked it with her own tongue, then broke away from him, breathless. “Not here. Someone might see. My room’s not far, but hurry. I have to be back before the second act, or I’ll miss my rape.”

He grinned. “No fear o’ that, girl.” But he let her pull him after her. Hand in hand, they went racing through the fog, over bridges and through alleys and up five flights of splintery wooden stairs. The guardsman was panting by the time they burst through the door of her little room. Mercy lit a tallow candle, then danced around at him, giggling. “Oh, now you’re all tired out. I forgot how old you were, m’lord. Do you want to take a little nap? Just lie down and close your eyes, and I’ll come back after the Imp’s done raping me.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her roughly to him. “Get those rags off, and I’ll show you how old I am, girl.”

“Mercy,” she said. “My name is Mercy. Can you say it?”

“Mercy,” he said. “My name is Raff.”

“I know.” She slipped her hand between his legs, and felt how hard he was through the wool of his breeches.

“The laces,” he urged her. “Be a sweet girl and undo them.” Instead she slid her finger down along the inside of his thigh. He gave a grunt. “Damn, be careful there, you — “

Mercy gave a gasp and stepped away, her face confused and frightened. “You’re bleeding.”

“Wha — ” He looked down at himself. “Gods be good. What did you do to me, you little cunt?” The red stain spread across his thigh, soaking the heavy fabric.

“Nothing,” Mercy squeaked. “I never… oh, oh, there’s so much blood. Stop it, stop it, you’re scaring me.”

He shook his head, a dazed look on his face. When he pressed his hand to his thigh, blood squirted through his fingers. It was running down his leg, into his boot. He doesn’t look so comely now, she thought. He just looks white and frightened.

“A towel,” the guardsman gasped. “Bring me a towel, a rag, press down on it. Gods. I feel dizzy.” His leg was drenched with blood from the thigh down. When he tried to put his weight on it, his knee buckled and he fell. “Help me,” he pleaded, as the crotch of his breeches reddened. “Mother have mercy, girl. A healer… run and find a healer, quick now.”

“There’s one on the next canal, but he won’t come. You have to go to him. Can’t you walk?”

“Walk?” His fingers were slick with blood. “Are you blind, girl? I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. I can’t walk on this.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know how you’ll get there, then.”

“You’ll need to carry me.”

See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I.

“Think so?” asked Arya, sweetly.

Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out.

Seeker
07-28-2014, 08:20 PM
Yeah, that's because George Martin is a shitty writer.

Seeker
07-28-2014, 08:23 PM
Like I'm confused.

Does she have really long sharp nails or something? (If so... LAME TOTALLY LAME). She felt his crotch through his pants and suddenly he's bleeding.

Kimon
07-28-2014, 08:41 PM
Like I'm confused.

Does she have really long sharp nails or something? (If so... LAME TOTALLY LAME). She felt his crotch through his pants and suddenly he's bleeding.

I'd assume she used that long thin blade that was concealed up her sleeve.

Seeker
07-28-2014, 08:48 PM
I'd assume she used that long thin blade that was concealed up her sleeve.

See, I thought that, but it doesn't work.

“The laces,” he urged her. “Be a sweet girl and undo them.” Instead she slid her finger down along the inside of his thigh. He gave a grunt. “Damn, be careful there, you — “

She ran her finger along his inner thigh. Even if you've got a knife up your sleeve, you can't cut someone with it and run your finger along their skin at the same time. The curl of your wrist would prevent it.

I mean George Martin is a shitty talentless hack, and he might not have thought of that. But still...

GonzoTheGreat
07-29-2014, 04:35 AM
Maybe he just never has been in a situation himself where a woman did that kind of thing to him?

The Unreasoner
07-30-2014, 05:00 AM
.Thorne’s black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. “You have a bold tongue for someone who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together.”

“Why?” asked Tyrion. “The crabs are here.”

The remark brought more guffaws from the others. Ser Alliser stood up, his mouth a tight line. “Come and make your japes with steel in your hand.”

Tyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. “Why, I have steel in my hand, Ser Alliser, although it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?” He hopped up on his chair and began poking at Thorne’s chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower room. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander’s mouth as he began to gasp and choke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. “Duel! Duel! Duel!