[ Immediately, he makes a face. Distasteful with a grunt, as he throws a look at her and turns to walk the other way. Not a chance of him liking that idea or even suggesting that he might like that idea.

This entire festival feels like wading through an open air brothel, Aemond hates it. He hates the way people have batted their eyelashes at him while trying to find volunteers to pick out of the crowd. Every pair of eyes is a threat to subjecting him to some lewd perversion that's destined to just try to make a fool out of him. ]

It's not my thing. [ What is his thing? Who's to say. ] Leave the delinquent perversions more to the tastes of my brother. I'm certain he's somewhere around here rife in the debauchery.

[ She may as well read 'repressed virgin' from her observations of him, she wouldn't be too far off. ]