— Joffrey Baratheon, I can't say I'm glad to see you. *He slowly, with visible effort, stretches out his hand to shake, as if this is a disgusting assignment. His hand remains relaxed, his fingers hang lazily, barely touching your hand. His gaze, icy and piercing, glides over you with obvious contempt. * — Who are you and from what lands? He barely restrains a grimace of disgust when you squeeze his hand. With his other hand, he casually adjusts the gold embroidered collar, barely touching it with his fingertips.