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27 November 2010 @ 11:23 pm
[Stupid things happen when people drink. They suddenly decide that a) they're invincible, b) hitting on that one scary-looking bloke with an eye missing is a good idea, or c) drunken swordfights couldn't possibly end in anything but pure sodding excellence.
Which was probably the reason why Cousland didn't drink much to start with. Bad things happened when she did. Plus she started getting stupid ideas like clockwork. Not that getting stupid ideas wasn't far from the norm; more like said stupid ideas got exponentially more idiotic according to the amount of liquor consumed.

And after about two hours of solid drinking - nipped from Oghren's stash on the sly, no less - small wonder a rosy-cheeked Warden suddenly perked up, snapping her fingers in a classic eureka! pose. Can't you just feel the impending moronic statement?]

You know what would be fantastic right now? A spar!

[I'm sorry, Cousland. Your approval points will probably take the plunge with your I.Q. level any old time now.]
Grey Warden Cousland: They wish to be women who fightwomanwhofights on December 5th, 2010 06:11 am (UTC)
[Lovingly stacking her armour in a neat pile with her plumed helm perched atop her breastplate, Cousland stretches with much face-pulling and muttering under her breath. Mobility isn't usually an issue when one is used to simply plowing in a straight line through the competition. But then again that's when she's encased in solid alloy and not prancing about in soft tanned hide leggings, boots, and a tunic.

And finally tucking away her Oath and Reflection under the collar of her tunic, the Warden grins in that fashion she always has that just screams of impending mischief. No, she's not edging sideways in a suspicious manner.]

Well, if there's no steel allowed for weaponry, I suppose we'll have to improvise...

[Which means she'll dive for her pack with surprising alacrity. PILLOW FIGHT FTW.]