*as is often the case, one too many drinks and suddenly Connor can see the world through the eyes of a fifteen year old him. It's a lot more interesting through those eyes, to be fair*
*like these thin poster mailing tubes that he pulled out of a pile of trash? Totally a pair of swords! Ignore the dark stain that might be dog piss on the end of that one...*
On guard!!! *or something like that, as he tosses one to Rocco*
[He arched a brow when the other shoved a tube or something at him. He pulled a face because, yeah, okay, he noticed the dark stain.] Fuck, Connor...
[He snorts though, just drunk enough to not really care that Connor was trying to get him to make an idiot out of himself with possibly pissy mailing tubes. He swung the tube at the other, giving into the probably... ridiculous looking 'sword' fight.] You're not fucking match, Connor!
*like these thin poster mailing tubes that he pulled out of a pile of trash? Totally a pair of swords! Ignore the dark stain that might be dog piss on the end of that one...*
On guard!!! *or something like that, as he tosses one to Rocco*
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[He snorts though, just drunk enough to not really care that Connor was trying to get him to make an idiot out of himself with possibly pissy mailing tubes. He swung the tube at the other, giving into the probably... ridiculous looking 'sword' fight.] You're not fucking match, Connor!
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Yeh should jus' call me Errol Flynn from now on!
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And there ain't no way you're beating me, got that?
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Yeh wanna bet on that? *he swung the tube around in an arc and tried to "slice" it up his friend's torso*
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