She sat there. Her eyes were unfocused. Her mind was unfocused. Her shield was still strapped to her wrist, her axeblade embedded three inches into the table. The bartender hadn't complained. Glasses were piled around her, but she didn't feel drunk. How long was it since she had last slept? Did it matter? Did anything matter? She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to do something, but instead lethargy clung to her, forcing her to pick the glass up and knock back another drink- another that she had lost count of, another that she did not think she would pay.

She needed to do something.

She [i]needed[/i] to do something.

So she laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh. It wasn't a 'quaint' or 'nice,' or 'happy' or 'joyous' or 'mirthful' or 'drunken' or 'terrified' or any other thousand things. It was a laugh that started as a shriek and ended in one, earning her attention for the briefest of seconds before patrons wisely went back to drinking rather than facing the deranged woman of the church. 

There was a man. Her stupor had blocked him from her mind, but there was a man. Standing up, she turned towards him, arm locked with that of a filthy, [i]beast[/i] in the form of a green-skinned man. She grunted under her breath, and realised that in that moment she was no better than that beast. She reached for her axe's handle, grabbed onto it. Tugged at it. It wouldn't come loose. She snarled at the inanimate object. She grabbed onto it more firmly, and then she gripped it as hard as she could, wrenching at it with the sort of strength that a woman was not meant to have inside of her. The damned axeblade still would not budge. 

She would have to put more effort in. Grabbing the handle with a different grip, she brought the table crashing down to the floor. A plate-shod boot slammed into the wood, and she strained her back to yank it out, working it back and forth through the wood. The bartender moved to stop her, but then it freed itself, the paladin finding herself flat on her arse but with her weapon in her hand once more. "YES!" She said, jubilant for a reason she could not recall. What was she doing? Yes, the man.

Turning, more rotating on her feet, the alcohol hit her at once. A cartful of crates crashing comfortably down upon her cranium. She stumbled, almost toppled like a tree struck for the second-to-last time, but kept herself standing through some feat of witchcraft she herself could not comprehend. She walked to the man, boots hitting the ground, and noted that another talking to him was a priest. Perhaps. The symbol spoke wonders.

She placed her hand, still with the shield on it, on the priest's shoulder, letting out another banshee's laugh. "You and me! We had eyes that are now gouged! We could see! We could laugh, we could love!" She shrieked at the top of her voice, her mirth so great that the alcohol finally dealt the toppling blow, and she fell on her rear once more, head slamming against the front of the bar. She had a stronger head than that though, to be so casually dispatched. 

Her shield thumped against the stone flagstones of the tavern as she stood. The man that was offering a job. She stood uncomfortably close to him, her face so close that a lover might wonder if she was going for a kiss, but she wasn't. [i]"Work, you offer?"[/i]