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West + Tornadoes
Iwan's hands lifted up as he twisted to the music. He was quite drunk, though that was none of his doing. His teammates had told him, quite blatantly, that he was to get pissed and relaxed at this event and while he'd protested the whole way to the station and onto the train, the first few drinks had made the man-(and woman)-handling much easier to bear.

They had thought is costume was rather funny, too, but Iwan liked it. It wasn't common knowledge, but he was a bit of a bookish person, especially the classics, muggle and wizard. Though, really, no one could tell who he was until he started spouting out lines that were nearly incomprehensible in his currently intoxicated state.

"Is she a Capulet?" Iwan blurted, grabbing onto West's sleeve, blatantly pointing at a rather pretty girl across the car. His other hand went up dramatically, and he looked quite concerned---she was dressed in a Catapults jersey. "O dear account! My life is my foe's debt."

It sounded right to him, but to nearby ears it was a garble of an Irish accent attempting to be British with the slur that was brought upon by the amount of alcohol he'd taken in. Iwan blinked owlishly at West, finding that most of his weight was being dropped onto his captain.