<i>When the bottle was taken completely out of reach, the hand that hand been trying to get to it seemed to curl slightly. Then the pouring started. A snore, cut off halfway. Lots of sniffing that stopped suddenly after a long inhale. In what almost seemed like one movement belying his age and previous apparent sobriety, the hand on the ground would come up and rip the paper from his face, the booted feet would stomp to the ground, leaving him in a sitting position, hands planted to either side of him about to propel him off and into whoever dared to spill his whiskey.</i><br/><br/>"Who in the blue hell -"<br/><i><br/>
His eyes managed to focus on the figure holding the upturned bottle, travelling up from the booted feet, following the curves, to the top of fiery hair.<br/>
</i><br/>"..."<br/><br/><i>He sat back, a hand coming up to rub his temples and eyes with a groan.</i><br/><br/>"Oh. You're here."<br/><br/><i>Then he looked up at here. Eyes moving from her to the upside down, empty bottle, to the amber pool on the ground, and back to her. Another groan.</i><br/><br/>"I must have finally drank myself to death and gone to hell."