The Elbow Room

Leon sways slightly, the open and nearly full bottle of Tovarisch brand vodka sloshing as he lowers it from his lips to his hip, and gazes thoughtfully at the door. What might have taken him a heartbeat to decide in the old days instead takes several moments of slurring contemplation. Yes, Leon is so damn drunk that even his thoughts slur now, and how the hell did my mind's voice develop a lisp? That's so god damn annoying it-

He shakes off the meandering musings and reaches for a napkin on top of the bar. He misses it twice. Finally, success. He wraps it around a finger, stuffs it halfway into the bottle, reconsiders, removes it, takes another big gulp, stuffs it back in and puts his lighter to it. He reaches for a cigarette as if to light it from the flame of his new molotov. "Oh shi-!"

Surprised at how quickly the napkin has gone up (it's only paper, jackass) he winds up, accidentally smacking the bottle against the bar and spills flaming fluid onto his sleeve. Aiming carefully but with urgency, compensating for unresponsive drunken muscles, he wings the bottle through a gap in the barricades, aiming for the noise he heard through his pixilated stupor.

He hears a smash, a cry of surprise, and smiles stupidly to himself for a moment before stopping to sniff the air. "Do you guys smell something burning? Besides the molotov I tossed on that zombie outside?" Sure, flaming zombies are no better than regular zombies; they're arguably worse, but Leon likes to watch them. He has no idea that was Vito he just tried to light up, nor has he any inkling, as he turns around curiously, looking for the source of the smoke, that he is on fire from his right elbow halfway to his wrist. Not yet, anyway. "And where's that damned pounding coming from?


(*edit: seriously, let's get some good RP goin on in here. Or, alternatively, on the Skynet forum. I'm not sure which of us has more traffic, though. Also, edited in the bit about hearing Axe in the fridge)