Flynn grabs hold of the bar as his knees grow weak. His throat grows raw from laughing but he's too drunk to notice. Jack takes the dwindling bottle of vodka from the self and pours a shots worth into the glass.
"More..." Flynn mutters.
Jack poors another shot while Flynn digs in his pockets.
"Looks like its my turn to be out Jack...I'll hit you up on the rebound"
"Sure thing."
The empty can of coke clatters to the floor as Flynn grabs the glass and tilts it back. The world spins and Flynn's mouth waters. He stumbles back to his chair and collapses.
"Hey..." he whispers at Tratpan.
"Let's talk...about our next target."
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