(no subject)

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

* Indy limps gingerly downstairs. He positions his feet with toes pointing out, being careful with each step to ensure his thighs do not come into contact with each other. His complexion is pale and he wears a pained expression. Every step seems to be take tremendous effort... and each foot fall causes a small wince to shoot across his face. After an age he makes it to the bar. He tries to pull himself onto a stool in various seating positions. None seem comfortable. He eventually opts to just stand. He leans to the bar and speaks in a barely audible husky voice *

Whisky...

* The bar complies with a flourish... presenting a glass and a full bottle of unlabeled Scotch on the counter before him. He pours a healthy measure and drinks it in one. He places the glass down and exhales loudly in relief. *