Zed, on the other hand, hadn't been able to resist taking a sip or two or ten when the vodka bottles had started raining down around him with their shiny silver parachutes. He'd lost count after the first ten or so bottles, and they'd just kept coming. He's got enough of his wits about him to keep carrying his gun and his sword with him, even if he's dragging a ridiculous amount of vodka behind him in a rough bag fashioned out of all the parachutes they'd come down with. Judging from the way he's grinning and swaying a little as he walks, he's feeling no pain, and he too smells very strongly of the vodka.

The sight of someone else playing with one of those vodka bottles catches his attention, and he's drunkenly striding over there weighed down by all the crap he's carrying. "Hey! What'cha doin' with that?"