Dick leaped, twisted, landed on his hands--awkward, because he couldn't get as much height in the leap without his toes (which was why he didn't just HOP onto the bar)--and vaulted up from there. Another twist and bang, his butt was on the polished wood of the countertop.
He set his hands on the edge and watched Kisame pack, then pulled the sandwiches out of his pouches. "Might as well take these, too," he said, tossing them.
Then he tipped his head, quirking a smile at Kisame's question. "I'm feeling fine. Fast metabolism." No hangovers. Or at least, he had to drink a LOT more than he had to feel one. Thank God.