Despite being told to remove the clothes in a normal manner, Mori pulled a set of shears from his bag and cut along the buttons of his shirt and the whole of the pants leg. "If I'm losing 's much blood as I likely am, can't waste time on formalities. Best t'jus' do away with the lot of it. Jay-sus, the loss is dizzying... If you don't have disinfectant handy, we'll need clear alcohol like a gin or vodka. Might take a swig of it, too, to numb the pain. Bastard shook its head in the brawl, so the leg'll need a proper restructurin', maybe even a death an' reform. The side, however, can be stitched proper. I c'n do the stitching myself. 's what I do best. But the leg's the nasty bit. I can respect, if you don't want to do it on short notice. I c'n go home to have a game with the Boatman."

Even around the tired slurring, Dr. Malodrema was focused, zeroed in on the issue at hand, even if the assumptions on how to best fix the worst of it were overly dire and blunt. They were already looting their own bag for medical supplies on hand.