Gore saw the hit land on Molt with satisfaction. He shouted aloud in triumph.
Goresplatter: "Bullseye!"
He then realised he'd gone just the little too far. He didn't really want Molt to be killed. Then, Stuey entered the room. He was suprised to see him, but more suprised as he aimed a gun at him. He thought he was done for, but the Glukkon Kilsa leaped in front of the bullet, and got shot in the face. It looked pretty bad, even from a back view. Goresplatter was disoriented, and on the verge of feinting, but he kept his hold. He realised he had to help someone in the room, either Molt or Kilsa. Usually he would choose the slig over any glukkon, but this was different; this glukkon had saved his life, which he never thought one would do. He lept down and ran to the side of Kilsa.
Goresplatter: "Someone get a damned Vykker in here, or something!"
Kilsa was beyond his medical knowledge, but he was going to try his best. He reached in to the gooey remains in the eye socket, and pulled out the bullet. His hand was covered in blood, but now quite alot was spewing from the hole. He needed to stop the bleeding, but he didn't have a bandage. He remembered something a Vykker had taught him once. Something about, Cortorising the wound, or something. But he remembered the general idea. He used his Lungbuster cigar, still lit, for the process.
Goresplatter: "This is gonna' hurt buddy, hold tight!"
He gently pushed the burning end of the cigar into the wound, attempting to burn the flesh in order to mend it.
OOC: Your choice of reaction / outcome, outlaw king
