Lita continued her grumbling as she gathered her tools, watching her new "friend" out of the corner of her eye as she went. Blondie threw his hefty buddy over his broad shoulders like he weighed next to nothing, and lugged him into the restaurant. When Lita found herself noticing that he looked just as good (if not better) from the back as he did from the front, she shook her head forcefully, clearing her thoughts. The gunshot victim didn't have a great chance at pulling out of this as it was and any distractions could mean the difference between life and death.
She ran back to the restaurant in time to hear the Disney Prince lookalike set his guy down on the table with a grunt, admonishing the practically comatose man for his considerable weight.
"If he ends up pulling through this," Lita said as she set down her things. "You're going to have to make sure he doesn't end up keeling over from heart disease. Or, you know, from choking on a pork chop or something."
It probably came off more flippant and insensitive that she had meant, but she was far too busy concentrating on the task at hand than on the societal niceties the situation probably called for. Somehow, she doubted Prince Charming minded.
She pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail and then rolled up her sleeves. She began to set up her instruments, laying them in the precise order. She removed two industrial sized bottles of hand sanitizer and tossed one to her impromptu nurse. It was far from the optimal sterile procedure and operating theater, but she had to work with what she had.
"Rub that in from your fingertips to your elbows," Lita said, about to do the same. She paused, turning from her patient to the man who had brought him in and stared at him for a moment. She was bad with people. She was great with bodies; how they worked, how take them apart, how to put them back together, what turned them on and what shut them down. Lita knew she had already made a decision regarding this guy; whether she lived to regret it, she'd just have to wait and see.
Lita reached behind her and, slowly as to not startle him, took out her gun, laid it down carefully on the nearby bar and pushed it toward him. If any shufflers came sniffing around (which surely they would, drawn to the coppery tang of blood), he'd have to defend them if she was elbows deep into his buddy's chest cavity.
"I'm trusting you," she said, her eyes narrowed. She pulled on a latex glove and let it snap against her wrist. "So be fucking trustworthy."
She threw the box of gloves at him so he could follow suit. She began to cut away the hurt man's shirt, her attention fully focused on her patient.
"You have a name, Blondie? Or should I just call you Florence Nightingale?"