"I need you as coherent as possible while I work - in case something goes wrong." Not that it ever has before, of course, but things happen. "I don't know that I'd purposefully drink something the owner calls 'hooch' that doesn't even have a label."

He works slowly, removing the small fragments as gingerly as possible in between swipes of the alcohol soaked gauze to keep the wound clean and wick away the blood.

"You're lucky," he mutters as he sets aside the bloody tweezers and fishes the needle out of the shot glass; "Pierre was a terrible shot."