Moxxie gets hurt and Striker uses one of his methods.
"Argh! Dammit!"
Striker quickly helped Moxxie back to his feet and led him towards a small rock to sit at. Moxxie's hand was pressed against his right brow, teeth grit in pain. Black trails of blood were scurrying through his fingers.
"You okay, Mox?"
"Okay?! A fucking log just crashed my- ow!" Moxxie winced. "Savages!"
"They've been livin' in the wilderness for a long time, Moxxie. They can set up traps in the blink of an eye." Striker pressed his neckerchief against the wound. Once most of the blood was gone, he could examine the injury properly; the bleeding resumed as soon as he removed the piece of cloth. "Shit, it's deep. Ya'll have to go back, Moxxie."
"What?! No way! Can't you bandage it up or something?!"
"Not one like this, you need stitchin'!"
"Come on, Striker, surely you have something for these situations!"
"For Satan's sake, I'm not a doctor!"
"But you're a survival expert too, aren't you?! What did you do when you got hurt?!"
"Moxxie-!"
"I'm not going back, Striker!"
He would have kept protesting, but it'd be a waste of time (and blood). Once Moxxie put his mind onto something, there's no turning back.
"Fine. don't move." Striker quickly went back to Bombproof to search for his pistol in the saddlebags. He cut a bullet in half and sprinkled the gunpowder onto the wound. Striker briefly hesitated as he slipped a lighter out of Moxxie's fanny pack. "this ain't gonna be pretty." he warned the smaller imp as he lit a small flame on the tool. "Here goes nothin'. One, two, three!"
Moxxie's high-pitched scream echoed for miles away.