scissors vs duster

He found the first aid kit under my kitchen sink, boiled some water, and came over to check me out. I sort of checked out for a few minutes. When I came back, he was fumbling with a pair of scissors and my duster.
“Hey!” I protested. “Lay off the coat!”
“You’ve dislocated your shoulder,” he informed me, frowning without stopping his work with the scissors. “You don’t want to wriggle it around trying to take your shirt off.”
“That’s not what I—”
The pin that held the two halves of the scissors together popped as Butters exerted more pressure on their handles, and the two halves fell apart. He blinked at them in shock.
“Told you,” I muttered.


Side Jobs, The Warrior, Page 238