He grimaces as another spray of dog drool hits him. Yes. Definitely dissection. But finally the damned thing backs off and Qilby takes that as his cue to start to get to his feet when he's suddenly looking down the barrel of something far more troubling.

Qilby watches her quietly, brow knitted. She wouldn't really do it. Would she? With as drunk and angry (and maybe a little provoked) as Apollo is, he's not so sure anymore. He can only assume how lethal those weapons of hers are, and while he thinks his reflexes are good enough that he may be able to redirect the shot in time... The past couple minutes have been nothing but evidence to the contrary.

"Let's just say there's only one loss the flight will mourn. And the other won't last long after," he says at last, slowly, staring unflinchingly up at Apollo. Hopefully the promise (assumption) of retribution will get her to back down, but just in case... Propped up on his elbow, hand hidden in the long, wide sleeve of his (once white) tunic, he lifts one finger ever so slightly-- and a glassy black spear carves itself out of the obsidian behind her and hangs silently, poised to strike her through the heart.

If he does it now, he could avoid her shot even if it goes off. He should just do it now, the others will understand -- it's just self-defense at this point, they all can see that.

A muscle above his eye twitches. Still he waits, unblinking.