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MICHAEL J. FOX as MARTY MCFLY in BACK TO THE FUTURE (1985)

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"Wha-- George?"

He may not have heard him, but Marty would recognise George's bumbling figure anywhere. Apparently even decking Biff couldn't get the habit out of him, but then again, his dad did grow up a loser.

He's fixing the hook onto the back of the DeLorean like Doc told him to, but his eyes stay glued on his father's face. Time's running short, of course, because when is it ever not, but George's earnest little expression makes it impossible for Marty to ignore him.

"What the hell're you doing out here?" He pretends he isn't being completely hypocritical. "This storm's no joke!"

@outatimes

Truthfully, George isn't entirely sure what's come over him. He's just dropped Lorraine off at home, and yet, he couldn't really leave fast enough. He's got the girl he's fawned over for what seems like forever, and the only person on his mind is Marty Klein.

So, he figures he should try to find him to hopefully figure it out, but just as quickly realizes that he has no idea where he could possibly be.

Though, there is one thing he knows, and that's that he needs to find Marty until he disappears from his life.

He assumes that wherever his newfound friend is going, he'll probably hop on a bus or the like in the center of town, so that's where he goes first.

"Marty?" he calls out, hoping the booming thunder doesn't drown out his generally timid voice.

[outatimes]

Awkward as the gesture is, he reaches over the back of the booth seat to offer Greg his hand. "Marty."

It seems safe to give his name, considering there aren't any last names involved. And the Marty McFly of this year would be off in California, anyway-- he's never had any predilections to leaving the state before, so he's confident he won't ever make it to Las Vegas.

"Hey..." He's considering his plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, and then the empty space across where Greg's seated. "You mind if I join you there?"

"Hey, some of the most important inventions of our lives were invented by mistake! Penicillin, X-Rays, microwave ovens, chocolate chip cookies??? Where would we be as a society without any of those things!?"

He gives a slight nod of bashful acknowledgement of the word of thanks.

"People are way too quick to judge. Yeah, maybe it'd be difficult, but," he pauses to give a half-hearted shrug, "crazier things have happened.

"I, uh... I'm Greg, by the way."

[outatimes]

"Get outta town!"

Marty laughs, shaking his head. "I don't have the brains for that, not by a mile. And that's the only thing I can control.

"Thanks for being so nice about it, though. Most folks usually go straight to 'crazy'."

"True... Or-"

He turns to look the guy in the eyes with a kind smile causing a twinkle in his own.

"You could always obsess over it on your own time. Not saying it's likely to happen, but who knows? Maybe you'll be the one to stumble upon the answer."

[outatimes]

"Yeah, I'd say I really lucked out there."

Marty scratches the back of his head, sheepish. "Not that I really know what I'm gonna do with it when I get out except, like, be a music teacher. But I guess it's a little less stupid than obsessing over making a time machine, heh."

Sorry, Doc.

"Really? You've got some awesome parents if they're supporting the arts."

[outatimes]

Realistic. Oh, jeez.

"...music."

"Hokey??"

Sure, Greg could agree with the guy if he had called it campy or something, but outright hokey?

"C'mon, it's not that bad! I mean, Keanu Reeves always delivers, even in the shittiest movies, and Alex Winters wasn't outshined by him in the slightest. Plus, George Carlin was a totally great character, and, not that I'm an expert in time travel, but they really seemed to take the proper progression of time into account. Like when they set up the bucket in the rafters to stop the dude from getting to them and they noted they had to remember to go back and set it up later? It was genius!

"Still, though," he deviates from his monologue to acknowledge the more serious points of the stranger's response, "I get that all too well. My parents have been giving me a bit of that, too. I get it, not everyone gets to be a rock star, but, you know..."

He lets out a soft sigh and shrugs.

"So, if you're not sticking to your dream, either, what's your "realistic" choice of major?"

[outatimes]

Marty wants to ask if doing all this for Billy Butcher is worth it, but steels his tongue. The whole reason he's here is because he has to make sure the Boys make it to the end, and making them question their goals might very well send them in the opposite direction.

Butcher is always destined to battle Homelander, and the fate of the world depends on it. Marty just wishes that other people didn't have to get hurt because of it.

"Sounds like I missed a lot," he says, sticking his hands into his pockets. The absolute irony of a time traveller not having enough time isn't lost on him.

"I should really stick around more before you get yourself killed or something."

And, sure, it's spoken lightheartedly (Marty even chuckles a bit so it sounds more like a joke), but that doesn't change the fact that he's worried. The woes of having friends, indeed.

Frenchie grinned at the remark about what could be called their usual trouble. Of course, it was. He saw what they did with their time. So yeah he was a bit of a mess. They all were. So he didn’t know why he was so surprised that he had another scar. Frenchie didn’t mind people seeing it. Wasn’t anything to be all that worried about. Some of the other scars he’d rather not talk about. This one was more recent. Would be easy to explain that it was just a gun shot.

“You know how it is.” Frenchie simply shrugged as he pulled the leg back, it didn’t bother him anymore. It healed up well enough. Didn’t add to any of the other pains that were stacking up. Just healed to be nothing more than the scar.

The fact that he was asking again. Had him a little confused. “Well, one of the supes Monsieur Charcutier had as against had a few powers we hadn’t realized.” Hadn’t checked aside from the main ones. So, this one slipped past their radar. A mistake that nearly cost Frenchie his leg. Had cost the supe his life. “Not a mistake we plan to make again.” One that was bound to happen sooner or later in their work though.

“It’s pretty healed up now.” Just a nasty looking scar now.

[outatimes]

"Yeah," Marty says, shaking his head as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "You were out for that long.

"Getting messed up to hell and back aside, I kinda wondered if you just never get to sleep right."

But if what Doc told him about this William Butcher is any indication, Marty's got a good feeling that sleep never comes to him. He can't imagine how that'd feel at all, nor does he want to.

"Look, you're bleeding again," he says, pointing out the splotch steadily, but slowly, growing bigger under Butcher's bandages. "Not too much, so I figure we don't have to get that wound out again for a while, but take it easy, okay?

"I don't want a guy I rescued to drop dead in my apartment."

Getting to his feet, Marty shoves his hands into his pockets. "Why don't I get you somethin' to eat? Painkillers're probably gonna wear off any second now, and you can't really get a refill on that on an empty stomach."

Billy was thinking he needed to get moving again. His body of course told him that wasn’t happening right now. Fuck. That had not ended well for him. He always ended up a little banged up. But shit waking up like this could really be a pain in the ass. He didn’t like getting stuck on someone’s couch beat to hell. Though he should probably look into not getting beat to shit. Might make this a lot easier for him.

He still had enough in him to throw a decent punch. Call it a small victory. Someone didn’t kill him. That also counted as a bit of a win. Though he wondered how long before they had a whole other problem.

Billy laughed hearing the answer. Thought the near-death thing might have made him a little crazy. Might have been a part of it. But there was not a lot that probably changed. He was a little bit crazy. Or a total asshole. Probably a little of A and a little B.

Hearing that he was bleeding had him looking down at himself. Yeah, he looked like he had seen better days.

“Stitches? Ah fuck. Was out for that long?” He asked before leaning back. He wasn’t totally laying down. But he wasn’t trying to stand up either. Didn’t know if he wanted to try to get up right this moment. Seemed that every injury wanted to remind him that he severely fucked up.

[outatimes]

I just love Back To the Future The Game……….. So underrated one

[outatimes]

Without thinking, Marty mutters, "Bill and Ted's hokey, though...

"Ah." Jesus. "Not that I know... anything about that..."

He really does have to work on the mind-to-mouth filter. But complaining about Doc leaving him behind for a week just doesn't feel as fulfilling if it's kept inside.

He sighs, scratching the back of his head. "Look, I grew up totally obsessed with time travel." Untrue, but maybe more believable. "And now I'm in college, and my uncle's getting on my ass about 'becoming more mature', but...

"What can I say? Time travelling's a nice dream, right? Crazy, sure, but awesome."

Greg goes silent for a moment as he looks the guy over, offering a slight smile and laugh.

"Good save. Personally, I would have gone for the, yeah, Bill and Ted is a great movie route, but this works too" he teases, but backs down, at least, for the moment.

[outatimes]

"Sure," says Clint Eastwood, supposed Eagle Eye of California, "and I'm Bigfoot."

Marty has to admit: hanging around Four Corners has been one of the better things he's done for his and Doc's noble cause. He likes the people for the most part. He likes hanging out with JD and his friends, even when the going gets tough and he's got to serve as back-up. On that end, it's funny how well he does for himself as a gunman, but then again, Marty's always been a great shot.

Ezra's decent in the most hysterical way. He's dramatic enough that Marty's almost reminded of his home in the good old 90's, and he's got a loud personality that keeps Marty from getting bored. There're some issues, sure, but a time so soon after the Civil War explains those well enough. In any case, Ezra's never cruel, and that's what matters.

Pulling a chair up to sit by Ezra's side, and having turned it around so he can fold his arms over its back, Marty watches him curiously.

"You know, I should'a pinged you for a conman." His voice is low enough that nobody else can hear them, but Marty wears a little smirk nevertheless in the hopes of making Ezra squirm. "Do the others know?"

@outatimes asked: “i can tell when you’re lying, you know. you ain’t slick.” @ ezra

Ezra in his own mind was pretty good at lying. Hell, before coming here it was basically how he made a living. Of course, he knew how to lie. He had been a cheat and a con man. The last was more of something his mother liked to remind him of. He was surprisingly turning over a new leaf here. No, he had not been expecting that either. A month. That had been how long he had signed on for originally. Why was he still here? He could be off to St. Louis making his fortune with his mother. Lord knows she sends him enough letters to tell him what kind of money she was making on a daily basis.

Somehow, he was still in this backwater little town. Working as a lawman of all things for a dollar a day. Well, that plus what he made at the tables. People that passed through this place were easy targets. Though he rarely had to cheat. Most of them were not good at the game. They liked to think they were. But they really weren’t.

The last bunch had been a special brand of annoyance. So yeah, he might have taken some of their money. Ezra of course said he hadn’t cheated when asked. Of course, he wouldn’t admit to it. There was plenty of trouble that he would have gotten into. They were not even the closest thing to being the worst thing that would have happened. Mr. Larabee found out and he might be hoping someone else would shoot him.

Hearing someone who wasn’t involved in the game say he wasn’t slick or that he could catch him in a lie was offensive to the gambler. “Know when Ah’m lyin?” He asked with a frown smiling politely. Clint had been someone that hadn't been here all that long. He didn’t think long enough to be able to catch him. Or maybe he was slipping. He wasn’t sure which one was worst for him.

“Ah don’t know wha’ you’re referring to. Ah wasn’t lyin.”

[outatimes]

"No--" Marty remembers that Doc had only shown him pictures, then swallows the word back and shakes his head all the while. "I mean, uh. Yes. Yeah. First time, definitely."

He's leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Having been warned about these aliens and what they could do hadn't prepared him at all for seeing them face-to-face, he realises. But Doc had sent him here for a reason, and as he takes in a deep breath to steady himself, he meets Hicks' gaze with his best attempt at looking fearless.

"They're faster than I thought they'd be," he says. "You know, with the, uh--" His hands come together and move apart in some gesture of length. "With the size."

Marty doesn't stall for long. Even as he continues speaking with Hicks, he's checking his ammunition, fixing his guns, and wondering why in the hell it is that he agrees to all these crazy things Doc makes him do. On one hand, of course, he knows Doc's a father-- if either of them had to die, it's probably better if it's Marty and his childless self. On the other, though, sometimes he wonders if it wouldn't be better if someone smarter got into these scenarios.

He picks up his rifle, quietly hoping the bullets he has with him are heavy enough to pierce whatever the hell kind of skin the alien's got.

"They can die," Marty mumbles, "right?"

@outatimes asked: oh my god. what is that? @ hicks

Hicks didn’t have the time to explain, couldn’t go into details right now. He’d have to talk to him once they were somewhere they could catch their breath. These were not things to go against without knowing what you were dealing with. Something Hicks had some person experience with. The scars on the side of his face and small parts of his chest were anything to go by. The acid was not something to take lightly. Taking a quick shot at the bastard thing that got a little too close for comfort. Pushing him back as he moved, they needed to get out of here. He wanted one of the steel doors between them and it. It wouldn’t hold the thing off forever, just enough for them to get better prepared.

Dwyane Hicks had been one of the marines sent to Hadley’s Hope. Had been expecting to run into trouble. The colonists had gone dead quiet. But he hadn’t been expecting what they ran into. In just one meeting with a small group of those things it took out nearly his whole previous unit. Over time the only ones that had managed to get away had been Ripley, Newt, Bishop and himself. He had been the last man standing from his unit. Fuck remembering that had really bugged him. Still did. The company hadn’t given a damn about that. Would have probably preferred if he had died with the rest of them. Because he knew what they had planned now for these things.

He of course had thought about leaving. Wasn’t really much he wanted to do with the people that had thrown them at something that they were woefully underprepared for. They were well aware that they had not been prepared to deal with these things. Their officer hadn’t even been fully prepared for an actual fight. He froze up a couple times. Went out better than anyone could have guessed. These days Hicks still spent most of his time looking into rumored sightings, or whenever places went silent.

He had been hoping this one had been a false lead. Clearly, it hadn’t been. Cursing, he managed to pull a few more people out of the room with him. Least he was more prepared than he had been in the colony to deal with them. It was still hard. They were not an easy group to fight off.

Once the door was shut Hicks seemed to finally take a breath before looking towards Marty. “A fucking nightmare.” Which was an understatement. Hicks had seen a few of them. They got more and more difficult. They were getting better.

“First time seeing one of them?” He usually had people with him that had at least seen or heard of these things before.

[outatimes]

@greggoplant sent: “Did you really just say time travel?”

Oh, shit.

"Uh-- no?" Smooth, McFly.

So he tries again. "No! Jeez" -- and Marty turns, looking over the back of his booth seat at the guy eating at the other table -- "I mean, how crazy would time travel be, right?"

[outatimes]

"Ain't really much to talk about," Marty says, crossing his arms over his chest as his lips press together briefly. "You were an idiot, pal."

Buck, where he's stood by the door, barely conceals the soft 'pfft' of amusement and the snort that resembles a laugh. JD says something like "I can't believe you just said that", and Marty in turn replies with "what? I'm not wrong!".

Nathan, however, tells all of them to leave while he's working. And Marty knows well enough that while he can call Larabee a moron, Nathan's so put-together that absolutely nothing can stand in his way.

"We'll try to put a plan together in the next room," Josiah says, and with a shake of the head Marty follows the rest of them as they regroup.

Having Chris attempt to ambush the gang on his own most likely had them moving their camp to somewhere less known. As Vin unrolls a map out on the table, Marty's more than content to let them all discuss possible spots the new camp could be at. And by the end of it, before Nathan's even done patching Chris up, they decide that they'll split into four pairs to try and covertly find the new location. And, sure, their de facto leader likely couldn't do much, but that's why Marty's stuck with him-- as the only one with an eye to rival Vin's, but not nearly as much knowledge of the surrounding terrain, Marty can make up for Chris' definite inability to do anything too physical while he heals.

Assuming, of course, that Chris is even able to stay still long enough to heal.

Only when Nathan says that it's all right to talk to Chris again does Marty come back in the room. Buck had grinned at him, saying that as his partner, good ol' Eastwood had to tell Chris the plan, but Marty's sure Buck just wanted to see if Chris was still sore about being called an idiot. Regardless, Marty doesn't regret saying it.

Knocking on the door still ajar, Marty pokes his head in the crack, peering at Chris in bed.

"You still up, Larabee?" he asks, walking in enough to lean his weight against the wooden frame. "Nathan said you oughta rest, but I seriously doubt you'd listen."

@outatimes asked: “Why didn’t you call for backup?” @ chris

Chris sighed hearing the question now really wasn’t the time he wanted to hear this. He could deal with it later. He should have probably asked for someone else to come with him. Brought one of the guys. The whole damn team if he wanted to. But excuse him for thinking he should have been able to handle that on his own. He had done a fine job for the most part in case someone was asking. Clearly, not everyone thought the same way. He knew he was going to get shit from Nathan the moment he had come back looking like this. He even knew he was going to have a few things from Buck and probably Vin. Some of the others usually gave him space in moments like this. Ezra for once was going to keep his mouth shut least to him directly. The kid and Josiah weren’t going to say anything. But he knew JD was probably thinking the same fucking thing.

The look Nathan gave him when he heard the question showed JD wasn’t the only one thinking that. But thankfully didn’t voice the comment. Instead seemed content in making sure he felt it. Hissing when the pain shot through his wounded side, he glared first at Nathan before turning it to the source of the question.

“Hardly seemed worth the time to get everyone involved.” Chris ground out as Nathan seemed to give the injury another harsh jab. Their medic was making sure that Chris understood how much he thought about this.

Alright he was clearly wrong about that thought but at the time it seemed like a good idea. “I might have miscounted how many they had.” And one had tried the smart thing catching him by surprise. Chris was pretty sure a few of the bastards got away. They had been causing trouble for the town for the last few days and if Larabee was being honest. He had had enough. He didn’t have the patience to wait and thought there was a few less. Chris could take a few guys. That ended up being a bit too much.

“Can we talk about this when we’re done with the fucking bullet wound in my side?” Nathan had already taken care of getting the bullet out. He was getting too much practice stitching them out or even pulling bullets out of them. Clearly he was getting fed up with their bullshit.

[outatimes]

Marty stares at the empty space Kyle had occupied, looks down at the jacket he'd offered him, and then sighs. Figures the guy wouldn't take something literally handed to him. But Marty tosses it off in the bin with the rest of the shared clothing (things are bad enough in the far future that folks just share clothes like this), and then he's jogging up after him with a short "wait up!".

The soldier life is never going to agree with him. Marty'd be late for most everything if not for the impeccable use of clocks everywhere, for one thing. For another, the way he never seems to get any alone time drives him insane, and people are always calling him over for something or other. Granted, this burgeoning resistance is small enough that it doesn't take much to fill the walls, but he's missed having his privacy. Contrary to popular belief, Marty isn't much of a people person at all.

He likes Kyle well enough, though. He's not too loud, not too annoying, and seems like a generally swell guy if not for the dire situation he's living in. Of all the folks Marty's met out here in his secret quest to sabotage Skynet-- Doc's idea, considering all the shit Skynet puts the world through in only a few years' time-- Kyle's one of the better ones. Maybe too good, even, but Marty won't touch on that more than he has to.

"Hey!"

A hand touches Kyle's shoulder once Marty catches up to him, and then he falls into step by the other man's side.

"Man, you were fast. This isn't one of those high-priority assignments or anything, is it?"

@outatimes asked: “Hey, it’s cold outside. At least wear a jacket.” @ kyle

The war meant he was used to harsh conditions, hell even before being a member of the resistance Kyle had been made used to some of the worst things. Between the camps and the constant lack of food. The fact is that it was cold most days. Kyle didn’t always have jacket on him. So, he had learned different tricks to disconnect himself from the worst of it. But always kept track of what his body really needed to keep him from dying.

He had been ready to get moving or at least he thought. He hadn’t realized how cold it might have been outside. He hadn’t thought it was that important. Clearly, he was wrong. Stopping Kyle looked back towards Marty, he hadn’t really expected to have company on this mission, so he seemed surprised when the other man had come with him.

None of them really made comments about what they were wearing or what they were bringing with them so long as they were prepared for what they were going to face. Kyle didn’t know if they were going to have everything they needed. Enough to get the job done, hopefully. Hard to tell. They might have to improvise a few things.

“Guess I should.” He answered quietly because if something was being brought up like that, he was assuming it was going to be more than he was going to be able to handle. Well probably enough to get more attention than usual. It was always a little cold. Least Kyle thought so. Sometimes it was hard to get warm. He’d seen the kids huddled around the fires they managed to make in what used to be TVs. Well, that was what John had called them. Seemed a little sad the first time Kyle had asked him about them.

A jacket though Kyle thought might have other uses. Could hide things in side the pockets or jacket itself. Be important later. Grabbing one of the first ones he found, he motioned for Marty to follow him out. They had to get moving. Couldn’t be here all day.

[outatimes]

Worst. Babysitting. Job. Ever.

It's all Marty can think as he watches William "Billy" Butcher sit up, give him attitude, and then smirk like he's the most charming guy on the planet. Holy cow, are all twenty-first century Europeans like this?

Still, he does his best not to frown once Butcher finally asks his question, even if the bruise on his cheek remains a miserable purple colour. The punch the guy had thrown was no joke, and a part of him wonders if it's intentional that Doc always assigns the weirdest people to him for "safekeeping".

"Lucky for you," Marty starts, "I thought the whole, uh, near-dying thing just made you act crazy." And while he knows now that there was some reason for it, Marty still thinks Butcher's crazy over-all.

"I carried you to my apartment-- good ol' Lower Manhattan." Leaning back in the chair he's sat on by Butcher's bed, Marty's arms cross over his chest. "You were bleeding something awful, pal."

His eyes flick briefly to Butcher's side, then back to his face. "And you'll open your stitches if you keep sitting up like this. You gotta lie down, man."

@outatimes asked: “I found you beat half to death in a dumpster. When I said I would call 9-1-1 you punched me in the face and said no before passing out.” @ billy

Billy stared at the ceiling for a second when he first woke up. That was not what he was expecting to see when he first woke up. Sky followed by the smell of whatever was in that dumpster. Wouldn’t be the first time. Didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Small favors. Though that brought another question to mind. Where the hell was, he and who brought him here? The other question was of course why? He wasn’t restrained, which meant it wasn’t one of those situations. Which was a good start. Didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem. He was having an issue remembering what happened. Well, what happened when he was around the dumpster anyway. That was until he heard someone talking to him. Telling him he got found by a dumpster beat half to death and punched the owner of the voice in the face. Sounded right. Not a chance he was going to a hospital. Didn’t need to explain to someone why he looked the way he did. Someone would ask why he was beat to hell, and that was going to start a while that was going to be a problem. Couldn’t let people know what was going on.

Slowly sitting up because he was sure he was going to feel like hell. He wasn’t wrong. Even sitting up like this was a pain in the ass. Looking towards the other man. He could see where he hit him. Least he still managed to leave a bruise. Gave a little bit of damage.

“Can’t be goin to a hospital lookin like this mate.” He gestured to himself. “They’re gonna report it. Gonna end up talkin to the bill. Can’t be doin that.” He explained, still not bothering to look around to figure out what room he was in. Didn’t matter, clearly, he wasn’t in any real danger.

“Had to get the point across.” He told him with a smirk. Because the punch might have been a bit much. But it clearly got the point across. He wasn’t in a hospital room and there weren’t any police around, so he was going to count this as a win. He didn’t get many of those it seemed to him would take this one. Frowning when he really got a look at the other man. How the hell did he get him up here? He didn’t seem to be that big of a person. “Th’ hell did you get me up here?”

[outatimes]

While Marty usually appreciates elaboration on a general scale, the way Frenchie angles his leg to show his wound off has him biting back the urge to cringe. He's seen some nasty stuff since really taking this "time-travelling historian" thing seriously, but never on someone that he's felt any kind of fondness for.

Not that it's profound or anything, whatever bond he's formed with Frenchie. Marty just thinks he's a bit more fun than the usual bozos in the time-space continuum, is all.

Reaching out, he brushes guitar-roughened fingers over the scar tissue. "You really got some awful meaning for 'usual', don't ya, Frenchie?"

The nonchalance, after all, gives him away.

"What the hell happened?"

@outatimes asked: “you didn’t have this scar the last time i saw you… what happened?” @ frenchie :-)

Frenchie probably had a new scar nearly every time he went out. But then he remembered Marty wasn’t someone that had known about this. He was pretty new to their strange little group. He was going to have to be ready for the amount of blood he was going to see. Theirs, his own or the other guys. Depended on the day and what Billy had them going into. They could get into a lot of crazy shit. Butcher could really drag them down into the worst things. Yet he was still here. Still doing whatever the other man told him to. Kimiko was not thrilled about that, but Frenchie knew that in the situation they were in, they needed someone here.

Looking towards the other man’s gaze Frenchie saw the scar he was talking about. Oh yeah that one. Yeah, that one was kind of new, wasn’t it? He nearly forgot about it. They all kind of blurred together after a while. He had some that had nothing to do with the Boys here. Some had to do with Little Nina. He really hoped they weren’t going to be seeing any time soon, plenty came from his father and of course he was fighting supes. He had a few from this line of work.

“That’s right. You weren’t here for that one.” He picked up his leg to give him a better look at it. “It looks worse than it might be.” A bit of a little bit of a lie. But he wasn’t trying to scare the guy. That wasn’t going to be very nice. Frenchie wondered if he was going to buy that though. The scar looked pretty nasty. But again, for him it kind of blended in with all the ones he had. Just this leg didn’t have too many noticeable ones.

“Usual trouble.”