1868 sounds like forever ago. Sure, Marty's seen 1886, but he's also seen that even twenty-ish years can bring a million and one changes. Judging from Jacob's accent, he probably isn't even American, and while he doesn't look surprised, he certainly looks like he's got a lot to process nevertheless.
Even if his expression contorts in a wince as the thorn is pulled out of his leg.
The strange feeling of something stuck in him fades, but it's replaced with a dull ache around the close vicinity of the wound. It flares up into serious pain once Jacob pours the alcohol over it-- pain that has Marty's free hand coming up to press the side of his fist to his mouth-- but with a flare of the nostrils as he inhales, he calms himself down.
Gently, and with a crooked smile on his mouth as he dips his head, Marty says, "Thanks."
Once the fiery feeling fades, the leftover throb is small. Marty looks down to give his exposed wound a proper look, and he finds with some curiosity that each beat of pain matches with the drool of blood down his leg. Whoa.
"Y'know," he starts, his breathing coming a little steadier now, "now that you've worked your magic, I'm less worried about the wound and more about my jeans." Because, God, now that he looks at it, they're freakin' drenched. With blood!
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Even if his expression contorts in a wince as the thorn is pulled out of his leg.
The strange feeling of something stuck in him fades, but it's replaced with a dull ache around the close vicinity of the wound. It flares up into serious pain once Jacob pours the alcohol over it-- pain that has Marty's free hand coming up to press the side of his fist to his mouth-- but with a flare of the nostrils as he inhales, he calms himself down.
Gently, and with a crooked smile on his mouth as he dips his head, Marty says, "Thanks."
Once the fiery feeling fades, the leftover throb is small. Marty looks down to give his exposed wound a proper look, and he finds with some curiosity that each beat of pain matches with the drool of blood down his leg. Whoa.
"Y'know," he starts, his breathing coming a little steadier now, "now that you've worked your magic, I'm less worried about the wound and more about my jeans." Because, God, now that he looks at it, they're freakin' drenched. With blood!
"That's so gonna stain..."