A very, very grumpy Marty stumbles his way into the penthouse; you can thank pain medicines for that. He's groggy, a little bit of a space cadet, and irritated to hell because the stupid doctor said no guitar for a few weeks. That's like telling Marty not to breathe.
He flops down on a nearby chair, folding his arms rather crossly. "I can't play for two weeks. What good am I gonna be to you guys when I can't play?" He looks to Rarity, then to Meril and Greg, giving them the most desperate look he can manage. "But I can try, right? I can strum with this hand!"
Marty lifts up his arm with a bright red cast going from his fingers to his elbows. Totally useful, Marty.
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A very, very grumpy Marty stumbles his way into the penthouse; you can thank pain medicines for that. He's groggy, a little bit of a space cadet, and irritated to hell because the stupid doctor said no guitar for a few weeks. That's like telling Marty not to breathe.
He flops down on a nearby chair, folding his arms rather crossly. "I can't play for two weeks. What good am I gonna be to you guys when I can't play?" He looks to Rarity, then to Meril and Greg, giving them the most desperate look he can manage. "But I can try, right? I can strum with this hand!"
Marty lifts up his arm with a bright red cast going from his fingers to his elbows. Totally useful, Marty.