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[ Wait, yo, wait, he can do this on his—! All Jesse manages is his mouth opening in protest as the pitcher is tugged out of his hand. But what can he say, especially when he has to focus on the water being suddenly poured onto his foot. He darts it into place over the bowl, biting back a small hiss around a self-reproaching sigh huffing out of him. And so, reluctant obedience, turning his foot this way and that. The unexpectedness of it all, where Jesse was instead anticipating being berated, subdues him into sheepish obedience, and when the guy lugs the pitcher onto the table, Jesse looks quickly over to him. ]

Hey, you—? Look, I... I got it, it's cool, man, just relax. Take it easy. [ Reaching for the pitcher, leaning in to peer with a startled grimace. ] Jesus... Man, you okay? The hell happened?