JP looked around the room as the water was still pumping in from the hose. The electronics might have been immediately moved from harm's way but when he'd crashed down on the table by accident, his other stuff was on the floor now, slowly getting soaked. He was dismayed to see that some of his books were getting wet. He reached out with one hand and created a table that lifted the books off the ground and with his other hand, he created a small tube that he stuffed down the front of the hose and wrapped it around the top so that it stopped spewing water into his room, not really thinking about how that might cause a backlog further up the pipe.
The books looked like they were drenched, the mattress was wet, his bedframe was broken... his room was ruined and Marshall was standing there looking bored and like butter wouldn't melt?
No.
"I wasn't recruited at all," JP pointed out. "I was arrested and forced into a black SUV at gunpoint, and told that for the crime of being born I could either join this private army or I could go to jail."
He pressed his lips together. "So I wasn't recruited to be an agent. As a kid, I was taken away from my family and forced into being a soldier in a private fucking army for callous assholes who really don't give two shits about us or any of our things."
Wet clothes were making him shiver. He could feel goosebumps crawling over his skin.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You're not Master Yoda, I've forgotten my training? What is this, Dagoba?"
He scrubbed his hand over his face, which hurt a little from where he'd hit the floor after being turfed out of his bed. "Are you gonna replace this stuff? Or does this come out of my check?"
If Marshall wasn't going to leave, there was sure as hell no way he was getting changed in front of this dude and he wasn't leaving his room in sodden, soaking wet clothes.