Okay!

You say generic, I say classic.

[Iggy is completely unperturbed by the smacking. He lets himself be guided along, radiating the energy of a happy purse dog.]

Oh, I love a man who can take charge. Nothing weird, I promise.

[He sits on the bench Eddie directs him to, putting his hands between his knees and regarding Eddie with lively interest.

His head wound is just a scalp laceration a bit past his temple. It's scabbed over, leaving his hair in that area stiff with blood.

More dangerouly, the black goo from the boxcar lurks at the nape of his neck.]

What's your accent, Eddie?