It was always around this time in the afternoon when his leg started aching. Not just where the prosthetic pinched or the scarring chaffed, but lower than that. Where his shin used to be. His limping gait became more pronounced and he became more and more irascible.
He leaned against a barrel and rubbed at his thigh around the straps to try and ease the feeling. That did fuck all but get his finger a sharp pinch. He stomped his hoof abruptly on the deck and startled Frenchie awake from his nap.
"At least dodge work somewhere fucking secret," he seethed, looking around for something to throw and coming up empty. Frenchie wisely decided that was his cue to escape before any projectiles were found.
Dragging himself up onto the barrel, he worked the straps of his leg open carefully and drew the prosthesis off to lean it carefully within reach. Wee John had shortened his trousers leg for him and the end was tucked neatly around his stump as a bit of extra cushion. Izzy rolled it up now to expose the area to some air and rub gingerly at the sore parts in the hope that it would ease the phantom pain.
