[fucking trench, indeed. fitz lets out a short, barking huff of laughter before limping his way over to the chair that viktor indicates, wincing with each step. nighteyes, after giving the pink thing one more inquisitive sniff, ghosts along behind him.]

Suppose it could have been worse, [he concedes the obvious with a shrug, then eases himself down onto the chair with his left leg held out as though he is physically incapable of bending it at the knee joint anymore. which. is precisely what the trouble is.] Would've had a miserable time clawing my way out of the sea if this had happened while we were still in the water.

[he reaches down to grasp the hem of his trouser leg to ease it up above his knee and--well. let's just say that if fitz wasn't in possession of a vileblood's natural resistance to pain, this case of lockjoint around his knee would undoubtedly be bad enough that putting any weight on it would be unendurable.]

I've tried to keep it warm, but, [a grim look of resignation follows,] if you can't save the leg, I'd prefer to lose it below the joint.

[just so viktor has an idea of what fitz came here expecting to experience today.]