He was old, frail and dying. He had been, all of his life, doing for himself. Just because he was on his deathbed did not mean he couldn’t help himself. If his body was to waste away, then he would allow it. He just wanted some sort of feeling of life and power, if only in the simplest of things. Pissing was one of those. On that thought, Ace turned his head away from the doorway and looked rather defiantly at the just out of reach chamber pot. He sighed in frustration, and reached out with all his might to grab its iron handle. Luckily it was empty, but his finger tips could just barely reach it. He cursed himself, and his laggard of a chambermaid. He tried many times, until the feeling of wetting himself became too strong.