“When was the last time I’ve been stuck with dish duty?” he mumbles to himself, dutifully bringing the tray to the water basin. Best let Vena get to her business while he tries to ignore any stares he got at the scullery.

Memories of his first home surface in his mind. Feed the chickens, cook the meals, clean the dishes… Gambino had always been so high and mighty, making sure he knew he had to earn his his stay when he could barely lift a sword. Thankless, domestic work. Killing and the money it brought was the only thing that brought kind words on him.

Cleaning wasn’t so bad, though. A bit boring, maybe. It was easy to fall in a distracting meditative state, once he got into the scrubbing. Compared to the grime and muck of his job, it hardly churned his stomach. And what’s not to like about having something nice and spotless at the end?