The Amell Estate, for lack of a better description, was a dusty, musty, cobweb-filled wreck. The previous occupants had been atrocious housekeepers, even for slavers. Marian stood with the mop held at her side like her halberd. She scanned the tiles of the floor, a general surveying the battlefield to determine the best plan of attack. The front door to the estate was open, both to let the early spring breezes in, and also to air out the smell.
Leandra was negotiating with Bodhan Feddic to get a maid or two to help with the day-to-day maintenance of the estate once they had it cleaned out and ready to live in, but there was no way she was allowing the neighbors to know that the inside of the estate had fallen into such a state. It fell to Leandra, Marian, and whomever was willing to come over and help clean to get the house back into shape to allow workmen in to repair the wood panelling and other cosmetic things her mother had prattled on about.
Thus far, only Fenris had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to help with cleaning the estate. Merrill had a legitimate excuse for not showing up, of course. Even with Aveline attempting to weed the bad eggs out of the ranks of the guard, Dalish elves attempting to enter Hightown had a fifty-fifty chance of being rolled and having their possessions confiscated. Aveline and Varric were working. Anders was probably at the clinic, the only thing keeping a plague from breaking out in the Darktown population. Isabela was probably at the Blooming Rose, burning her way through her share of the expedition earnings. To be fair, Marian didn't really want Isabela anywhere near the family estate, just in case they stumbled on something valuable. It had been hard enough to keep Isabela from nicking from her coin purse when it had been empty.
Carver had helped them the day before since it was his off-day, joining Fenris and Marian in breaking down rickety, molding furniture and hauling it into the overgrown back courtyard of the estate. When the overgrown bramble of bushes and vines back there was tamed, it would all be burned a bit at a time and tilled into the garden soil when needed.
The tiles of the floor had smears in the layer of grit from the previous day. Marian eyed the filth, wondering if she needed to add more soap to the water bucket. You never knew when muck of dubious provenance would have something greasy or oily in it, after all.
"This is not what I expected to be dealing with when I joined you, Hawke." A shadow fell through the open front door of the estate.
"And good morning to you, too, Fenris! You mean you didn't dream of heroically attacking years of dirt and filth caked on a Hightown estate floor? Your blood isn't pumping at the thought of taking a scrub brush to the corners? Would you leave me here to face this all by myself?" Marian put her wrist to her forehead, then flung her head back dramatically as Fenris rolled his eyes at her, "Who will save me from this fate? Oh, sweet Maker!"
"Are you quite finished?"
"For now." Marian nodded at the broom set to the side of the door. "You get to try and sweep the cobwebs out of the corners. If you find any live spiders, I don't want to know. Get rid of them with extreme prejudice."
A corner of Fenris's mouth twitched. "You are not fond of spiders?"
"Have you seen spiders? Nasty, hairy, long-legged things with too many eyes and those little things on their mouths!" She made little hooks with her fingers and wriggled them in front of her mouth. "Carver used to threaten to throw them in my hair to get me to stop picking on him."
"When was the last time he did that?"
"Let's see… last Tuesday, I think?"
The corner of Fenris's mouth twitched again, and he turned away to 'cough'.
"Well," He took up the broom and gave her a low bow, "I will remove the spider invaders from your new home then, Hawke."
The tiles shone in the late afternoon light, and Marian slid across them in her woolen socks. Turning to Fenris with a grin, she lifted a foot and wiggled her toes, "The benefits of socks over wraps. Just don't tell Mother I did that, or she'll start on one of her lectures on how I'm supposed to act like a highborn lady now."
"Has your mother ever met you, Hawke? You were not meant to be the kind of highborn lady that sits in a drawing room. I think you would go mad." Fenris munched on a sandwich of cold sliced beef and an Ostwicker hard cheese.
"I would. My sister would have loved it, though." Marian cleared her throat, determined not to cry over Bethany in front of Fenris. "I'll just have to carry on as I have, but with better armor. Mother will learn to live with it eventually."
"Mmm. I'll be happy to join you for it, Hawke. Just one thing I have to make clear."
"What'd that be, Fenris?"
"I do not do windows, Hawke, so don't even ask."