Salaì was pushing the thick-bristled brush back and forth across the floor when Filippo opened the door and stepped inside. It was an odd sight for Filippo; the assassin apprentice almost started in surprise. Salaì's rusty-colored curls were pulled back into a ponytail, he was barefoot, and he was dressed in worn under clothes.

And he was cleaning the floor with the same vigor with which he gambled.

Brow twitching, Salaì paused and glanced up. "I can't play today," he said, his voice sounding tight with bitterness. And then he went back to pushing the brush across the floor.

Filippo wasn't sure what to say at first. After a moment, he finally managed a, "I never thought I'd see the day when Princess Salaì became Cinderella."

Salaì's face washed with flatness. "You have your master to thank for that," he said through the rsh-rsh of the brush.

Interest peeked, Filippo tilted his head. "Maestro? Why would you be cleaning Leonardo's floor for—"

Out of the shadows of the cornered alcove, Ezio melted suddenly into view with his arms crossed over the broad armor of his chest. He offered Filippo a questioning raise of his brow. "Did you come to distract Salaì from his chores?"

"Master!" Filippo started, but his expression rapidly changed to something sheepish and apologetic. "I would never try to take Salaì away from his chores!"

"Whose side are you on?" Salaì piped up, having stopped his cleaning. He narrowed his eyes at Filippo, and looked just like a woman who had been left out of a tea party. "You're supposed to be helping me get out of doing this! Work some charm!"

Looking uncertain, Filippo glanced back at Ezio. The assassin master leveled Filippo with a challenging gaze, but didn't budge from his place or uncross his arms.

"Ah, Master…" said Filippo, twirling two index fingers with thought, eyes looking down. "You know how terribly fragile Princess Salaì is and how horrible he wrinkles—he already has so many on his face, would you put more on his hands? Perhaps you should allow him to stop for today…"

Ten minutes later, Salaì looked up from scrubbing the floor and glared. Filippo sheepishly grinned from his own place on the floor, though he didn't stop pushing the brush.

"Very good, idiota," Salaì hissed. "Now we're both stuck doing chores."

"Perhaps it'll work off some of the weight you've gained," Filippo teased under his breath, and he was decidedly happy when Salaì looked down-right annoyed.

A few seconds later, Salaì was trying to scrub the wet brush against Filippo's cheek. The assassin apprentice jerked back and shot the other a look. Salaì grinned.