[IC] Help the OC above you clean

"Ooh, Mrs Rocky, these things are pretty heavy," Destiny said, lifting up a couple of items off of the floor. "They're pretty cool though!" Destiny walked over to a nearby couch, sitting all the stuff down from her hands. She couldn't exactly put them in the trash, since Rochester said so. They didn't look useful at all, they all looked worn out and old. Nevertheless, the child shook it off. 

Picking up some small items that were hidden in the closet, Destiny sat them down on the nearby table. One of the artifacts caught her eye and she started to focus on that instead of her actual task. "Mrs Rocky, your toys are pretty fun! Can i keep them? Please?"

Despite the helk having a somewhat busy schedule, she was a good cleaner. "Give me those books so I can put them on the shelf, you're too little to reach." Andrea told Destiny, patting her head. The hybrid got some boxes, she inserted the toys that Destiny had left over on the floor. Andrea had swept the floor, some dust is exposed into the air, while Destiny was sorting the books by genre on the lower level of the shelf. "We're almost done, I don't clean that much, but I'm very impressed about the efforts we each out on cleaning." The helk said with a smile, they made last minute fixes where she found the little spots of mess. After roughly 40-50 of cleaning, Destiny and Andrea had successfully cleaned the estate, the shelves looking neat, and properly sorted boxes of toys. "Yes! Doggo and Destiny showed teamwork of cleaning!" Andrea said, she was excited because she was able to move around more.

"Don't act like this all new territory," Nathaniel started to laugh. He sat on his barstool, in front of his greasy mirror and sink. In his hand he held a cloth. Glimmering with some kind of salt. "Tooth-powder."
Nathaniel showed the Helk the rough handkerchief.
"You can't leave my bar with a breath like that. People are going to think I'm serving rat-poison in here," he joked. It wasn't the rat-poison that made the other's breath have a 'particular odor' it was the whisky. The home-brewed moonshine.

"It's simple," Nathaniel explained as he lifted up the cloth and held it in front of his own face. "You just brush that powder over your teeth," he instructed. While making a rubbing motion with the cloth. "Make sure you hit every cranny and back. And when you're done you spit it out. Then rinse your mouth with water." Nathaniel handed her the cloth. That reeked of mint and morris root.
"Easy as pie," Nathaniel said. He plucked his beard. "You feel a lot better afterward. Believe me," the harpooner continued. Then laughed.
"I've been drunk enough times, to know."
--

Please rate him 5 stars on Air BnB En.. His business is dying

     En cleaned the spilled drinks and glass shards off the bar's counter. It was an ironic situation, he'd first come here to kill Nate and prove to himself that he wasn't weak, and now he was helping him clean; he'd basically been employed by the man. If it were anyone else, he would have been disgusted by this fact, thinking that he'd allowed his weak mind to be charmed and manipulated. But-- as he tossed the rag into a bin he picked up a broom, he glanced over at the harpooner-- Nate was different.
     That man, he had the same hatred En had. There was a disdain, a fury, for higher beings. For him, it was magic and something called the Void; for En, it was gods. Just how different, exactly, were the two? They both had the powers they hated so much, as well, but as Nate had said, it gave them the ability to strike down their opponents. To strike down those that stood on their high horses so arrogantly...
     En glanced back down at the floor, sweeping away glass shards and shrapnel from broken chairs and tables. It must have been a nasty bar fight. Would more come? Either way, he didn't mind cleaning it up if it meant learning more about Nate and his powers.
     For once, he found himself... relaxed. Even at the cost of becoming a janitor.

You can reply to him, his good self, or his older self! Both good and older are pretty clumsy so they spill/drop a lot of things; evil would probably be cleaning his swords, or his pets (a bird and a cat).

"Just keep your hands still," Salvador said he leaned over her hand. Wrinkled his nose and cracked the oil lamp higher. With a small cloth, drenched in disinfected, Salvador rubbed the clay and mud from the small scraps on Brown's fingers. Digging came with a cost. The wounds were small. But still Salvador guessed that the disinfection would sting like hell. "I know you do not care about those wounds." Pause. "Yourself," he added. In his usual monotone voice.
"But I do," he said. "You can get infections. Especially here," Salvador said. He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Drakenburg is filthy."
An understatement. Dying from a small infection wasn't out of the norm. Salvador cleaned up the small wound. Then removed his glove.
"Really keep still now," he said. Shooting her a look. Salvador gently pressed his thumb on one of the wounds. He rubbed over the skin. Salvador lifted his thumb and the scrap was no more. He smiled. Weak and miserable. Then pressed his thumb on the next wound. And the next. Before he knew it Brown's hand looked whole again. Only the dried mud and blood caked to her nails betrayed that she'd been outside. The Imp leaned back. He studied his handiwork.
"looks possible." Not elaborating on what he meant with that.

"Just be careful out there," he said. As he finally got up from Brown's kitchen-chair. He put his glove back on. "Poor hand-hygiene is not something to laugh at."

--
Np: Please help this man clean his dorm. He also collects model-trains. His clothes can be dirty, so is his hair and dental. (As he's poor and needs to share his bathroom with 20+ other Krakers). You can also try and wash Geit.

Raphael hated having chores to do. He wasn't a cook, and he wasn't a maid, and in fact, he... totally forgot how to even wash clothes after seventeen years of not bothering with it whatsoever. Still, for the blond-stached man he had grown slightly and unexpectedly fond of -- mostly for the similarity, because, hey, Raphael was a wee bit narcissistic -- he would do it.

He, however, looked like a lost child as he hovered over the basin of cold water. He scratched at his collarbone now and then, to the point where a red mark had formed around his neck. He didn't get it.

"You being lowborn, I'd think you'd do this all the time." ..He hoped Salvador was lowborn, anyway. If he caught wind of the other half of the younger man's bloodline, perhaps he'd change his tune, but for now, he fumbled with the pants in his hands. Pants hands. "I'm sure your boss makes you do it, anyway. It feels like he'd shove a bundle of laundry into your hands about twice a week. Thrice, maybe."

And with that, he shoved the pants under the water. The muck from the fabric dissipated into the bath, pigmenting it into a soft brown. Raphael made a face as he soaked the clothing into the cool, soapy water, gently swishing it about... And then pulling it out and twisting it. Fun fact, you're not supposed to twist fabric while hand-washing them.

"Pretty sure it needs more detergent." Raphael said, sounding miffed. "I didn't bring enough with me, I don't think. Surely you've got the soap to spare, anyway... And more water, because, well, this is... pretty damn awful. The water's already dirty. How do you people even do this?"

Sorry for being useless, Salvador!

for np: raphael's just an asshole who doesn't really like to clean that much! he doesn't consider it his job to clean and usually just makes his ratty not-child do it for him, but... your character shall be subjected to this torment now. his room and/or office are horrific, dusty, cluttered, and etc. have fun.

Xander gently rubbed Archivolt’s nose. The warmth, radiating from the horse his breath, made his fingers tingle.
“Och, sir, these days are horrible for horse riding,” he told Raphael. Before gesturing at the other’s horse. It had snowed days ago and the horse-trails had become a cocktail of snow, mud and dung. A goo that splattered if you ride over it.
“I don’t mind helping you clean him up,” he suggested. Xander smiled. Being around horses always made him feel, younger. His parents had been pelt merchants (and Xander’s profile is hopelessly outdated). Xander had always been around horses. Horses and travelling. He rode horseback before he could even talk.
The old singer picked up one of Biscuit’s brushes and started to clean out Archivolt’s mane. The stable smelled nice. It smelled of hay and melting snow. It felt safe. Warm too. But Xander couldn’t shake the tension between him and Raphael.

“I admire you, for the risks you take,” Xander said. Breaking the silence between them. He gently patted the horse’s nose once more before he continued. “I, if I may be so honest sir, wouldn’t know what I would do in your shoes,” he said. “A revolution,” he breathed. “I am not sure if it ever comes to one here in Krettwick… I am not sure if I want one,” Xander said. He frowned as he spoke. Then started to unsaddle the cremello. The smell of horse-sweat made Xander’s lips twist and his nose wrinkle. Ugh, it was one of the few things he hated about the beasts. He dusted the sweat pearls from the horse’s back.
“What is it you’re fighting for?” he asked. Xander looked over the horse’s back and eyed Raphael curiously. “Are you fighting for your people? Or…For yourself? Ah, sir I do get that it sounds like I…. Misplace your intentions,” Xander’s gaze directly fell back onto the horse he helped clean. He picked up the brush again, “It’s something I..Wonder about myself, sir.” The singer pressed his lips in a straight line. “It’s something I try and justify for myself. That my ‘rebelious’,” Xander couldn’t help but huff at that word, “actions is something that helps us. Not just me.” The singer paused his brushing. “The Emperor forbids that our traditions, our tales, are used in theater and in song. I… Disobey him. You see sir, I want to keep my culture alive. But I’m not sure, if I’m doing this for myself… Or for my culture.”
--

Xander this entire encounter, please safe him (that's his "I look like my horse face?' even though Anatole is right)

Anatole was hardly the helpful sort, which is why his assistance came at the cost of employment. More specicially, his father had employed him to be more helpful. With the threat of his bloodline dying out without an heir, the old man was becoming more insistent with his expectations. Expectations that included his sons being helpful and upstanding members of the community, at least until they were respectable enough to marry. Every day Anatole prayed that one of his brothers would have a happy accident and tie the knot before the responsibility ultimately fell on him by process of elimination. For now, however, he was safe and only burdened with the responsibility of making friends. He decides to start with the first person he sees while out on a stroll.

"Hello, sir! Your horse is disgusting!" He stops a stout and unfamiliar man in his tracks, solely to deliver that comment. He assumes the two had just returned from some sort of travelling, or perhaps they were currently passing through town. In any event, the details weren't important. All Anatole needed from the stranger was to complete his act of good citizenship, which didn't extend to his manners. In his defense, his initial assement of the animal wasn't wrong--it did desperately need a bath, and he was here to be helpful.

"Strange, you two look alike..." he blurts out suddenly, before snapping his fingers in a moment of revelation, "but he could look better! Let me groom him for you, or don't, if you like him that way." He shrugs, unconcerned with whether or not the other man accepts his offer. The point was to say he tried, and it wasn't like he was eager to spend his afternoon cleaning a horse.

For np, maybe you could help him do laundry or organize his jewelery? He doesn't actually have a house since he just imposes his presence on everyone he meets wheeze...Maybe you're cleaning your house and regretting letting him live there? Anything goes tbh just have fun (: