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Summary
“M-Martyn? What’re you– I mean. Ahem. What-eth be-est thou doing here, strange peasant?”
Blinking innocently, Martyn looked over his shoulder, and went up onto his tiptoes – to reach the next level of the bookshelves with his duster, yes, but also to make his skirt ride up a little. He was wearing garters underneath the maid dress and pinafore, to hold his thigh-high socks up, and he figured Ren might appreciate a little flash. “Oh! Hello, milord. Did Bdubs not tell you he’d hired me to clean the Crastle?"