"Oh? Lord Gargon is going to tend to this tea house himself?" Oliver asked. The idea amused him, seeing the stern and easily angered Gargon walking around in an apron, offering tea to his patrons.
But Gras quickly quashed those expectations, looking at him as though he were mad. "No, ser. It would be frowned upon for nobility to tend to the store himself. Especially a Lordling. I don't know the details, but I am sure he will hire someone."
"And he pays you for this, then?"
"A silver each, ser, for ten days work. It's fair money, especially for the experience we get doing it. The Lord Gargon is a generous man."
"Hm… And yet, there are arguments to be had, it seems," Oliver gestured with his head to the boy. He'd fallen, and wet his uniform from the damp snow. He was a mixture between infuriated – at what Gras had done to him – and terrified, as a noble stared him down.
Gras flinched. "It was nothing… ser."
