There's a reason they're called chores, Albert. [Franz sighs, shaking his head.] An alarmingly large portion of Earth's population grows up doing them.

[Franz grew up in a modest household compared to Albert's, even while his father lived. When his father died, the estate started hemorrhaging money, a situation that was more or less beyond repair by the time Franz was old enough to partially take on baronial duties. They kept on the aging cook and butler mostly for his mother's sake and because their families had been associated for ears. That is why he knew how to cook and how to look after himself. It is not the sort of thing he speaks of Albert about, of course]

I'm really having fun imagining you ironing and patching up your clothes, though. Did you start any fires? Require any visits to the medbay?