Amanda used an old, tattered broom to sweep the sand off her living room floor. She'd "cleaned" up a bit the day before, trying to make the place look respectable for her guest, but then she'd gone sea diving and come home with sand in her boots. It had gotten everywhere. Not that she normally cared about such things, but she had to at least put the effort in.
She swept the sand out the front door, leaving it on the front step. She set the broom aside next to the door, then looked the place over. Her house had a main room that served as both living room and dining room, with a half-wall separating it from the kitchen on the far side. The smell of grilling fish wafted through the house; she'd caught fresh fish herself to serve with the brunch, along with freshly picked fruit, and some bread and pastries she'd traded in the market for. She'd even sprung for a jug of wine--not the pansy stuff the rich folk drank, the good stuff they made down at the docks.
The walls were decorated with items she had salvaged from various wrecks over the years: a pair of harpoons hung across each other with a fishing net hanging from them, an antique mirror with only a few small cracks in the glass, the steering wheel from an old merchant's sailing ship, and some other odds and ends. Up beyond the living room was an open loft where Amanda slept, with a few old dressers on one side and a woven hammock hanging from the other.
Amanda put her hands on her hips, looking around. She gave a small nod. The place looked as good as it ever did. Good enough for a guest for brunch, at least.
She swept the sand out the front door, leaving it on the front step. She set the broom aside next to the door, then looked the place over. Her house had a main room that served as both living room and dining room, with a half-wall separating it from the kitchen on the far side. The smell of grilling fish wafted through the house; she'd caught fresh fish herself to serve with the brunch, along with freshly picked fruit, and some bread and pastries she'd traded in the market for. She'd even sprung for a jug of wine--not the pansy stuff the rich folk drank, the good stuff they made down at the docks.
The walls were decorated with items she had salvaged from various wrecks over the years: a pair of harpoons hung across each other with a fishing net hanging from them, an antique mirror with only a few small cracks in the glass, the steering wheel from an old merchant's sailing ship, and some other odds and ends. Up beyond the living room was an open loft where Amanda slept, with a few old dressers on one side and a woven hammock hanging from the other.
Amanda put her hands on her hips, looking around. She gave a small nod. The place looked as good as it ever did. Good enough for a guest for brunch, at least.
