Community Service

Despite common misconception, Randall Ascot understood the value of hard work. He’d been born into an affluent family, but at the price of a workaholic father who abhorred fun. As a student, he’d been diligent (in archaeology lessons, at least) and as a farmer he’d spent years toiling away in the fields of Craggy Dale. On Firth’s farm there were enough chores to keep him busy from dusk till dawn. Randall liked to believe all that effort had built up his arm muscles...  
Yet, at the moment his arms felt like they were going to fall off. The redhead grunted as he swept across the shopping district with a large brush. What was he thinking when he tried to bury Monte d’Or in sand? He was sick of sand. He never wanted to see another speck of sand until the day he died, which was unfortunate considering Monte d’Or was in the desert.
This was his punishment for his crimes as the Masked Gentleman. One hundred solid hours of community service. Rather than send Randall to prison, Henry had pulled some strings with the authorities, as well as some unsavoury bribes. Henry hadn’t waited eighteen years only for his friend to be taken away. However, it was universally agreed that Randall would have to repair much of the damage he’d done.
Vandalism, disruption, terrorising. Perhaps he’d been a puppet in the true conspirator’s plan, but Randall still had a lot to atone for. At least Henry and Angela (and even Dalston, to some degree) were rooting for him. He would restore Monte d’Or, and his virtue, for them! No matter how many streets he had to sweep!
...That’s what Randall told himself, until he saw Henry, on his way back from his nice cosy office at the Reunion Inn.
“Henry!” Randall gasped. He dropped his brush to grab the blonde man’s shoulders. “H-how long has it been...?”                                          
Henry glanced at his watch. “You’ve been working for three hours, Master Randall.”
“Only three hours?” Randall groaned, sagging against him.
“Surely you’re not exhausted already?” Henry steadied Randall and appraised him worriedly. “I was just about to head home, but if you prefer, I can help you—“  
“Would you?” Randall asked sweetly.
“Of course,” Henry nodded.
Some nearby civilians saw the esteemed Henry Ledore assisting with the clean-up operation, and they decided to follow his example. Randall was amazed; Monte d’Or may have been signed in his name, but until Henry appeared not one person had volunteered to lend him a hand. It proved that people followed Henry not because he demanded attention, but because he was loyal, earnest and noble. Even as a timid teenager, he had always been that way. While Henry had completed his duties as quietly as a mouse, Randall had roamed around Stansbury like a proud lion, expecting all to marvel at him.
Neither of them had truly changed, yet it was clear who garnered more respect these days.
Henry noticed Randall was staring at him and cleared his throat. “Is everything alright, Master Randall?”    
“What? Yeah, I’m fine...” Randall stopped leaning on his brush handle to look up and down the street. With the volunteers’ aid, they’d managed to clear enough sand so that the road was visible again. Even Henry seemed content with the clean-up.  
“Thank you all for your support,” Henry told the citizens as they went on their merry way, pleased to have received Mr Ledore’s acknowledgement. (Randall thought he even recognised Drake the casino owner grinning from ear to ear when Henry waved at him.)
Randall smiled at Henry. “They all really admire you. And who can blame them? You’re always busy and work so hard.”
“Th-thank you, Master Randall.”  
“No, Henry. Thank YOU.”