A/N: I forgot this in Ch: 1, so Emil - Iceland, Lukas - Norway, Mathias - Denmark

And the story's title actually was supposed to be "The (un)pleasantries of life, but since FFNet doesn't like brackets in titles, and I didn't notice until it was too late, we're now stuck with that. But you still get the point I guess.

It was worse than I expected, and yet at the same time, it wasn't the worst that could have happened.

I grimaced as I limped through the streets of the town, it was sometime during the early hours of the morning, and everyone was in their homes sleeping. Well everyone except me, who held a hand to his throbbing backside, while carefully trying to avoid too much movement.

The first nights had been the worst. My first customer apparently hat paid a high price on me to be the one to shatter my innocence. He was even what you can consider gentle, at least he tried to. In the end he just mindlessly rammed away into me, grunting and heaving like a dying whale. Whatever that is, a whale.

After that, I couldn't walk at all, being new into this kind of thing; I could feel every muscle, every inch of overstretched tissue. That night he was my only customer, and the patron left it at that, since he got a very good deal out of me, and so did I. At least that's what I tried to tell me, while lying on my stomach and being fussed over by some of the brothel's other employees. Somehow the female workers, I refused to call them and me whores now, had taken a liking to me and they would shower me with affections and gifts. To them I wasn't a threat, so they could live out their neglected mother instincts on me or something like that.

The few other male employees, at least those who sold their bodies, eyed me with suspicion and even envy. I was new, I was young and they saw me as a threat to their popularity.

But due to my shyness, and still highly effective unwillingness to perform my duties, I didn't attract as much customers as I could. During opening hours I mostly sat somewhere in the lounge that was used as kind of socializing platform, where customers were greeted and could interact and ultimately choose from the present boys and girls. That's what the patron liked to call his whores, his boys and his girls.

I wasn't exactly unfriendly, I mainly just sat there and tried to hide in the cushions of the grand sofa I always ended up sitting on. The girls always dragged me with them, draped me there in the middle of the plushy red velvety sofa, squeezed in between sweet smelling bodies covered in powder and brushed against silky dresses. That was about the only way I got customers after all, because occasionally one of the girls would lure a customer into that tangled web of seduction and push him onto me. When that happened I tried my best to not appear displeased, but I couldn't bring myself to be as flirtatious and seductive as the girls were. So some of the customers retreated after the futile attempt of Smalltalk and getting me to smile and whatsoever, but some would stay and take me upstairs in one of the many prepared rooms, ever one themed with some kind of fetish or color scenario.

Have I mentioned that this brothel actually was a very high class establishment which put much effort into taste and atmosphere? Well looking from the outside and at the people who were customers, you would never have guessed.

But no matter how tasteful the bedrooms were decorated, the act itself still repulsed me. So the few customers who would actually pay for my services would drag me there, some being all nice and careful and gentle, some of them even to the end, and some being rough and almost brutal, while getting on from my pained moans. Of course there were rules, spanking and light hitting was allowed, as were certain forms of restraining and blindfolding, but everything that went past that would cost extra and had to be negotiated separately. And damage to the property was severely punished, the offending customer had to pay for the whole time the injured person couldn't work and most often was forbidden from entering ever again. To enforce those rules the brothel had a staff of securities that would round up everyone who dared to cause trouble. But unfortunately for me, a bleeding asshole wasn't classified as damage, since it was regarded as part of the job.

So I had let the girls fuss and fawn over me whenever my ass was bleeding, which happened less and less over the time, and every time my backside hurt, which happened every time. But my lack of performance not only in the lounge while luring customers in, but also in the bedrooms, where I mostly would just lie there and wait for the deed to be done, sooner or later attracted the attention of the patron.

The patron a big intimidating man with impending baldness that day summoned me in his study, where he dealt with everything business-related. I was nervous, as I carefully knocked on his door and entered upon his barked "Yes". The room was rather small, dominated by the giant oak desk and the man looming behind it. I had been here once before, while we negotiated the terms for work here. He was intimidating as ever.

"Lukas" he said with that careful pronounced voice of his, "I hear you have difficulties… fitting in…" The way he said that made me shiver involuntarily. That man was no one to mess with.

"What do you mean?" I managed to ask with a surprisingly calm voice. His smile, as small as it was, vanished. My heart rate dropped at that, and I immediately regretted my words. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, "you're new here, so I give a chance. Your looks are after all speaking for you." He paused for a moment and looked me over. "And after a bit of grooming you really exhibit some class. But the way you're acting… or rather non-acting, is an insult on the good image of this house." "Sir, I…" I dared to reply, but was cut short.

"I won't take your excuses, the only excuse I accept, are your actions." I didn't like how he pronounced the word actions; there were just too many implications with that word that I didn't want to think of. "You have to interact with customers on your own accord; don't just hide behind the girls. You have to seduce them, to service them, you have to be more open, do you understand?" Before I could react, he resumed speaking. "I only say this once, if you aren't capable to provide a bit of entertainment to your clients, then you aren't of worth for us. Have I made myself clear?"

I nodded, my voice was somewhere down my throat and refused to come up. He raised an eyebrow at me, and somehow I managed to squeak out a "Yes, sir"

"Good, now go home, tomorrow I want to see improvements."

Thinking of that encounter, send a shiver down my spine. I had reached the door of our little house at the other side of town, far away from the brothel. The words of the patron swirled through my head, and I still hadn't come up with a conclusion, what I should do. Well it should be easy, I suppose, just act all nice and flirty, like the girls do. How I would be able to pull that off, was an entirely different matter. I wasn't really the type for socializing, and the thought of actively having to seek the attention of some creepy old bastard who reeked of booze and stale food, was disgusting.

But there was no helping it. I carefully pushed the door open, trying to avoid any noise, as not to wake my brother, and slid in the darkness of our home. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and as soon as I could see I limped to the bed that was unoccupied.

My brother didn't know the nature of my work, but he had caught on to something. He finally had come out of his mourning induced apathy. So as soon as he noticed that I always returned somewhat sore and limp from my job as tavern waiter, he had silently taken on sleeping on our sorry excuse of a bed, taking all the space on it, so as to forcing me to sleep on our mother's bed. To be honest, I was a little bit relieved at that, as much as I wanted to dote on my brother, I was still immensely glad at the opportunity to rest my sore body on something a little more bedlike. He never asked though, why I was limping, and since I didn't want to inquire into it, I left it at that.

With a relieved sigh I stretched out on the bed, and closed my eyes. Luckily I had gotten used to my work, after about two weeks of it, and my ass didn't bleed as much as it used to. And today happened to be one of the days, where it just hurt, so I could go to bed without putting salve on the tears and rips and whatever. Since I made now at least a little bit of money, I decided that I could spend part it for something like this, After all it helped to relieve the pain, which would in turn help to improve my working performance, or so I reasoned.

I cuddled as best as possible into the pillow made of straw and fell asleep short after.

I woke up late around noon, the smell of food wafting through the house. I sat up with a groan, the pain in my backside subsided to a form of tingling sensation.

"Good morning." I was greeted with the sight of my brother, a plate of food in hand and smiling at me.

"Morning" I grumbled, still feeling tired. With a soft thud Emil sat on the bed beside me.

"Mhh that is nice." I said, surprised at the tasty dish before me. Realizing how hungry I indeed was, I begin to stuff my face as fast as possible. Emil snickered, "you look funny Lukas." "Shut up." I grumbled between bites, and had emptied my plate in record time. "More." I commanded and pushed the plate at Emil. Nothing happened for a moment, then: "That was the last."

"Oh" I immediately regretted my display of gluttony. "Right, I forgot about that." It was true, even though we now had some money in our hands, it wasn't exactly much, and most of my payment had been spent on that salve. An expense I had blamed on "sore feet from waiting", but which had cut short our budget. So basically I had to get my earnings up, and after my talk with the patron, I knew exactly what I had to do. And it definitely wouldn't be easy.

"Emil, look at me." I said, after cleaning up my plate and returning to my seat on the bed. He looked at me with that ever present bored look of his, the small hints of curiosity only showing for me, who knew him since he was a babe at the breast of our mother.

"How do I look?" And with that I made an attempt at a genuine smile. My mouth twitching into a position they were not familiar with.

Emil snorted.

Great, that was the answer I feared I would get. I looked ridiculous.

"You look ridiculous." Emil blurted out between poorly stifled laughter. Yes my brother usually displayed a sense of utter boredom, but whenever something penetrated that wall, he ended up in a complete mess of whatever emotion got to him. Today it was apparently amusement.

"Not helping." I grumbled and got up, not wanting to be made fun of anymore, and left the house. I went for a stroll through the forest nearby, something I always did when I needed to think. So I had to work on my appeal, and technically I knew what was necessary to do so. But I just couldn't bring myself to be nice to those people. They very thought of it felt as it were defiling me. It was one thing to give my body away like that, true it felt horrible and painful and dirty, but it was only my body. But giving myself willingly away, like I would appreciate it, that was just too much.

I leaned against a tree, overshadowing a small clearing. But I had to do something, or else Emil would… Emil whose sad face, as he told me that there was no more food, came flowing to me, Emil who probably didn't eat anything for breakfast, just so that I could get something into my stomach. Emil…

Oh God, why does my life always have to go the unpleasant way? There was no way I could let anything happen to my brother that was my initial resolve to enter into prostitution in the first place. So why falter now?

And after all, my body was already tainted, so there was no need to hold back everything else. As long as it would save Emil, it would be fine, wouldn't it? Suddenly I wished that my mother was still alive and would hold me, just like she used to do when I was little. She would understand, wouldn't she? The need to give everything, to protect those you love.

I sat there for the rest of the afternoon, thinking and hardening my resolve to do what I would never do, if I had a choice. But then again, if I had had a choice, I would never have started to work in a brothel to begin with.

I returned to our house, when the sun was nearing the mountaintop in the West. It was time to get ready.

Emil was out somewhere, so at least I didn't have to bother with him making fun of my attempts to transform into a representable human being. I combed my hair, and adjusted the barrette, that the girls had been becoming fond of. It was one of my good traits according to them. I splashed my face with some leftover water from the morning toilet. Then I again tried to form a smile on my lips, this time it didn't feels as awkward, but without a reflecting surface it was hard to tell. Suitable clothing was provided by the brothel, so at least I didn't have to take of that too.

I made my way to the brothel, just as the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, and I straightened my posture as I entered through the small side entry reserved for everyone who was no customer. Entering through the main door had earned me a scolding, that day I applied for work.

After changing in some nice clothing, the girls coaxed me into some sort of sailor uniform with a "cute little hat" to go with, I entered the lounge. It was still early so there wasn't much going on, some regulars were chatting with their favorite girls or in one case, boy, nothing I could interfere with. So I tried to pose myself as seductively on my usual sofa as possibly, which earned me giggles from the girls, which in turn resulted in them draping me all stretched out on the sofa and flanking me, armed with grapes an large fans, apparently playing harem, or something. I did my best to play along and put a lazy grin on my face, while watching the room through my girly long lashes.

As time went by, the room got filled with more and more customers, and it became hard to keep the act up, since I wasn't used to audience, and frankly my face began to hurt from all that fake grinning.

And then a commotion piqued my interest, as loud cheerful laughter sounded from the entryway. The patron was there, apparently greeting a customer, a very rare occurrence, since he'd only greet special customers personally. Then a man entered. He was bigger than me, dressed in a black coat that hung open at the front, revealing a red velvet shirt. His hair was the color of wheat in the afternoon glow and he had a big grin plastered on his face.

That was the special customer?

"Oh my" one of the girls sighed in close proximity to my ear, "he's finally here."