APH: Into the Face of the Beguiled (3/?)
Title: Into the Face of the Beguiled (Chapter Three)
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on ff.net
Characters: in this chapter - America, Lithuania, Canada, France, Seychelles, Gilbert, Netherlands (OC), Ukraine, Poland, North Italy; more to come
Rating: This chapter is only PG - the story will be rated M overall for later chapters
Summary: AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.
Backwards to Chapter Two!
“Home sweet home!” Alfred exclaimed, unlocking the door of the apartment and walking inside. He took a look around and frowned. “Huh. Matt’s not here.”
“Matt?” Toris repeated politely, slipping off his shoes and hanging his suit jacket on the coat rack by the door. Alfred turned with a little jump, as if he had momentarily forgotten Toris was there.
“My little brother,” he explained. “He lives with me.”
He missed the faint blush that covered Toris’s cheeks. “Do you two work together?” he inquired.
“Well, yeah. We do the same jobs...sort of.” Alfred admitted. “Hey, you want a drink?” he moved into the kitchen - Toris followed him. “I’ve got, uh...water. And some wine, I think, Francis got it for me but I don’t know why he thought I would want it...”
“No, it’s okay.” Toris assured. “I’m...not really thirsty. May I sit down?” he gestured to one of the rickety chairs gathered around the small kitchen table.
“Sure!” Alfred waved his request off. “You don’t need to ask. Just wait here so I can change outta these clothes and then we can talk. Or whatever.”
“All right.” Toris agreed, and waited for the blonde to disappear into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He was surprised Alfred didn’t ask him what he preferred, but he supposed once he got in there they would start getting down to business. The blonde’s carefree attitude and flippant speech made him instantly friendly and likable, completely unlike most of the people Toris usually encountered here.
It didn’t help that Alfred was extremely attractive too...
Taking a deep breath, Toris peeled off his dress shirt, folded it and placed it on the small kitchen counter. Absently he reached a hand back and trailed his fingers over the welts on his back that were just starting to fade. Then he opened the door and made his way to the bedroom.
Alfred was standing with his back to the door, humming a jaunty sailing tune to himself, pulling his shirt off and revealing a long, lean torso, the muscles in his back working as he threw the shirt messily onto the bed. He didn’t turn when Toris came in, intent on fiddling with the belt of his trouser with a little grunt.
Toris moved so fast, he didn’t have time to register how Alfred tensed and jumped when the brunette put hands on the blonde’s shoulders, how he began to protest when Toris turned him with gentle ease, and how he froze when Toris kissed him.
Toris shuttered his eyelids, watching Alfred through a haze of eyelashes. The blonde’s eyes were wide, and when Toris moved closer Alfred’s hands shot from his body.
Toris opened his eyes fully and pulled back. “What’s wrong?” he asked, before he was shoved away.
“Wh - what the hell?” Alfred demanded. “What are you doing?”
“Huh?” Puzzled, Toris stepped backwards, awkwardly wrapping his arms around himself. “W-what’s wrong, do you not...do that?”
“N - I mean - ” the blonde seemed at an absolute loss for words. “I mean, you’re a nice guy, but I don’t do that with people I just met!”
Toris wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or not. Alfred looked genuinely distraught. “Are...are you joking?” he asked, before a thought struck him. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have paid you first! I’m sorry, usually I...hold on, let me get my money...”
Alfred grabbed the brunette’s arm as he began to reach for his wallet. “Toris.” he said seriously. “What are you talking about? Why would you have to pay me?”
Toris stared at the man. “Alfred...are you serious?” he asked, confusion creeping into his tone. “You - you work in a brothel, I - ”
“No I don’t!” Alfred exclaimed, turning red. “I’m - you thought I was a prostitute? I’m not!”
“Th-then what are you doing here?” Toris asked.
Eventually both of them calmed down enough to put on their respective clothing, return to the kitchen, and take advantage of that alcohol Alfred was talking about. Toris felt mortified. Alfred sat across from him at the kitchen table, expression guarded and exceedingly bewildered. He clenched and unclenched his fingers around the cup that held the cheap wine. Toris kept his eyes glued on the tabletop.
“I - all right.” he tried. “So...Bonnefoy didn’t tell you anything about - ?”
“No.” Alfred cut him off, sudden anger clouding his face. “He didn’t say anything, the bastard...”
Toris took a deep breath. “Would you like me to explain?” he asked.
Alfred dropped his head into his hands. “Why not?” he groaned.
Toris wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. “Uhm, well, the Enjôler is famous in Amsterdam as a theatre that operates as a brothel,” he explained. “There are two types of tickets that the theatre sells - green tickets, and yellow tickets. Those who think the Enjôler is a theatre purchase yellow tickets, which are used when the troupe puts on shows - and they do,” he added at Alfred’s dubious stare. “Uh - Bonnefoy puts on an amazing Can Can. He’s originally from France, you know, everything he learned about theatre comes from Paris...” Toris trailed off sheepishly.
“Sorry. Uhm, those who know what’s behind the Enjôler specifically ask for green tickets. This lets the troupe know which questions to ask when you arrive, without giving away their real occupation accidentally to the people who think this is just a theatre. You can pick who you buy for the night based on what you want.”
“And what do you want?” Alfred asked him suddenly, blue eyes fixed on the brunette’s face. Toris blushed.
“M-most of the people here specialize in something,” he pressed on, avoiding the question. “So depending on your preference - ”
“Toris.” Alfred’s eyes were a horrible kind of blue, drawing the other man in. “If you had walked in here...and I hadn’t pushed you away...what would you have asked for?”
Toris swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. “I - I like to be hurt, sometimes.” he admitted. “Sometimes life...gets so boring that I just want to feel something.” he lifted his eyes. “D-do you understand what I mean? Usually there’s this man on the second floor - Berwald - who I go to because he’s got a good arm and Bonnefoy lets him keep most of the whips, and - ”
“You pay people to whip you?” Alfred asked, and his tone stung Toris. The blonde must have seen the effect his words had, because he hurried to say, “Look, Toris, sorry. I’m not trying to - jeez.” he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that my brother and I, we - fuck!” Alfred sprang to his feet. “My brother...oh my God, where’s Mattie?”
Toris scrambled to his feet. “Does he know?” he asked.
“No! At least, I don’t think so - no, if he knew, he would’ve told me...” Agitated, Alfred strode towards the door, throwing it open. “Fuck. I’m sorry Toris, but if you could - ”
“O - of course!” Toris hurried to catch up with the blonde as they flew down the hallway, back towards Enjôler. “I’m...sorry that you had to find out this way, and I’m sorry you think I’m a huge pervert now, and I - ”
A hand landed on his head. “Stop apologizin’.” Alfred ordered, shooting him a waning smile. “Awkward way to meet, though, huh? And hey,” Alfred’s voice lowered and he had the gall to wink at Toris. “For what it’s worth, you’re a pretty good kisser. You know. Aside from the whole, “surprise, you think I’m a prostitute!” thing.”
Toris flushed red. “I - I should probably get going.” he muttered once they arrived in the theatre lobby. “I hope you find your brother.” Quickly, he turned on his heel to make his escape towards the front theatre doors, all the while berating himself internally.
Stupid! I am never coming back here...
Alfred felt a little bad for the guy, as he watched the brunette go, but he was too preoccupied with the thought of Matthew. He remembered his brother talking to Francis a while ago, but after that he’d lost track of him.
Glancing up, Alfred started up the stairs, jaw set. If that Frenchman hurt his brother in anyway, he was going to make sure that heads rolled.
There was commotion behind the door that led to Francis’s office, and Alfred banged on the door. “Matt?” he called. “Are you in there?”
There was a choked cry and sounds of a scuffle. “Al!” he heard Matt yell. “Get out of here, hurry - !”
The door was wrenched open and Alfred found himself staring at Gilbert. The red eyed man looked positively gleeful and one side of his face was red, as if he’d been recently hit.
“Oh look, they come in a pair.” he joked, grabbing Alfred’s shirt collar and yanking him in.
Matthew was being held back by Lars, a horrified and anxious look on his face. “Are you all right?” he asked Alfred. The older brother shoved Gilbert off him and approached his sibling.
“I’m fine,” he said flippantly. “Are you? Let go of him,” he told Lars, who looked uncertainly over at Francis. Francis waved a hand, and the Dutchman allowed Matthew to break free and fling his arms around his brother’s neck.
Pressing his face against Alfred’s ear, Matthew muttered, “We have to get out of here.”
“I know.” Alfred whispered back, then wrapped an arm around his younger brother’s waist, fixing Francis with an icy stare. “We did not sign up for this.”
“Technically, I said you’d be doing odd jobs.” Francis remarked, propping his head up daintily on his palm. “Think of this as a...very odd job.”
“Look, buddy, I don’t know if you’ve misunderstood us or what,” Alfred growled. Matthew, having calmed down a bit, detached himself from his brother but still kept close, turning to stare at the Frenchman. “We’re poor, yeah, but we’re not whores. Especially not your whores. We’ll clean and we’ll help with the stage but we won't sell ourselves. C’mon Matt, let’s get out of here.”
A hand on his little brother’s elbow, he made to leave, but Gilbert was leaning against the door, arms crossed. Beside him, Michelle peeked out nervously from between her fingers.
“Don’t forget,” Francis called to them, “that you owe me not only for the rent on your apartment but for your clothes and your food as well.”
Alfred froze, then turned back angrily. “Then you’ll give us jobs that don’t involve prostitution,” he ground out, “and we’ll pay off our debt that way.”
“You’ll never make the money up, working for what I’m paying you now.” Francis pointed out. His eyes were half-lidded and he looked wholly entertained by the conversation. “If you want to pay me off you’ll need a higher paying job. I can give you one.”
“Bullshit.” Alfred snarled.
“That’s unfair, and it’s malicious,” Matthew piped up, a tight little frown on his face. “You deceived us. You can’t keep us here, we’re leaving.”
“I’m sure the police will be interested to hear about how you skipped out on the money you owe me.” Francis sighed. “And those earrings in your pocket, as well.”
Matthew flinched. Alfred cast him a quizzical look. “A - and I’m sure they’d be interested in hearing about how you run a brothel behind a theatre,” Matthew shot back, bravely. Francis looked amused.
“And what proof do they have?” he asked, waving a hand around. “Do you see any customers, any incriminating evidence? All we are is a theatre, my dear, a theatre that puts on shows and occasionally offers men the chance to have a bit more.” Francis’s smile was almost sickeningly triumphant. “Oh, but I’m sure the police will believe the words of two runaways.”
Matthew was shaking his head in disbelief. “This - no.” he kept repeating. “I can’t...I’ve never...”
“I will teach you.” Francis’s smile could not be anymore dangerous. “Do not worry, you are in good hands.”
Right. Alfred could believe that. He chanced a glance at his brother, whose face was pale. Matthew caught his eye, gave a weak smile, and reached out to take his hand in comfort.
Francis eyed their conjoined hands with interest. “At Enjôler each floor of the apartments has a specialty,” he explained. “Our first floor deals is for...ah, people who want something exotic, or people who like to use their imagination.”
Matthew was pretty sure he did not want to use his imagination, especially not when thinking about what Francis was telling them.
“Our second floor is for people who aren’t looking for anything in particular.” Francis continued, “We assign clients to them based on looks or a vague description of what the customer wants. However, there are a few people who are...talented in other areas.”
Francis stared directly at them, smiling. “Our third floor,” he said slowly, “Contains members of our family who have a certain gimmick they exploit in order to gain customers.”
Matthew didn’t like where this was headed. “And what’s our gimmick?” he asked coldly. Francis winked.
“Twins.” he answered simply.
The brothers stared at him.
“We told you, we’re not twins,” Alfred snorted. “And besides, don’t you already have Lovino and Feliciano to take care of that perverted kink of yours?”
Francis rolled his eyes. “Regardless, you look almost identical.” he told them. “And mon cher Feliciano and his brother do not work that much anymore. They are...how do you say it? Reserved.”
“Reserved.” Alfred repeated. “Like a table.”
Francis and Gilbert laughed.
“Sometimes, if clients are rich enough, or influential enough,” Lars explained quietly behind them. “They can ask that a certain prostitute be removed from normal sale, and be available only to them. It doesn’t happen often.” Matthew kept his back turned to the Dutch man, refusing to meet his eyes.
“So, we are in need of some twins to fill the demand!” Francis chirped. “We will start you off easily, I promise. You will perform in the shows and entertain in the lobby afterwards. If clients pay a little more, than they can take both of you up to your room. At the most, for now, you will have to put up with fondling; limited oral, no penetration, no - ”
“This is crazy.” Alfred declared. “We’re still not doing it.”
Francis blinked up at him. “Mon cher,” he began patiently, as if talking to a child, “I know you are not often prone to reasoning, but I assure you this is the only option you have left.”
“There’s always another option.” Alfred said stubbornly. “You think you’re trapping us but you’re wrong. We’ll find a way out of here and you better hope I don’t slit your throat for what you’ve done to me and my brother.”
Michelle made a little noise, in shock that Alfred would threaten Francis so openly. The Frenchman merely gave a little smile.
“I look forward to seeing you try,” he murmured. “But I have been in this business since you were still a child. Very few whores have gotten away from me.”
Alfred remained undeterred, blue eyes still bright with anger and determination. “Well, maybe it’s time for a change.” he answered cryptically.
With a sigh, Francis got to his feet, shaking out his blonde hair with tired practice.
“Gilbert, Lars, you will take them downstairs and explain about tonight?” he asked the two, who nodded obligingly.
“Come on.” Lars told Matthew. The younger boy avoided his eyes, keeping his hand locked with his brother’s.
“We can walk ourselves, thank you.” he sniffed. Lars looked amused.
“I know.” he said, putting his hands up in front of him teasingly. “Walk out the door, then.”
Matthew glared at him before pulling Alfred with him, away from the smirking Frenchman. Gilbert stepped aside for them, red eyes following Matthew as he went.
Once the brothers were out the door, Lars and Gilbert nodded to Francis and followed them, quickly.
Michelle was left, pressed up against the wall, eyes wide. “Wh - ” she started anxiously, but Francis shook his head. “I know what I am doing.” he assured the girl. “Do not worry.”
“...I’m not.” Michelle said finally. “Just...surprised.”
Francis gave her a wolf’s grin. “And why would that be, mon ange?” he teased. “You have been around long enough.”
“I suppose so.” Michelle admitted. “I feel bad for them.”
The Frenchman’s eyes went very sharp. “Do you?” he repeated mildly. “Having pangs of sympathy, are you?”
Michelle flushed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” she mumbled, staring very hard at the carpeted floor.
“Then I do not know what you mean.” was Francis’s flippant reply, with an added, “Don’t you have something you need to be doing, mon ange?”
“Yes. Sorry, Madam.” Michelle answered, hand on the doorknob. The blonde man continued to smile benevolently at her as she let herself out of the office, closing the door behind her.
She had seen it a dozen times, she reminded herself, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
--
Matthew was surprised at how calm he was. He should be screaming, he reasoned as he followed Lars and Gilbert down to the lobby. He should be trying to run - he and his brother should be fighting this. But he was in shock, numbly walking shoulder to shoulder with his brother. They passed the front doors and the two of them exchanged looks.
Not now, his brother’s eyes seemed to say. later.
Matthew trusted him enough to relax his shoulders, unclench his fists and continue walking past their chance at freedom.
Inside the theatre, they were met with Kateryna and another man on the stage, attempting to perform a high energy dance. The blonde woman looked stunning in a flowing, Mediterranean inspired dress. Feliciano was perched on one of the theatre seats, clapping his hands to the rhythm.
“Faster, please!” he called “Keep to the count!”
Kateryna, face red, huffed, “Feliciano, I - I think I need more - ”
“Oh, do they still hurt?” Feliciano asked - at the blonde woman’s nod, he turned in his seat. “Lovino!” he chirped, calling for his brother. “Could you get some more binding?”
“Fine!” came the call from behind the stage.
“I’m really sorry.” Kateryna was apologizing, eyes becoming dangerously moist. The man next to her patted her sympathetically between the shoulder blades.
“Kateryna,” he said. “If you don’t, like, take care of those things, your back’s gonna be totally shot when you’re a old lady.”
“I know, Feliks.” Kateryna sighed. “But what am I going to do about them?”
“Not wear dresses like these!” the man named Feliks declared, plucking disdainfully at the frilly sleeve of Kateryna’s outfit. “There’s absolutely no support whatsoever. It’s, like, utterly painful.”
Kateryna muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Tell me about it”, crossing her arms under her breasts so they were propped up on her forearms.
“Did you find it?” Feliciano called.
“Just hold on a fucking minute!” Lovino sounded incredibly irritated. “You keep so much fucking stuff back here!”
“Maybe we can get Elizaveta to modify it.” Feliciano suggested to Kateryna. “More boning.”
“I think that would help.” Kateryna agreed. “It would at least stop them from hitting each other.”
Feliciano pouted. “Shame, it was so cute on you.”
Kateryna laughed. “Flatterer.” she accused.
Gilbert cleared his throat, and Feliciano turned. “Oh! Hi!” the Italian said cheerfully. “Is it time for me to explain?”
Gilbert nodded. “Yeah.” Feliciano turned to the two on stage.
“Take a break!” he announced. “You should probably go help Lovino find that binding.”
Kateryna and Feliks nodded, casting a few curious looks at the brothers as they walked offstage.
“So, you know now!” Feliciano addressed the brothers. “That’s good! I don’t like lying to people!”
“Could have fooled us.” Alfred remarked, and the brunette blinked at him.
“I didn’t say I was bad at lying!” Feliciano corrected. “Just that I don’t like it!” Without missing a beat, the little auburn haired man clapped his hands. “I should tell you about the shows, right? Okay, I will!” Feliciano hopped up on stage, amazingly agile for having to deal with so many petticoats. Gilbert and Lars sat down in some theatre seats; the brothers remained standing.
“So! Shows~! We put on shows for the public twice a week. They’re not very long, but people seem to like them. You don’t get very much time to prepare, but it’s not that hard - mostly some dance steps or a little play! Understand?” Feliciano beamed at them. When neither brother answered, Feliciano nodded to himself.
“So I should talk to you about clients, too!” he continued. “Usually Madam meets the client himself and sends them to your room, but often if clients see you in the theatre or in the lobby after the show they talk to you directly. Most family members who’ve been here a long time can be trusted to handle fees themselves, but you two have to report to Madam so he can take care of payment. If the client says he’ll pay you extra if you take him to your room first, don't believe him. Some of these guys can get pushy.” Feliciano’s expression had grown somber, and when Matthew chanced a glance at Lars and Gilbert he saw the two of them nodding in agreement.
“When you’re making a deal with a client,” Feliciano said in a quieter tone, “outline clearly what you will and won’t do. If they overstep what they’ve paid for, push them off or holler or make a fuss. We’ll come help you if you need it. Madam usually throws them out if they insist on being pushy. Otherwise, be polite. Ask them what they want, and play along with what they want.”
Feliciano looked over at Lars and Gilbert. “Do we need to practice?”
Lars shrugged. Gilbert grinned. “Why not?” he asked.
“Okay, stand beside each other!” Feliciano instructed, motioning at the brothers. They looked warily at each other, but obliged.
“If you’re playing twins, you should stick together,” Feliciano instructed. “Hold hands, maybe - people liked it when Lovino and I did that! And move together too! Try to synchronize!” Feliciano paused to examine them as they tried it. Alfred’s hand was sweaty in Matthew’s own, and they accidentally bumped hips as they both tried to take a step.
“We’re not Siamese twins!” Matthew heard his brother growl under his breath, and it made him laugh.
“Which one of you is better at talking?” Feliciano asked.
Alfred and Matthew shared a smile. “Alfred.” Matthew answered for them both.
“Then, Alfred, you’ll do most of the talking!” Feliciano decided. “People like it when one of the twins is really shy! So when the client talks to you, Matthew, act shy! Trust me, clients really like it! Uhm.” Feliciano put a finger to his chin in thought. “Understand? Let’s try - Lars, act like a client, and they’ll respond to you.”
“All right.” the Dutchman stood, and shook out his shoulders. When he turned to them there was a mischievous grin on his face and his eyes locked with Matthew as he asked them quietly, “Hey boys. What are your names?”
Alfred looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the whole process. “I’m Alfred.” he tried, in a halting voice. “This is my brother, Matthew.”
Lars smiled. “You look alike.” he nodded. “Do you come together?”
The implication of his question made Matthew’s face heat up - by the look of Lars’s triumphant smirk, he had clearly intended the question to rile him up. Matthew pressed his shoulder into Alfred’s. He wasn’t going to let the Dutchman make a fool of them. He lowered his lashes a touch and gave Lars a shy little smile, tilting his head so his nose brushed his brother’s cheek. He was pleased when Lars gave him a surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected him to act shy.
Which was just stupid. If there was one thing Alfred and Matthew had learned on the street, it was to play up their assets. Alfred was good at playing the charming golden boy, and Matthew worked best as the shy little ingénue.
“We work together.” Alfred corrected in a brisk tone. “You can’t have one without the other.”
“Interesting.” Lars was barely watching Alfred anymore, concentrated on Matt. “Are you two free right now?”
Alfred opened his mouth as if to speak, but obviously remembered something because he paused before saying, “It depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Good!” they heard Feliciano exclaim in the background. Lars shrugged casually.
“I’m just looking for a little fun.” he replied ambiguously. Matthew nudged Alfred with his elbow. Feliciano said they had to be clear.
“So...” Alfred tilted his head slyly so his head brushed with Matthew’s. “If you took us up to our room...”
“...and we took our clothes off...” Matthew whispered softly, watching Lars’s eyes.
“...what would be willing to pay to do to us?” Alfred finished. There was a pause.
Then Lars’s eyes flashed, and then he crowed, “They’re fucking naturals, Feliciano!”
Feliciano cheered, Gilbert laughing in the background as Alfred pulled a face and muttered to his brother, “I think I’m going to throw up if I have to say that shit to the slimebags that hang around this place.” his eyes softened and he examined Matthew. “Are you okay? That didn’t weird you out?”
Matthew shook his head. “It’s fine.” he insisted. “It’s just pretend.”
“Yeah, but still...don’t worry.” Alfred’s voice lowered so Matthew could barely hear him. “Tonight. We’ll get out of this hell-hole tonight and we won’t have to worry about any of this.”
Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. “Okay.” he agreed breathlessly. “Tonight.”
“Hey, ladies!” Gilbert shouted at them. “Stop gossiping, we have to tell you more stuff.”
“We?” Matthew muttered spitefully to his brother. “Like he’s done anything...”
“I heard that!”
Matthew paled.
Feliciano examined them curiously. “You two are virgins, right?” he asked, and laughed when the two brothers spluttered. “It’s okay if you are~, I was just wondering! Madam wants to start you off slow, okay? So here’s what you’re allowed to do with customers - and you have to tell them this upfront or they’ll get the wrong impression. Any fondling, kissing, hand-jobs or blow-jobs is okay. If they want to put it in you,” Feliciano demonstrated with hilarious hand motions, “That’s not all right! Remember that, you promise?”
Alfred looked sick. Matthew felt as bad as he did. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was a reality: they would be entertaining strangers using their bodies.
No. That wasn’t true. They were getting out of here tonight. Matthew took a deep breath and smiled at his brother. Alfred was strong. Alfred was always the hero. Alfred would get them out of this.
The look on his brother’s face said otherwise, but Matthew ignored it, instead fixing a plastic smile on his face. “Absolutely.” he told Feliciano. “We’ll remember that.”
Feliciano looked delighted. “Great!” he clapped his hands. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to talk about! Thank you!”
Matthew wished they’d never come to Amsterdam.
--
END CHAPTER THREE
--
Notes:
-common practice among brothel owners around this time was to take in prostitutes to work in their brothels then buy them clothing and other accessories. This was in order to get them so in debt they were forced to continue working in the brothel to pay off their debt. Of course, then the brothel owner would continue piling fees on them so the prostitute would be stuck there. Usually they couldn’t leave the brothel without supervision and had to pay fines. Not a very fair life but HEY that’s prostitution for you!
-during this time period prostitution itself was not illegal but owning a brothel and living off the prostitution of others (like a Madam) was illegal. There were mandatory health checks for prostitutes but these did not stop the spread of sexual diseases. I have no idea about the practice of “safe sex” in brothels during this time - one of the earliest recorded usages of a condom by prostitutes was in the 18th century in Venice, and the condoms were made of cat guts. Condoms at this time were made of rubber thanks to the findings of CHARLES GOODYEAR! :D :D Condoms were made by wrapping strips of raw rubber around a penis mold and then curing the rubber. I've heard they're not the most reliable things... What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know, but I suspect, especially in the seedier places, not a lot of condoms would be going on, if you know what I’m saying.
-like, I know they, like, totally wouldn’t talk like Feliks in the 1890s but, c’mon, I mean, seriously, you can’t get rid of such a characteristic speech pattern, I mean gag me with a spoon!
Onto Chapter Four!
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on ff.net
Characters: in this chapter - America, Lithuania, Canada, France, Seychelles, Gilbert, Netherlands (OC), Ukraine, Poland, North Italy; more to come
Rating: This chapter is only PG - the story will be rated M overall for later chapters
Summary: AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.
Backwards to Chapter Two!
“Home sweet home!” Alfred exclaimed, unlocking the door of the apartment and walking inside. He took a look around and frowned. “Huh. Matt’s not here.”
“Matt?” Toris repeated politely, slipping off his shoes and hanging his suit jacket on the coat rack by the door. Alfred turned with a little jump, as if he had momentarily forgotten Toris was there.
“My little brother,” he explained. “He lives with me.”
He missed the faint blush that covered Toris’s cheeks. “Do you two work together?” he inquired.
“Well, yeah. We do the same jobs...sort of.” Alfred admitted. “Hey, you want a drink?” he moved into the kitchen - Toris followed him. “I’ve got, uh...water. And some wine, I think, Francis got it for me but I don’t know why he thought I would want it...”
“No, it’s okay.” Toris assured. “I’m...not really thirsty. May I sit down?” he gestured to one of the rickety chairs gathered around the small kitchen table.
“Sure!” Alfred waved his request off. “You don’t need to ask. Just wait here so I can change outta these clothes and then we can talk. Or whatever.”
“All right.” Toris agreed, and waited for the blonde to disappear into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He was surprised Alfred didn’t ask him what he preferred, but he supposed once he got in there they would start getting down to business. The blonde’s carefree attitude and flippant speech made him instantly friendly and likable, completely unlike most of the people Toris usually encountered here.
It didn’t help that Alfred was extremely attractive too...
Taking a deep breath, Toris peeled off his dress shirt, folded it and placed it on the small kitchen counter. Absently he reached a hand back and trailed his fingers over the welts on his back that were just starting to fade. Then he opened the door and made his way to the bedroom.
Alfred was standing with his back to the door, humming a jaunty sailing tune to himself, pulling his shirt off and revealing a long, lean torso, the muscles in his back working as he threw the shirt messily onto the bed. He didn’t turn when Toris came in, intent on fiddling with the belt of his trouser with a little grunt.
Toris moved so fast, he didn’t have time to register how Alfred tensed and jumped when the brunette put hands on the blonde’s shoulders, how he began to protest when Toris turned him with gentle ease, and how he froze when Toris kissed him.
Toris shuttered his eyelids, watching Alfred through a haze of eyelashes. The blonde’s eyes were wide, and when Toris moved closer Alfred’s hands shot from his body.
Toris opened his eyes fully and pulled back. “What’s wrong?” he asked, before he was shoved away.
“Wh - what the hell?” Alfred demanded. “What are you doing?”
“Huh?” Puzzled, Toris stepped backwards, awkwardly wrapping his arms around himself. “W-what’s wrong, do you not...do that?”
“N - I mean - ” the blonde seemed at an absolute loss for words. “I mean, you’re a nice guy, but I don’t do that with people I just met!”
Toris wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or not. Alfred looked genuinely distraught. “Are...are you joking?” he asked, before a thought struck him. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have paid you first! I’m sorry, usually I...hold on, let me get my money...”
Alfred grabbed the brunette’s arm as he began to reach for his wallet. “Toris.” he said seriously. “What are you talking about? Why would you have to pay me?”
Toris stared at the man. “Alfred...are you serious?” he asked, confusion creeping into his tone. “You - you work in a brothel, I - ”
“No I don’t!” Alfred exclaimed, turning red. “I’m - you thought I was a prostitute? I’m not!”
“Th-then what are you doing here?” Toris asked.
Eventually both of them calmed down enough to put on their respective clothing, return to the kitchen, and take advantage of that alcohol Alfred was talking about. Toris felt mortified. Alfred sat across from him at the kitchen table, expression guarded and exceedingly bewildered. He clenched and unclenched his fingers around the cup that held the cheap wine. Toris kept his eyes glued on the tabletop.
“I - all right.” he tried. “So...Bonnefoy didn’t tell you anything about - ?”
“No.” Alfred cut him off, sudden anger clouding his face. “He didn’t say anything, the bastard...”
Toris took a deep breath. “Would you like me to explain?” he asked.
Alfred dropped his head into his hands. “Why not?” he groaned.
Toris wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. “Uhm, well, the Enjôler is famous in Amsterdam as a theatre that operates as a brothel,” he explained. “There are two types of tickets that the theatre sells - green tickets, and yellow tickets. Those who think the Enjôler is a theatre purchase yellow tickets, which are used when the troupe puts on shows - and they do,” he added at Alfred’s dubious stare. “Uh - Bonnefoy puts on an amazing Can Can. He’s originally from France, you know, everything he learned about theatre comes from Paris...” Toris trailed off sheepishly.
“Sorry. Uhm, those who know what’s behind the Enjôler specifically ask for green tickets. This lets the troupe know which questions to ask when you arrive, without giving away their real occupation accidentally to the people who think this is just a theatre. You can pick who you buy for the night based on what you want.”
“And what do you want?” Alfred asked him suddenly, blue eyes fixed on the brunette’s face. Toris blushed.
“M-most of the people here specialize in something,” he pressed on, avoiding the question. “So depending on your preference - ”
“Toris.” Alfred’s eyes were a horrible kind of blue, drawing the other man in. “If you had walked in here...and I hadn’t pushed you away...what would you have asked for?”
Toris swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. “I - I like to be hurt, sometimes.” he admitted. “Sometimes life...gets so boring that I just want to feel something.” he lifted his eyes. “D-do you understand what I mean? Usually there’s this man on the second floor - Berwald - who I go to because he’s got a good arm and Bonnefoy lets him keep most of the whips, and - ”
“You pay people to whip you?” Alfred asked, and his tone stung Toris. The blonde must have seen the effect his words had, because he hurried to say, “Look, Toris, sorry. I’m not trying to - jeez.” he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that my brother and I, we - fuck!” Alfred sprang to his feet. “My brother...oh my God, where’s Mattie?”
Toris scrambled to his feet. “Does he know?” he asked.
“No! At least, I don’t think so - no, if he knew, he would’ve told me...” Agitated, Alfred strode towards the door, throwing it open. “Fuck. I’m sorry Toris, but if you could - ”
“O - of course!” Toris hurried to catch up with the blonde as they flew down the hallway, back towards Enjôler. “I’m...sorry that you had to find out this way, and I’m sorry you think I’m a huge pervert now, and I - ”
A hand landed on his head. “Stop apologizin’.” Alfred ordered, shooting him a waning smile. “Awkward way to meet, though, huh? And hey,” Alfred’s voice lowered and he had the gall to wink at Toris. “For what it’s worth, you’re a pretty good kisser. You know. Aside from the whole, “surprise, you think I’m a prostitute!” thing.”
Toris flushed red. “I - I should probably get going.” he muttered once they arrived in the theatre lobby. “I hope you find your brother.” Quickly, he turned on his heel to make his escape towards the front theatre doors, all the while berating himself internally.
Stupid! I am never coming back here...
Alfred felt a little bad for the guy, as he watched the brunette go, but he was too preoccupied with the thought of Matthew. He remembered his brother talking to Francis a while ago, but after that he’d lost track of him.
Glancing up, Alfred started up the stairs, jaw set. If that Frenchman hurt his brother in anyway, he was going to make sure that heads rolled.
There was commotion behind the door that led to Francis’s office, and Alfred banged on the door. “Matt?” he called. “Are you in there?”
There was a choked cry and sounds of a scuffle. “Al!” he heard Matt yell. “Get out of here, hurry - !”
The door was wrenched open and Alfred found himself staring at Gilbert. The red eyed man looked positively gleeful and one side of his face was red, as if he’d been recently hit.
“Oh look, they come in a pair.” he joked, grabbing Alfred’s shirt collar and yanking him in.
Matthew was being held back by Lars, a horrified and anxious look on his face. “Are you all right?” he asked Alfred. The older brother shoved Gilbert off him and approached his sibling.
“I’m fine,” he said flippantly. “Are you? Let go of him,” he told Lars, who looked uncertainly over at Francis. Francis waved a hand, and the Dutchman allowed Matthew to break free and fling his arms around his brother’s neck.
Pressing his face against Alfred’s ear, Matthew muttered, “We have to get out of here.”
“I know.” Alfred whispered back, then wrapped an arm around his younger brother’s waist, fixing Francis with an icy stare. “We did not sign up for this.”
“Technically, I said you’d be doing odd jobs.” Francis remarked, propping his head up daintily on his palm. “Think of this as a...very odd job.”
“Look, buddy, I don’t know if you’ve misunderstood us or what,” Alfred growled. Matthew, having calmed down a bit, detached himself from his brother but still kept close, turning to stare at the Frenchman. “We’re poor, yeah, but we’re not whores. Especially not your whores. We’ll clean and we’ll help with the stage but we won't sell ourselves. C’mon Matt, let’s get out of here.”
A hand on his little brother’s elbow, he made to leave, but Gilbert was leaning against the door, arms crossed. Beside him, Michelle peeked out nervously from between her fingers.
“Don’t forget,” Francis called to them, “that you owe me not only for the rent on your apartment but for your clothes and your food as well.”
Alfred froze, then turned back angrily. “Then you’ll give us jobs that don’t involve prostitution,” he ground out, “and we’ll pay off our debt that way.”
“You’ll never make the money up, working for what I’m paying you now.” Francis pointed out. His eyes were half-lidded and he looked wholly entertained by the conversation. “If you want to pay me off you’ll need a higher paying job. I can give you one.”
“Bullshit.” Alfred snarled.
“That’s unfair, and it’s malicious,” Matthew piped up, a tight little frown on his face. “You deceived us. You can’t keep us here, we’re leaving.”
“I’m sure the police will be interested to hear about how you skipped out on the money you owe me.” Francis sighed. “And those earrings in your pocket, as well.”
Matthew flinched. Alfred cast him a quizzical look. “A - and I’m sure they’d be interested in hearing about how you run a brothel behind a theatre,” Matthew shot back, bravely. Francis looked amused.
“And what proof do they have?” he asked, waving a hand around. “Do you see any customers, any incriminating evidence? All we are is a theatre, my dear, a theatre that puts on shows and occasionally offers men the chance to have a bit more.” Francis’s smile was almost sickeningly triumphant. “Oh, but I’m sure the police will believe the words of two runaways.”
Matthew was shaking his head in disbelief. “This - no.” he kept repeating. “I can’t...I’ve never...”
“I will teach you.” Francis’s smile could not be anymore dangerous. “Do not worry, you are in good hands.”
Right. Alfred could believe that. He chanced a glance at his brother, whose face was pale. Matthew caught his eye, gave a weak smile, and reached out to take his hand in comfort.
Francis eyed their conjoined hands with interest. “At Enjôler each floor of the apartments has a specialty,” he explained. “Our first floor deals is for...ah, people who want something exotic, or people who like to use their imagination.”
Matthew was pretty sure he did not want to use his imagination, especially not when thinking about what Francis was telling them.
“Our second floor is for people who aren’t looking for anything in particular.” Francis continued, “We assign clients to them based on looks or a vague description of what the customer wants. However, there are a few people who are...talented in other areas.”
Francis stared directly at them, smiling. “Our third floor,” he said slowly, “Contains members of our family who have a certain gimmick they exploit in order to gain customers.”
Matthew didn’t like where this was headed. “And what’s our gimmick?” he asked coldly. Francis winked.
“Twins.” he answered simply.
The brothers stared at him.
“We told you, we’re not twins,” Alfred snorted. “And besides, don’t you already have Lovino and Feliciano to take care of that perverted kink of yours?”
Francis rolled his eyes. “Regardless, you look almost identical.” he told them. “And mon cher Feliciano and his brother do not work that much anymore. They are...how do you say it? Reserved.”
“Reserved.” Alfred repeated. “Like a table.”
Francis and Gilbert laughed.
“Sometimes, if clients are rich enough, or influential enough,” Lars explained quietly behind them. “They can ask that a certain prostitute be removed from normal sale, and be available only to them. It doesn’t happen often.” Matthew kept his back turned to the Dutch man, refusing to meet his eyes.
“So, we are in need of some twins to fill the demand!” Francis chirped. “We will start you off easily, I promise. You will perform in the shows and entertain in the lobby afterwards. If clients pay a little more, than they can take both of you up to your room. At the most, for now, you will have to put up with fondling; limited oral, no penetration, no - ”
“This is crazy.” Alfred declared. “We’re still not doing it.”
Francis blinked up at him. “Mon cher,” he began patiently, as if talking to a child, “I know you are not often prone to reasoning, but I assure you this is the only option you have left.”
“There’s always another option.” Alfred said stubbornly. “You think you’re trapping us but you’re wrong. We’ll find a way out of here and you better hope I don’t slit your throat for what you’ve done to me and my brother.”
Michelle made a little noise, in shock that Alfred would threaten Francis so openly. The Frenchman merely gave a little smile.
“I look forward to seeing you try,” he murmured. “But I have been in this business since you were still a child. Very few whores have gotten away from me.”
Alfred remained undeterred, blue eyes still bright with anger and determination. “Well, maybe it’s time for a change.” he answered cryptically.
With a sigh, Francis got to his feet, shaking out his blonde hair with tired practice.
“Gilbert, Lars, you will take them downstairs and explain about tonight?” he asked the two, who nodded obligingly.
“Come on.” Lars told Matthew. The younger boy avoided his eyes, keeping his hand locked with his brother’s.
“We can walk ourselves, thank you.” he sniffed. Lars looked amused.
“I know.” he said, putting his hands up in front of him teasingly. “Walk out the door, then.”
Matthew glared at him before pulling Alfred with him, away from the smirking Frenchman. Gilbert stepped aside for them, red eyes following Matthew as he went.
Once the brothers were out the door, Lars and Gilbert nodded to Francis and followed them, quickly.
Michelle was left, pressed up against the wall, eyes wide. “Wh - ” she started anxiously, but Francis shook his head. “I know what I am doing.” he assured the girl. “Do not worry.”
“...I’m not.” Michelle said finally. “Just...surprised.”
Francis gave her a wolf’s grin. “And why would that be, mon ange?” he teased. “You have been around long enough.”
“I suppose so.” Michelle admitted. “I feel bad for them.”
The Frenchman’s eyes went very sharp. “Do you?” he repeated mildly. “Having pangs of sympathy, are you?”
Michelle flushed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” she mumbled, staring very hard at the carpeted floor.
“Then I do not know what you mean.” was Francis’s flippant reply, with an added, “Don’t you have something you need to be doing, mon ange?”
“Yes. Sorry, Madam.” Michelle answered, hand on the doorknob. The blonde man continued to smile benevolently at her as she let herself out of the office, closing the door behind her.
She had seen it a dozen times, she reminded herself, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
--
Matthew was surprised at how calm he was. He should be screaming, he reasoned as he followed Lars and Gilbert down to the lobby. He should be trying to run - he and his brother should be fighting this. But he was in shock, numbly walking shoulder to shoulder with his brother. They passed the front doors and the two of them exchanged looks.
Not now, his brother’s eyes seemed to say. later.
Matthew trusted him enough to relax his shoulders, unclench his fists and continue walking past their chance at freedom.
Inside the theatre, they were met with Kateryna and another man on the stage, attempting to perform a high energy dance. The blonde woman looked stunning in a flowing, Mediterranean inspired dress. Feliciano was perched on one of the theatre seats, clapping his hands to the rhythm.
“Faster, please!” he called “Keep to the count!”
Kateryna, face red, huffed, “Feliciano, I - I think I need more - ”
“Oh, do they still hurt?” Feliciano asked - at the blonde woman’s nod, he turned in his seat. “Lovino!” he chirped, calling for his brother. “Could you get some more binding?”
“Fine!” came the call from behind the stage.
“I’m really sorry.” Kateryna was apologizing, eyes becoming dangerously moist. The man next to her patted her sympathetically between the shoulder blades.
“Kateryna,” he said. “If you don’t, like, take care of those things, your back’s gonna be totally shot when you’re a old lady.”
“I know, Feliks.” Kateryna sighed. “But what am I going to do about them?”
“Not wear dresses like these!” the man named Feliks declared, plucking disdainfully at the frilly sleeve of Kateryna’s outfit. “There’s absolutely no support whatsoever. It’s, like, utterly painful.”
Kateryna muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Tell me about it”, crossing her arms under her breasts so they were propped up on her forearms.
“Did you find it?” Feliciano called.
“Just hold on a fucking minute!” Lovino sounded incredibly irritated. “You keep so much fucking stuff back here!”
“Maybe we can get Elizaveta to modify it.” Feliciano suggested to Kateryna. “More boning.”
“I think that would help.” Kateryna agreed. “It would at least stop them from hitting each other.”
Feliciano pouted. “Shame, it was so cute on you.”
Kateryna laughed. “Flatterer.” she accused.
Gilbert cleared his throat, and Feliciano turned. “Oh! Hi!” the Italian said cheerfully. “Is it time for me to explain?”
Gilbert nodded. “Yeah.” Feliciano turned to the two on stage.
“Take a break!” he announced. “You should probably go help Lovino find that binding.”
Kateryna and Feliks nodded, casting a few curious looks at the brothers as they walked offstage.
“So, you know now!” Feliciano addressed the brothers. “That’s good! I don’t like lying to people!”
“Could have fooled us.” Alfred remarked, and the brunette blinked at him.
“I didn’t say I was bad at lying!” Feliciano corrected. “Just that I don’t like it!” Without missing a beat, the little auburn haired man clapped his hands. “I should tell you about the shows, right? Okay, I will!” Feliciano hopped up on stage, amazingly agile for having to deal with so many petticoats. Gilbert and Lars sat down in some theatre seats; the brothers remained standing.
“So! Shows~! We put on shows for the public twice a week. They’re not very long, but people seem to like them. You don’t get very much time to prepare, but it’s not that hard - mostly some dance steps or a little play! Understand?” Feliciano beamed at them. When neither brother answered, Feliciano nodded to himself.
“So I should talk to you about clients, too!” he continued. “Usually Madam meets the client himself and sends them to your room, but often if clients see you in the theatre or in the lobby after the show they talk to you directly. Most family members who’ve been here a long time can be trusted to handle fees themselves, but you two have to report to Madam so he can take care of payment. If the client says he’ll pay you extra if you take him to your room first, don't believe him. Some of these guys can get pushy.” Feliciano’s expression had grown somber, and when Matthew chanced a glance at Lars and Gilbert he saw the two of them nodding in agreement.
“When you’re making a deal with a client,” Feliciano said in a quieter tone, “outline clearly what you will and won’t do. If they overstep what they’ve paid for, push them off or holler or make a fuss. We’ll come help you if you need it. Madam usually throws them out if they insist on being pushy. Otherwise, be polite. Ask them what they want, and play along with what they want.”
Feliciano looked over at Lars and Gilbert. “Do we need to practice?”
Lars shrugged. Gilbert grinned. “Why not?” he asked.
“Okay, stand beside each other!” Feliciano instructed, motioning at the brothers. They looked warily at each other, but obliged.
“If you’re playing twins, you should stick together,” Feliciano instructed. “Hold hands, maybe - people liked it when Lovino and I did that! And move together too! Try to synchronize!” Feliciano paused to examine them as they tried it. Alfred’s hand was sweaty in Matthew’s own, and they accidentally bumped hips as they both tried to take a step.
“We’re not Siamese twins!” Matthew heard his brother growl under his breath, and it made him laugh.
“Which one of you is better at talking?” Feliciano asked.
Alfred and Matthew shared a smile. “Alfred.” Matthew answered for them both.
“Then, Alfred, you’ll do most of the talking!” Feliciano decided. “People like it when one of the twins is really shy! So when the client talks to you, Matthew, act shy! Trust me, clients really like it! Uhm.” Feliciano put a finger to his chin in thought. “Understand? Let’s try - Lars, act like a client, and they’ll respond to you.”
“All right.” the Dutchman stood, and shook out his shoulders. When he turned to them there was a mischievous grin on his face and his eyes locked with Matthew as he asked them quietly, “Hey boys. What are your names?”
Alfred looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the whole process. “I’m Alfred.” he tried, in a halting voice. “This is my brother, Matthew.”
Lars smiled. “You look alike.” he nodded. “Do you come together?”
The implication of his question made Matthew’s face heat up - by the look of Lars’s triumphant smirk, he had clearly intended the question to rile him up. Matthew pressed his shoulder into Alfred’s. He wasn’t going to let the Dutchman make a fool of them. He lowered his lashes a touch and gave Lars a shy little smile, tilting his head so his nose brushed his brother’s cheek. He was pleased when Lars gave him a surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected him to act shy.
Which was just stupid. If there was one thing Alfred and Matthew had learned on the street, it was to play up their assets. Alfred was good at playing the charming golden boy, and Matthew worked best as the shy little ingénue.
“We work together.” Alfred corrected in a brisk tone. “You can’t have one without the other.”
“Interesting.” Lars was barely watching Alfred anymore, concentrated on Matt. “Are you two free right now?”
Alfred opened his mouth as if to speak, but obviously remembered something because he paused before saying, “It depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Good!” they heard Feliciano exclaim in the background. Lars shrugged casually.
“I’m just looking for a little fun.” he replied ambiguously. Matthew nudged Alfred with his elbow. Feliciano said they had to be clear.
“So...” Alfred tilted his head slyly so his head brushed with Matthew’s. “If you took us up to our room...”
“...and we took our clothes off...” Matthew whispered softly, watching Lars’s eyes.
“...what would be willing to pay to do to us?” Alfred finished. There was a pause.
Then Lars’s eyes flashed, and then he crowed, “They’re fucking naturals, Feliciano!”
Feliciano cheered, Gilbert laughing in the background as Alfred pulled a face and muttered to his brother, “I think I’m going to throw up if I have to say that shit to the slimebags that hang around this place.” his eyes softened and he examined Matthew. “Are you okay? That didn’t weird you out?”
Matthew shook his head. “It’s fine.” he insisted. “It’s just pretend.”
“Yeah, but still...don’t worry.” Alfred’s voice lowered so Matthew could barely hear him. “Tonight. We’ll get out of this hell-hole tonight and we won’t have to worry about any of this.”
Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. “Okay.” he agreed breathlessly. “Tonight.”
“Hey, ladies!” Gilbert shouted at them. “Stop gossiping, we have to tell you more stuff.”
“We?” Matthew muttered spitefully to his brother. “Like he’s done anything...”
“I heard that!”
Matthew paled.
Feliciano examined them curiously. “You two are virgins, right?” he asked, and laughed when the two brothers spluttered. “It’s okay if you are~, I was just wondering! Madam wants to start you off slow, okay? So here’s what you’re allowed to do with customers - and you have to tell them this upfront or they’ll get the wrong impression. Any fondling, kissing, hand-jobs or blow-jobs is okay. If they want to put it in you,” Feliciano demonstrated with hilarious hand motions, “That’s not all right! Remember that, you promise?”
Alfred looked sick. Matthew felt as bad as he did. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was a reality: they would be entertaining strangers using their bodies.
No. That wasn’t true. They were getting out of here tonight. Matthew took a deep breath and smiled at his brother. Alfred was strong. Alfred was always the hero. Alfred would get them out of this.
The look on his brother’s face said otherwise, but Matthew ignored it, instead fixing a plastic smile on his face. “Absolutely.” he told Feliciano. “We’ll remember that.”
Feliciano looked delighted. “Great!” he clapped his hands. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to talk about! Thank you!”
Matthew wished they’d never come to Amsterdam.
--
END CHAPTER THREE
--
Notes:
-common practice among brothel owners around this time was to take in prostitutes to work in their brothels then buy them clothing and other accessories. This was in order to get them so in debt they were forced to continue working in the brothel to pay off their debt. Of course, then the brothel owner would continue piling fees on them so the prostitute would be stuck there. Usually they couldn’t leave the brothel without supervision and had to pay fines. Not a very fair life but HEY that’s prostitution for you!
-during this time period prostitution itself was not illegal but owning a brothel and living off the prostitution of others (like a Madam) was illegal. There were mandatory health checks for prostitutes but these did not stop the spread of sexual diseases. I have no idea about the practice of “safe sex” in brothels during this time - one of the earliest recorded usages of a condom by prostitutes was in the 18th century in Venice, and the condoms were made of cat guts. Condoms at this time were made of rubber thanks to the findings of CHARLES GOODYEAR! :D :D Condoms were made by wrapping strips of raw rubber around a penis mold and then curing the rubber. I've heard they're not the most reliable things... What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know, but I suspect, especially in the seedier places, not a lot of condoms would be going on, if you know what I’m saying.
-like, I know they, like, totally wouldn’t talk like Feliks in the 1890s but, c’mon, I mean, seriously, you can’t get rid of such a characteristic speech pattern, I mean gag me with a spoon!
Onto Chapter Four!