Not the Flower of Courtesy

Content Warning: Click here for warnings (possible spoilers)

**NSFW**

"There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts."

February 23rd

Pan was determined not to be bored. Business was slow tonight, surely because of the weather. Snow and ice made sneaking out for a screw too much for most people. He understood. He had never liked to be outside in the snow himself. If he ever decided to uproot again, he was going someplace warm. He hadn't had much choice last time.

In his former life, Pan had been the son of a warlord in Abaddon's Valley, Pirithous Palamon. He wasn't a Palamon by blood - Pan and all his adoptive siblings had been bought from their blood families to replace dead children. That wouldn't have mattered to the enemy clan who came to exterminate the Palamons almost seven years ago. Had he and one of his adoptive sisters, Nerissa, not been out fishing, they also would have been killed. Instead, they hid themselves under the brush when they saw the hordes coming with their well-worn axes and swords at hand. Once the victory fires were lit after dusk, the two put as much distance between them and the other clan as they could before their corpses were missed. Verona was the only place they knew they would be safe. Miraculously, they had made it across the border unharmed.

And Verona had been good to them since, snowy winters and all. Pan had gambled his way into the means to start up his brothel. He wasn't rolling in money, especially after losing a couple of workers, but there was bread and fire for everyone in the house. Nell, Phebe, and Tucker had picked up most of the recent slack, and Pan had happily taken the rest on himself. They were even eating better than ever now that Lydia, Nell's daughter, was doing all the cooking.

Still, Pan perked up when he heard footsteps outside his door.

"Hello there!" Pan cried when he saw the face. After sneaking over the border into Maerdilean, he and Nerissa had encountered not-yet-Father Laurent at an inn. Pan had been unsuccessful in bartering for a room with the innkeeper. The then-seminarian gave up his lodgings, never to be seen again but for a chance meeting in the capital a year later. He now came in once a month to look in on Pan and Nerissa.

"Hello, Pan." Father Laurent glanced around the unusually empty room. "Quiet night?"

"Only until you walked in. Who shall it be?" Pan had yet to tempt Father Laurent away from his vows, but he would keep trying until he made an actual customer out of the priest. Men of the cloth were still men of flesh. At least, that was what other priests said when they turned up in a whorehouse.

The priest wrinkled his brow and moved to the side. "I wish I could say this was a social call, Pan, but I-"

"Oh, for God's sake," Nerissa sighed as she stepped in and kicked the snow from her boots. "You're a proper priest, never able to just put things plainly."

"Sis, what happened?" It was a stupid question. Pan kept trying to find better jobs for his sister, and Nerissa always found her way back to the brothel. She had her heart set on running it as her own someday. While he thought Nerissa would do as well as he had in the end, Pan wanted her to see that a clever, literate, hard-working person could be more than a bawd.

"It's more what didn't happen. Apparently, I was being 'disrespectful of Master Varrius' when I told him I'd cut his prick off if he showed it to me again. His wife, who he told some tall tale, dropped me off on the nuns' doorstep like I was an orphan." She kicked her brother's boot when he snickered. "It's not funny, Pan. She tried to tie a note around my neck!"

"The nuns are overrun by a fever at the convent school," Father Laurent explained, "so their guard sent Mistress Palamon over to us."

"And once I dressed down his rector for eyeing my backside, your favorite priest was so kind as to escort me home." Nerissa shrugged her shoulders. Nothing was more tiresome to her than being treated like a fragile lady. "Is there anything left of supper? The only thing closed up tighter than Lady Bonehead's arse is her larder."

Relieved that Nerissa was no worse for the wear, Pan cracked a smile. "Lyddie got a joint of beef from the butcher for a song yesterday. Plenty left."

"Good." After giving her brother one last squeeze, Nerissa hopped off toward the kitchen. She stopped short with a second thought. "Care for some supper, Father Laurent?"

"It's a tempting offer," the priest replied after a pause, "but thank you, no. I have other duties tonight."

"Suit yourself."

"Well, well!" Pan tittered. "She's softening up to you."

Father Laurent only smiled. Nerissa was more discerning than her brother and much less eager to approve of people; her respect had to be earned. He suspected she was toughest of all on anyone she was expected to respect automatically, and no-one fit that role more than a priest. Whether or not Nerissa Palamon respected him didn't keep him awake at night, but there was value in fighting the tough battles. "I wouldn't say-"

A thunder of footsteps on the stairs interrupted the conversation. "Hell, Pan, is that Neriss... uh!"

Pan cringed. He always tried to keep Father Laurent out of Tucker's notice. When Tucker first came looking for a job, he had claimed his genital deformity was the result of an accident. He later admitted, after far too many mugs of ale, that he had been taken in by a sect of "monks" while on the run from two villages full of fathers with pregnant daughters. While under their spell, he had agreed to undergo their "purity ritual" to become a full member. Tucker realized too late that the ritual belonged in a barnyard and that the brotherhood was just a cloister of madmen. The result made him very popular with married women but hard-pressed to enjoy his work. It also left him perpetually angry with all clergymen, real or otherwise.

"Well." The hate in the room was palpable, and the priest was not insensitive to it. Quietly, he said, "As I told your sister, I have other errands. God bless you all. Good evening."

Tucker scowled until the priest was gone. Pan approached him and suggested a game of cards. Tucker accepted and the two sat down at the table. Although he usually showed no mercy at cards, Pan let Tucker win half the hands to keep him distracted. Behind them, Nerissa took up Pan's stool after her meal and held out for customers.

In the middle of a game, Tucker finally lost control of his tongue. "Why would you let a priest in here? It's no goddamn wonder we don't have any business!" The business of the brothel was a top priority for Tucker. He had no talents in any other field, and he felt he deserved to be rolling in coin for his sufferings. "Who'll come in with that sort ruining the place? No-one wants to see their priest in a place like this."

"You're an idiot," Nerissa said. "A screw so good a priest can't refuse is worth at least fifteen percent more in the market!"

"How the hell would you know?"

Pan tried to lure Tucker out of a fight and back into the game, but the arrival of a customer foiled him.

As soon as he saw her, Pan wanted to kick something. She was a rich merchant's wife at least, maybe better if she was dressing down for this outing. That class of ladies came in by word-of-mouth, and that word was almost always for Tucker and whatever the gelded bastard did to make them happy. Pan rarely got one this good for himself. "Can I help you, m'lady?"

The lady looked him up and down once and then over at Tucker. She nodded at Pan. "You'll do. How much?"

"Depends on what you're looking for." Smirking, Pan moved closer to her. The lady was young, pretty enough, and had a glint in her eye, which he liked most of all. He could have broken into a dance at the sight of Tucker's frown. "You're sure you're in the right place?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"How about a sample on the house and we'll see what you think the goods are worth?"

Nerissa sighed into her hands and shook her head. Her brother was going to be the death of her - or at least her ticket to the poorhouse. Longingly, she thought of her new book. It was stowed under the bed she had been assigned at the Varrius house. Since Lady Bona hadn't allowed her to go back for it, Nerissa would have to sneak into their kitchen and bribe the scullery girl to fetch it for her. It was a pity, as it was an excellent read. She had left off with the clever noblemen's children trying to reason with the cannibalistic demi-gods to save the kingdom. If I were the author, what would I do?

The question completely occupied her. She didn't notice another patron had come in until he was right in front of her, demanding to know, "Who are you, girl?"

"The person in charge," Nerissa shot back. She had answered that question too many times for this customer to be polite. "And who are you?"

"Paying customer. I'm here for that dark-looking one."

Rude bastard. "You mean Phebe? Take a seat, and I'll see if she's available." She yelled up the stairs for Dull, their resident strongman, just in case.

"I'm not here to visit, girl. You have them fetch that dark chit right now!"

Men like this were why Nerissa could only run the brothel and not work in it. She would have told this fool to shove his money up his ass; Phebe would call that a damn waste of coin. "I am. In the meantime, have a seat," she ordered.

Upstairs, Pan was not faring much better.

"This is stupid."

"Maybe if you relaxed, princess-"

"I told you not to call me- stop it!" Miranda snapped her legs shut and slid backward on the bed. "How dare you! I told you not to put your fingers there!"

Sighing, Pan hauled himself up onto the bed. So much for doing something about that desert. Fifty coppers she's never had a man who knew the difference between a woman and his fist. "All right, we'll do it your way, love."

"I am not your love."

"All right, sweetheart." When she scowled at him again, he tried a litany of pet names. "... honeysuckle? Snapdragon?"

Miranda had enough. Forcefully, she grabbed Pan, flipped him onto his back, and knelt astride him. "Stop it! I am not here to pay you to... to make love to me. That's disgusting. And unthinkable, considering what you are. You will fuck me, I will pay you, and that is all. Is that understood?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, m'lady." Is this all an excuse so she can be on top? Fucking crazy, rich men are, if this is what they do to their ladies. If she wants to pay me to ride my cock, she can come back every- damn, she's ti- oh, fuck. Fuck! Pan's face was drained of the little color it had. It had been a while, but he still knew a maidenhead when he felt one. "Dammit, no! Get off me! You don't want-"

"Shut up!" Wincing, she pushed past the breaking point, an echo of pain radiating though her. Miranda hadn't expected it to hurt, not after all that Hermia had told her. She worked at it only long enough to be sure she was well and truly spoiled. She pulled away then, quite short of breath, and flattened herself on her back. If sex was this bad without her disgusting cousin...

Pan rolled away and reached for his braises. There were laws against fouling virgins - rarely enforced, but who was more likely to earn an exception than a foreign whore? And one look at the lady proved it was a bad business to deal with virgins anyway. He felt like he ought to say something, but not when he wanted to shout at her. And probably not with my cock in the way. Huh. Maybe I can solve two two problems at once. "Just, uh... just stay there. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Miranda didn't hear Pan's words or the door shut behind him. She spent several minutes concentrating on breathing and nothing else. Judging her current situation, she was now convinced that breathing was all she should ever be trusted to do.

"Ready to tell me what you're doing here, princess?"

"Don't-"

"You just used my cock like a cucumber. I'll call you whatever I want."

"You're a whore. That is your function."

"Whores get paid for sex. That wasn't sex, princess."

"I don't care."

"That's for damn sure. So, why'd you drag a man who could swing for touching you into it?" Casually, he threw himself down onto the bed beside her. "And don't you tell me you couldn't find one of your own kind."

"What are you talking about?"

"Say your folks find out. A raped daughter sounds better than a slut daughter, and who's gonna think a virgin came in here and threw herself onto my cock? No-one. They kick you to a nunnery, and I get the gallows." Despite his words, Pan put on his best joking tone.

"My parents' main concerns are themselves. What they don't know they won't bother to find out." She hugged herself tighter. "The troll I am betrothed to is equal parts stupid and arrogant. If he even knows what I did, he won't suffer anyone else to know. And if he would, he isn't in position to complain to my family about my privy parts."

"That still doesn't say why you needed me."

"I wasn't about to give that worm the satisfaction of bedding me first."

"And you decided cuckolding him with a whore would give you the most satisfaction?"

Miranda couldn't say the words, plagued by something like compassion. Quickly, she cooked up another reason. "I didn't want to be in debt to someone who could use it against me."

Pan smirked. "And what tells you that I'm not gonna bleed you dry?"

"As you say: who's going to think a virgin lady came in here and threw herself on your cock? No-one."

"Get the tart out here now or I'll take my custom down the alley from now on!"

"Where is she? Which door, woman? I'll open them all!"

Terrified, Miranda fell as she tried to leave the bed. She scratched at the covers, trying to pull them off the bed from under Pan; she only managed to drag him slightly toward her. Baffled, he looked down at her and asked, "What in Hell's name are you doing?"

"That's my father," she hissed.

"Your father!" Although he struggled, Pan found his calm again when he saw Miranda cowering on the floor. "You're a damn chore, you know?" Rolling off the bed, he tugged his braises to make sure they were fully up and stumbled into the hallway. "What the goddamn noise for?" He thought his eyes would pop out of his skull when he realized who the lady's father was.

She's a Capulet?

Albany looked the near-naked Pan up and down. "I'm here for my usual. Is she in there with you?"

"What kind of whorehouse you think I run?" Other than the kind that services your daughter. "I got a customer who doesn't want to hear you bleat." Smirking, Pan glanced at Nerissa. "Break his jaw yet, sis?"

"No, but it would be my pleasure."

"I want the dark one - now!"

Pan batted his eyelashes. "You mean Phebe?"

"I don't care what the slut's name is! Where is she?"

Pan yawned, shrugged, and scratched himself as if he had no cares in the world. A man didn't survive a childhood in Abaddon's Valley without learning the art of calm deception. "If you can't wait, get out. Plenty of warm cunts down the road to be had in an instant."

"Where is she, maggot?"

"I told you: busy." Like I just was with your daughter, who luckily didn't get her looks from you, old man.

"You get her out here or I'll have this rat hole shut down," Albany snapped.

"And put me out in the cold?" Like a miracle, Phebe appeared and sidled up to Albany. "The alley's not got anything on my bed." She smiled at him like he was an Adonis, and the matter was settled. Pan decided to slip Phebe something extra later for her brilliant timing.

Nerissa glared after Albany and Phebe as they disappeared behind a door and then at her brother. "Why do you put up with that in your business? How can you welcome that sort of troll in here?"

"I don't, sis - Phebe does, and it's Phebe's choice whose coin to take. Myself, I'd kick his arse out into the alley. 'Till she changes her mind or he hurts someone, though, not my business. And I've got some of my own to get back to."

"Tucker's blowing smoke like a dragon," Nerissa said with a smile.

"As he should be. Go back to your post, Madam Bawd."

"Well, well, Princess Capulet."

Miranda folded her arms across her chest. Her air was softer now; fright lingered in the corner of her eyes. "How do you know that?"

"You were just pissing yourself about your father, remember? I know him. How do you stand it at home with him? All the miserable fuck does here is grunt and complain."

"I'm... I'm sorry." She turned in search for the coin sack sewn into her dress. "I-I need to leave. What do I owe you?"

Pan reached for her near hand on impulse and pulled her back. "Nothing."

"Oh! Oh, no. No, I insist. I will pay whatever the fee is for... what we did." The hand he held felt like it was on fire. Every time the low candlelight caught his pale waves, her nerves fluttered. But he's a crude nobody, the lowest of lows. Why does he suddenly look so...

"You pay a whore for sex. I told you, princess, that wasn't sex. Come back another night and I'll give you something worth paying for, if you want it."

Immediately, Miranda's mouth opened to berate Pan for even suggesting such a thing. It was a disgrace to think of a noblewoman, especially a Capulet, ever coming to call on such a creature for pleasure. This time was different, a necessity. A painful necessity! A second time would be... But the words didn't come. Instead, she muttered, "I thought you didn't want to get into trouble."

"I can't ask my sister to sew it back up, and they can only hang me once." He shrugged; she almost smiled. Morbidly curious about what sort of woman was in front of him, Pan decided to press the issue. "You're pretty and barely short of barking mad, and I like both those things. You wanted to humiliate your man and that old bastard, and you've done it. You want to enjoy doing it? Come back to see me - on the house."

"That's out of the question," Miranda stammered when she recovered. "And even if it wasn't, my father-"

"Fucks like a damn clock. Same night every week if he's coming. Come another night," he dared with a smile. "Unless you're scared."

"I'm not scared. I'm a Capulet, and you're... well, it's simply unthinkable." She bit down hard on her lip, nearly drawing blood as she studied his face for his intentions. "Though, if it wasn't... who would I ask for?"

"Pan." In vain, he waited for her to reciprocate. "Are you gonna tell me who won't be asking because she's too good for me?" he teased.

"Miranda, and I am too good for you. "

"We'll see about that, Miranda."

March 5th

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