Simon got up early as usual, while Nasty was still enjoying the benefits of sick leave. He had just finished dealing with the livestock when Nasty slowly opened her bleary eyes.

Nasty spotted Simon passing by in the courtyard and called him with her frolicsome childish voice, "Hillbilly, sweetie, could you make me breakfast in bed? I'd like that yummy extra-sweet, extra-crunchy, extra-chocolate cereal and a big mug of coffee."

Simon hesitated for a second as he still had plenty of work to do, but Nasty's pale blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, prevaled in no time. She liked being pampered a lot, as Simon was only too aware. He not only brought her breakfast, a fresh newspaper and the TV remote control, but also put an extra pillow under Nasty's left leg, still encased in the shining light-blue fiberglass short leg cast.

"Oh Hillbilly, you're sooooo sweet," Nasty smiled. "What would I do without you?"

"I guess you'd pick up your crutches, gimp into the kitchen and make the breakfast on your own," Simon laughed. He kissed her before returning to work.

He had just loaded all the necessary equipment onto the halftruck, ready to go to his adventure sports agency, when a big, old and poorly maintained Mercedes entered the driveway, making a tremendous racket from the bumping march music on it's radio. The car turned around and stopped a precious few centimeters from the corner of the house. It was a very narrow escape for their cat.

"What the fuck do you want?" blurted out the furious Simon as he approached the passenger side of the car.

"Sorry Hillbilly, I'm still getting used to that damn hoopdee," grinned Nasty's sister Ulrike from the car.

"Ummm... Hi Uli, we didn't expect you," Simon said with surprise.

"I bet you didn't. Ouch, Hillbilly, can you come here and help me a little?"

"Turn off this fucking Nazi grunt first, we have neighbours here! And stop calling me Hillbilly."

"Sorry Hillbilly, I forgot that you Wessies forgot a lot of our glorious history," teased Uli.

Simon was on the verge of anger, but the soft, charming, and slightly sad smile of his 'sister-out-of-law' calmed him immediately. The driver's door was open and it was obvious that Uli couldn't get out of the car for some reason.

"Can you open the back door and pass me the crutches please, Simon?"

Uli slowly put her left foot onto the ground, then propped herself up on the opened door and pulled herself out of the car. Only then did Simon realise that her whole right leg from her toes up to her hip was covered in a thick, bright, white plaster cast. Uli's carefully pedicured toes looked really small compared to the foot portion of the cast. It was obvious that the person who applied this cast put several layers of plaster under Uli's foot, and there was a rubber walking heel mounted at the bottom of this bulge, fastened to the cast with even more plaster bandages. The cast was only slightly bent at the knee and although Uli's dress was very short, the upper edge of the cast was hidden under her skirt. The cast appeared new, but there were already a few autographs and decorations on it. Simon couldn't help but gaze at her for a few seconds. Although propped up on black forearm crutches and with her right leg in a long walking cast, Uli was dressed perfectly. Rich clouds of her long, Scandinavian blond hair childishy waved around her mysterious smiling face and her neck was adorned with a thick chrome necklace of some avant-garde designer. She wore a fancy and very short halter-style black dress made by Carl Lagerfeld, which would be more appropriate for a formal evening occasion.

"My goodness Uli, what happened?" asked Simon after a few seconds of silence.

"Nothing in particular," shrugged Uli. "I just had those screws and pins I got after my crash two years ago removed. Plus some annual maintainance of my capitally fucked up knee."

"Ouch... I see," nodded Simon. "Hey, my little Chelsea is crippled now too, did you know?"

"Yeah, mom told me about some stairs, she sprained her ankle or something? Is there anything new at all?" wondered Uli.

"Actually she broke it, and not on the stairs, but in a motorbike crash," Simon explained.

"Motorbike? Son of a bitch, she's lying to her own parents, yeah?" grinned Uli.

"If you were me, would you dare to tell her the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth? What are you two saying about me?"

Simon and Uli turned and saw Nasty standing on the threshold, leaning with her elbows on the tops of her crutches, with her casted leg hung over the handle of the crutch.

"We're just chatting about your incredible breakability. People like you will eventually devastate our health insurance system. And now you're lying to your own mother." smirked Uli and took the crutches that Simon just had picked out of her car and offered to her.

Uli hobbled her way towards Nasty and the two siblings hugged each other cordially, balancing on their (in total) two good feet. Uli's former haughtiness and reserved tone melted away when she looked in Nasty's wide, soft and friendly blue eyes.

"Oh sweetie, what weird fortune we have - I think it's the first time we're together in casts?" sighed Uli with a crooked smile, not really sure whether she should laugh or cry.

Nasty already decided it was nothing but fun, and bursted out laughing.

"I cannot believe it didn't happen before! Hillbilly, sweetie, aren't we cute with these casted legs? C'mon, bring a camera and take a few pics of the two of us!"

Nasty put her left foot, encased in light blue fiberglass above Uli's, which was covered with thick white plaster, admiring both her own and her sister's wiggling toes. Although it was very late and Simon's clients were already waiting, he couldn't say no and dashed into the house for a camera to sneak a few pictures of the casted girls.

"Alright Chelsea, now I really gotta go, you'll have to make some coffee or whatever for Uli on your own. You don't need to worry about my lunch, I'll be home late. Call for a pizza or take something from the freezer. And please, do not smoke in the house. Uli, this applies to you too!"

Nasty kissed Simon passionately once more, then he jumped into his halftruck as the girls crutched into the house. Uli sat on the sofa and put her casted leg on the coffee table. Deliberately ignoring Simon's warning she lit herself a cigarette and handed the box to Nasty. "Here, light up a coffin nail too!"

"Thanks Sis, but I stopped smoking," replied the younger sister.

Then she crutched to the fridge and opened it, "Beer or juice, Sis? Oh, what a stupid question," she grabbed two beer cans and hopped on her good foot back to the coffee table.

"Hey chick, did I see a bottle of Wyborowa on that door?" winked Uli when her sister returned to the fridge for her crutches. "I would like a glass, if it's really cold."

"You really want to start with vodka at 8 o'clock in the morning?" Nasty asked with a laugh.

"My knee has started to throb a little," grinned Uli. "As you know, I don't like pills, I prefer natural medicine. C'mon, slip me a glass and join me, it'll be good for your ankle too. Hey, baby, we have to celebrate our first mutual castedness!"

"Oh well... Actually, I have one even colder in the freezer," Nasty hesitated a while, but as it's really hard to force the frog into water, she eventually opened freezing department and took out a half-empty bottle covered with hoarfrost. The vodka flowed as slowly and thickly as oil as she poured two glasses. "Sis, you became a real drinker after that accident, ya know that? And now you're seducing me as well. I'll report that to our mother."

"Look who's talking! You started to drink when you were thirteen..."

"And to screw and smoke a year before," laughed Nasty. "I bet you would try to drive home when we drain that bottle?"

"Absolutely not. I already learned my lesson," simpered Uli as she knocked on her cast absent-mindedly. "Now I always call a cab on such occasions, the everyday pain in my fuckin' knee reminds me. I think that couch would be nice for me tonight, if you don't mind."

"I don't, but you can join me and Hillbilly in our bed as well, it's big enough for all three of us. If you don't mind me screwing him while you're there, of course."

"What about me joining you two at screwing too?"

"You're terrible Uli, you know that?" sighed Nasty. "But you are my big smart successful handsome sister... Fuck, I'm talking rubbish again! Life sucks, let's get drunk together, Sis!"

"You don't need to tell me twice!" Uli propped herself on crutches and speeded over to the freezer. "Catch it!", she cried, as she threw the frozen bottle of vodka on the couch.

"Hey, easy," protested Nasty. "Hillbilly won't be glad when he finds us here soaked like two crippled sponges. Besides, had I told you I broke my ankle riding drunk? I mean, I wasn't drunk, but..."

Nasty stood up, limped to the counter and opened a glass of pickled cucumbers. "...but we just sipped a few beers in the barracks, some officer celebrated his birthday. I wasn't drunk, but the fuckin' breathalyzers, you know? So I made up that story about the staircase and the platforms."

"You aren't stupid at all Sis, hadn’t you noticed? Oh, these pickles are a great idea, ladies really shouldn't drink vodka on empty stomachs," said Uli. "Besides, I don't think you - or me - drink too much. We are Poles and there's definitely blood of pan Onufry Zagloba in our veins."

Nasty had just shaken her head, smiled, drained a glass of vodka at one gulp and snacked on a cucumber. Uli lit herself another cigarette, "And, of course, you have a lot of chromosomes from the Wolodyowski couple..."

"And you should be the reincarnation of pany Olenka Bilewiczówna, I suppose, my noble sister? Or, according to your shockingly pure virginity, Danuta Yurandowna?!" jeered Nasty. "Let's go outside Sis, Hillbilly's gonna kill you for smoking inside the house." (All the above mentioned persons are characters from different Sienkiewicz'es novels.)

"Don't spit on your own plate," Uli reached for her crutches and stood up. "You are as much szlachcianka as me, and you should be proud of that." (szlachcianka - Polish noble lady)

Because of Uli's passion for having a drag, and also because it was becoming a beautiful day, the girls decided to continue their little cast party outside the house. Nasty filled her backpack with vodka, beer cans, pickles and a few bags of crisps, before they crutched to the garden table and made themselves a comfy nest on the benches.

Nasty also remembered the magic markers to sign and decorate both casts. Writing on fiberglass was kinda hard because of rough texture, so Uli couldn't display all her artistic skills on Nasty's light-blue, perfectly moulded casted calf and shin.

Then Nasty took her sister's plastered leg in her lap and started to write her stylized autograph on Uli's casted instep: "You have beautiful toes, Sis."

"Yours ain't bad either," smiled Uli after taking a look on Nasty's casted leg hanging over the edge of the bench. "Did you choose the colour that matches the right half of your head?"

"Of course," grinned Nasty. "Although plaster is great to wear - heavy, smooth and shining - fiberglass is much funnier due to all the colours available."

"Can you tell me," grinned Uli, "which you prefer: wearing a cast or sex?"

Nasty blushed and took a large sip of beer before she answered: "Sex in the cast, I think. And… how did you get such an odd idea? I mean, to answer something…?"

"C'mon Sis, let's stop hiding," chuckled Uli. "A long time ago I noticed your passion for casts. It's called 'orthophilia' in Dr. Perelmann's Encyclopedia of Sexual Aberrations and Unusual Practices. It's a form of fetishism and it's explained as the subconscious need for attention and care. It seems those stupid hair colors you use to ruin your lovely, naturally curled brown hair don't give you enough attention, so you have to break a bone from time to time."

The tops of Nasty's ears became burning red: "You're far too smart for my lousy attempts at denial Sis. Yup, I think I'm a caster, that's how the people like me call it… You think there's something wrong with that?"

"No, why the hell should I?" laughed Uli. "Except it's painful. But it's okay, at least you can look at your constant injuries on the brighter side, what do you think?"

"Well… I agree," Nasty answered with sheepish grin. "I just think… or feel… that casts are enjoyable. And nice to see, if they are moulded perfectly and applied on a nice person. By the way, you look really lovely in your cast Sis."

"Oh well, if you say so," Uli replied with a shrug. "It's quite heavy and hot, but it's not that uncomfortable. It takes the pain away, though the last two years I've felt every single movement of my knee… Sis, you're crazy, no doubt."

Nasty was just smiling and drinking beer when Uli asked more seriously: "Apart for your attitude towards casts, I guess you're quite lucky with all your injuries. Did you ever have to have an operation? Or have you had any permanent problems?"

"I had an operation on my left knee two years ago when I tore my meniscus," Nasty pointed at two small scars on both sides of her left kneecap. "It's still a bit more rigid than the other knee, but I can deal with it. And I had my achilles tendon stitched in high school, when I fell off the beer garden roof at Oktoberfest, do you remember?" asked Nasty as she pointed to another pale scar on the back of her right heel.

"Besides that, I had stitches many times, but I didn't get any hardware in my bones. I'll meet that shit anyhow, sooner or later, I guess. Well I'm luckier than you so I won't complain, but I can always feel every single joint I've sprained or dislocated, which means almost all of them. I can still perform most of the exercises on the uneven bars, the beam and the floor, but all my limbs are covered with elastic bandages and braces whenever I hang around our gym," explained Nasty without much concern.

"I bet you enjoy those braces and other stuff too?" teased Uli.

"Not as much as casts, but it's a pleasant change every once in a while," admitted Nasty.

She took another look at Uli's plastered leg and noticed on the inner side of her cast a big bright red heart accompanied with the spurious autograph, 'Gerhard'.

"Hey who's that guy? Some new sweetheart of yours I assume?" asked Nasty.

"Yup," happily nodded Uli with mischief. "Damn you little chick, I almost forgot to tell you – I’ve got a new boyfriend and I'm soooo in love!!!"

"You’ve said that at least fifty times before," grinned Nasty.

"But this time it's true love! I think that I found the man of my dreams." Uli was high in the clouds.

"You’ve said that at least a dozen times," Nasty replied sceptically.

"Shut up Nasty, or you'll regret it. I mean it seriously - this one is finally sent to me by pure destiny, I LOVE him and I think I'm gonna marry him."

"Ouch, that's something different," the brave little girl replied. "You've only said you were gonna marry someone twice."

"Three times, actually," sighed Uli. "Last year I wanted to marry Lotti, didn’t you forget?"

"Lotti?"

"Liselotte Bruckner my former secretary, the one you got drunk with and barfed all over my flat."

"Ah, that lovely red-haired Thuringian," remembered Nasty. "But hey, tell me more about this... Gerhard?"

"Well…where do I start?" blushed Uli. "He's nice, cute, chivalric and I love him."

"Yeah, did you ever date someone ugly?" grinned Nasty. "Where did you meet him?"

"I met him near the hospital, when I was released last week. As you maybe remember, I was with Detlev before…"

"That stupid cocky broker with a gap between his front teeth?"

"Detlev is stupid and cocky, but he's not a broker. He's a lawyer in the long-term investment department," explained Uli. "You probably meant Christoph? I was involved with him half a year before…and there was also Agnes between Chris and Detlev, she's a procurator at Allianz."

"Yeah, it's hard to keep the track of all your affairs," laughed Nasty. "I assume you broke up with Detlev. And then you met this…"

"Gerhard…oh, by the way, he's a skinhead."

"What?" laughed Nasty. "You are dating a skinhead??? All your former partners were some kind of businessmen…or businesswomen. So, finally you’ve met a real living Nazi - I bet he's not a sharpskin. I think all those Sturmbannführers and Luftwaffe pilots you daydreamt about in high school are too old for sex now."

"Do you have any prejudices against skinheads?" grinned Uli.

"Not at all, except one of them cut my face a few years ago. I assume it's a really brave and chivalric deed to slap a fourty-kilo girl with a broken bottle," chuckled Nasty.

"Okay, maybe I should start from the beginning," said Uli.

Nasty opened a new beer can and nodded, while Uli lit another cigarette and started her story…