Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Before Garak, I don’t think there was ever another character for whom I thought things like
I need an epilogue where we deal with the contract between Garak and Quark from “Body Parts.”
—
Rom shuffled his way into Garak’s shop. “Uhh… Quark is here,” he said.
“And?” Garak drawled from where he was sewing together a jacket.
“Nothing,” Rom said, “he just wanted me to make sure the coast was clear first. And to tell you that he’s here.”
“I want a new suit!” Quark called from the promenade.
Rom nodded. “He wants a new–”
“I heard him,” Garak interrupted, setting down his subatomic sewing device. “Do you really think?” he called out. “That killing you in my shop would be surprising?”
“No,” Quark said as he popped his head through the door. “I guess not.”
“Then, the way I see it, you are free to enter,” Garak said.
Quark looked up, to his left, to his right, and finally put two fingers through the doorway as if it might bite him. Garak pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Finally, after a few other tests, Quark ran in with his arms over his head.
“Are you done?” Garak asked dryly as the Ferengi stood before him.
“I want to end the contract on my life,” Quark said, slowly lowering his arms to his sides.
“Do you?”
“Yes! Things are different now. I don’t need to sell my remains.”
“I see,” Garak said. He picked up his sewing device and resumed work on the jacket.
“Well?” Quark asked.
“Well, what?”
“Are you off the job?”
“I could be.”
“How much is it going to cost me?” Quark asked.
“That’s quite a dangerous question for a man with no latinum and a price on his head to ask,” Garak noted as he finished a seam in the shoulder.
“You heard about the bar,” Quark said flatly.
“Rumor travels fast on the promenade.”
“Alright.” He threw his hands in the air. “You got me. I’m broke – for now. But I can get you the money just as soon as business picks up.”
“I’m afraid,” Garak said, “that won’t be acceptable.”
“It’s not?”
“Mr. Quark,” Garak said, not taking his eyes off his work, “my services are quite expensive, as you well know, and I would hate to tarnish my reputation by not killing a man when he specifically asked me to do so.”
“But now I’m asking–”
“I’m afraid,” Garak said, “that our contract must be made null and void.”
“You mean you won’t kill me?” Quark asked.
Garak nodded. “As much as it pains me to say it, you simply can’t afford my services at this time.”
Quark winced. “Yeah,” he said gloomily, “I guess you’re right.”
“However, should you require something sartorial, such as a new suit, I think I might be able to find something that will fit your needs.”
“Something off the scrap heap?” Quark remarked gloomily.
“Oh, I think I can come up with something a little nicer than that,” Garak said as he set down his sewing device and hung up the jacket. He turned back to Quark. “But, for now, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with one of the ready-made options I have on display. Something in the purple to red range, I would think, having seen your previous attempts at fashion.”
“You do like purple, brother,” Rom said.
“Yeah, sure. Something purple,” Quark said.
“An excellent choice,” Garak said, taking a deep plum shirt off the rack and handing it to him.
“I suppose you want this cleaned and returned?” Quark said, gesturing with the shirt at Garak.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, that particular style is going out of fashion,” Garak said. “And, as a businessman, I’m sure you know how detrimental it can be to have old stock simply gathering dust. Although, I would appreciate it if, should someone compliment your wardrobe, you would tell them where you got the shirt.”
“An advertisement,” Quark said.
“More or less,” Garak agreed.
Quark shrugged. “Yeah, I can live with that,” he said as he walked into a changing room.
Rom took a few tentative steps forward as soon as his brother disappeared behind the curtain. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?” Garak asked with a raise of his eyebrow ridge.
Rom looked at him curiously for a moment. “I dunno,” he said, taking a few steps back again.
“How nice for you,” Garak said. He smiled in earnest as Quark reappeared from the dressing room. The rich, plum color of the shirt complimented his skin tone nicely. He’d have to remember to add some plum details to the suit. “Will that be all for you today?” Garak asked.
“You don’t think that maybe I could get a cut of the commissions that come in from this shirt?” Quark asked.
“Certainly,” Garak said, “they will go directly towards the deposit you owe me for the voided contract.”
Quark smiled. “Eh, it was worth a shot,” he said.
“Indeed. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have other ensembles to make.”
“Hang on,” Quark said just as he was about to leave the shop. “How do I know that this isn’t part of the surprise?”
“Time,” Garak said with a slight grin, “will tell.”
so what was that weird neck ridges phase that happened w garak late season 6/early season 7. what happened there
Lolol Idk! Sometimes I wonder if it was some sort of? Second puberty? Next stage in maturity? Some weird sickness? A physical manifestation of his increased stress levels? If the ridges are protective, do they grow larger when Cardassians are stressed? Or fearing for their lives?
ok but as a serious response to all these YES these are all v interesting!! I definitely love the idea of finding an in-universe reasoning rather than just Oh Makeup Got Weird For A While. LOVE the idea of it being due to increased stress
I love the increased stress idea too. And it makes sense, I think?? Might just accept it as my headcanon.
so what was that weird neck ridges phase that happened w garak late season 6/early season 7. what happened there
Lolol Idk! Sometimes I wonder if it was some sort of? Second puberty? Next stage in maturity? Some weird sickness? A physical manifestation of his increased stress levels? If the ridges are protective, do they grow larger when Cardassians are stressed? Or fearing for their lives?
“Can you see it from here?” Julian asked softly. Garak did not turn. He had not heard Julian’s approach, but the opening of the door had flooded light into the dark, empty space.
“See what, my dear?” He knew. They both did.
“Cardassia.”
Cardassia Prime twinkled to the right of the viewscreen. Garak could have pointed to it without even looking. He had become a compass, during exile; no matter where he was, he could always point out Cardassia in relation. His anchor, no matter how far into space he sailed.
since their DS9-related posts are what helped lead me to this (if there’s a DS9-related Discord I should join, let me know); note that I’m not much of a shipper (and I’m ace), so I wasn’t quite sure how to approach the Bashir/Garak relationship; I just left it in the background (and the lizard man t-shirt).
“Oh, Doctor. There you are, and I….see you’ve brought company!” As he could see, Dr. Bashir was heading for the Replimat for his typical luncheon with him, only four other people were crowded around him. A skinny man with a mustache, a stocky older man with a timid expression, a rather gregarious-looking woman, and another woman who looked rather distant. “Oh, hello Garak. I’d like to apologize for being a bit late.”
