Author's Thanks: to eScapefreak and sunaru! :)

eS - Thank you. :) Personally, I think I'd like raktajino. I enjoy coffee in most of its forms, though my dad won't let me try it iced. The very topic of cold coffee makes him mad. shrug We all have our pet peeves, I guess.

sunaru - So the mystery makes you interested, huh? :D If I pull off what I'm trying to, you'll get plenty of that! :)

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Author's Note:

Please forgive any odd formatting. I'm having problems with the Document Manager. I think I've found a way to help, but if it doesn't work, I'm sorry. Once I find something that works I'll go back and fix everything.

A picture of a minor OC may be forthcoming. Anyone interested in seeing it?

I'm not sure how I managed the scene with Quark in this one. What do you think?

Reminder: review for more, but don't blaspheme or swear. Tell me what you think. I won't think you rude. :)

Enjoy! :)

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2: Waifs :2

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- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

"Come in."

Station Chief of Security Lieutenant Harrison entered stiffly.

Colonel Kira Nerys glanced up. "What's the matter, Lieutenant?"

"We've had an explosion of beggars overnight, Ma'm. We caught one."

"It's a crime to beg?"

"I'm just asking where they're from, Ma'm. But she doesn't answer me. I thought you might have better luck with her, Ma'm."

She nodded tersely and followed Harrison to Security. Entering the holding area, she stopped in midstep.

A frail girl huddled in the corner of the cell, shivering. "Harrison!" she exclaimed. The child's alien clothing was worn to near tatters, her pallid feet and arms bare. Her auburn hair hid her face, its coloring offset by black highlights.

"She bit an officer while under questioning," he explained awkwardly.

Nerys shot him a hard look and strode foreward, immediately lowering the forcefield. The girl didn't react—not then or when the Colonel crouched beside her. "Hello?"

No reaction. She frowned, glancing back at Harrison, who shrugged. She tapped the girl's arm.

The child turned to face Nerys, surprise flashing over her face at her nearness. Her Bajoran ridge was smaller than most—but then, she herself was small.

"Hi," Nerys said quietly.

Puzzlement showed on the girl's features.

She tried again in Bajoran. "Greetings, child. I am Kira Nerys."

The puzzled frown remained at the Colonel's words until she said her name. A moment aftewards, vague recognition showed. "Kira..." she whispered. She sat straighter and pointed to herself, eyes never leaving Nerys's face. "Kira Plié."

"Kira Plié?" Kira Nerys made sure she'd heard correctly. The girl nodded slowly. "Plié is a strange name," she mentioned in Bajoran.

The girl's blank look startled the Colonel.

The Bajoran child didn't know her native tongue.

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- - - Memory - - -

Her feet rang against the flooring. She panted, her lungs burning. She couldn't slow down. They were still after her—her sharp hearing followed their movements despite—or perhaps because of?—their morphing.

"That's her!"

She halted, terrified. They were in front of her, now, too!

Plié! Dart left!

She gasped, starting to sob.

Plié!

She recognized the strong mental voice and followed its directions, but too late. She felt the numbness take her side. Her knees gave out, and she found herself on her back, unable to move.

Chief of Security scowled down at her. "This one oversteps her bounds too easily." She kicked Plié.

"That can be repaired." The security chief's mother stated coldly.

- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

Unblinking as she transferred from memory to present, she watched the woman's lips move. Kira, she'd called herself... she thought. She recognized the usage of two languages in the Bajoran's vocal motions.

Kira Plié blinked back tears of frustration. There had been a time when she could pick up languages and their inflections by listening long enough. They'd punished her for it.

She couldn't even hear the woman, much less understand her. "I'm sorry," she whispered as the frustrated woman turned to leave.

'Kira' stopped, turning to face her with a shocked expression.

Yoo doo speek... buht not Bazhoran. Close observation allowed her to recreate the sounds in her mind.

She frowned, trying to connect the woman's words to something—anything, she'd be likely to say incredulously. She narrowed her gaze, further focusing it. Plié pointed to Kira's nose, then her own. "Bazhoran?" she repeated.

Nodding, Kira broke into a regretful smile. Iil bee bak, she apparently said, then left. From the man's reaction as Kira left, the girl guessed she spoke to him.

When they left without punishing her, Plié let herself smile shyly. She might not need her hearing for her gift, after all.

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- - - Urial - - -

"Where are you going?"

Odo turned towards the boy's voice, surprised to find a kink in his neck from reclining in his uncomfortable seat. "What?"

The Alissian proudly puffed out his chest. "I'm gonna enter Starfleet!"

He snorted. "I doubt that."

"But I'm eighteen."

He looked incredulously at the boy. "I'm sure you are."

The Alissian looked sheepishly down at his young self. "Well... I had a transporter accident."

"Really."

The boy nodded, embarrassed. "The buffers were... misaligned."

"I see."

Abruptly his companion put up a cheery front. "So what are your big dreams across the wormhole?"

"I'm going home."

"Oh." The Starfleet hopeful shrugged halfheartedly. "At least you have a home to go to."

Before Odo could ask, the boy had wandered off.

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- - - Deep Space Nine - - -

"What are you talking about? You can't go—a party's already expecting that dabo table for later! I'll lose all my profits!"

The former dabo girl watched her ex-employer with complete disinterest. "I said, I quit." She walked out.

Quark groaned. "That's the second one, today!"

"Do you need workers?" a spindly female juvenile asked, leaning heavily on a metal rod.

"I need a server and a dabo girl before noon, and I already own all on this station!"

The girl paused, as if bothered. Quark noticed a male youth behind her, silent and reminiscent of a shadow. She jerked her head back at him. "Lathin can serve." She slowly drew herself up from her hunched-over position, tucking her rod under her arm. She was surprisingly tall. "I can run a dabo table."

"You're asking for work?" Quark couldn't believe his stroke of luck.

She bowed her head in assent.

"Hm..." Circling the two teenagers, he eyed them critically. He'd never seen their species before; their smooth pale gray skin would be hard to forget. The rest of the girl would be, too: her flaxen hair mixed with mild blue-green and reminding him of Tholian silk, her simple rugged garment a complementing shade of magenta. Lathin's features were dark, giving him a menacing look when combined with his silent impassive watchfulness and ragged spruce tunic.

He poked the male's thin arm, satisfied with its solidness. He returned his attention to the female, focusing on her face. Well-formed, he admitted, but her eyes caught his attention. They were a similar blue-green to her hair, but something about them...

They lacked luster. That was it.

He jerked as realization hit him. "You can't dabo! You're blind!"

"Test me," she quietly replied. "You'll find me as useful as any."

"We'll see about that!" He grabbed her arm and half carried her over to the empty dabo table. He noticed her nod at her companion and glanced at Lathin just as he relaxed from bristling. It took him aback. "Well..."

One slender hand skimmed the table's rim while the other partially used her rod to navigate as she reached the dabo girl position. She inconspicuously reached two fingers forward to lightly feel the closest section. She leaned back, both hands cupped over her staff, and nodded at him.

He spun the table.

"Karjinko." She didn't budge from her relaxed position.

He tried several more times, her correctly analyzing the table each time. Every few spins, she'd reach forward to check the nearest slot.

Frustrated, Quark swung backwards.

Hesitating only a moment, she responded, "Dabo."

"What?!" He looked at the table and gawked.

"One bar of gold-pressed latinum each for every... three days worked?"

"Eight!"

"Five."

"Seven!"

Her head dropped to the side, sightless eyes darting to her friend. "Five."

"Seven is what I pay all my employees—"

"We know our worth, Ferengi." Her low voice rang. "Five. No less."

"No job!"

She bowed her head, accepting his denial. "Then you cannot claim exotic race publicity." She turned to go.

Quark blinked. That female has the lobes... "Wait!"

The shrewd young woman turned towards him. "Yes?"

"Name your terms."

"As stated, plus editing rights over what you publish concerning your... unique employees."

The Ferengi's eyes narrowed. "And?"

She didn't waver. "I know what I ask."

Quark shook his head. "That's not what I meant. What about tips?"

"I give you ten percent."

"Twenty-five."

"Bar of latinum each for every five days worked, editing rights, with you receiving twenty percent of tips."

He scowled, thinking it over. "Those are... simple terms."

She smiled slightly. "How better to avoid your Ferengi convolutions?" She quickly waved her hand in front of her before returning it to her rod. "Write it up."

"I'm sorry?"

"You've accepted, so write it that we may have it signed. My companion will read it for me."

He sighed. Outwitted by a female... "Of course."

One look at her friend cured Quark of any desire to doctor the contract.