The plot grows and admittedly gets a touch silly for some of the tone but it can't be all serious all the time. Slowly going to be bringing in more of the cast. Not exactly a character of the week deal but we'll see how it goes. I ended up rewriting this from scratch like twice so I think I'm good with where this is. I had a bit of a long conversation with someone about the direction/pacing of the story. I know there are readers (and sometimes I'm one of them haha) who would prefer that the main pairing be gotten to and established quickly with all the good stuff that goes with it but for this I really wanted to build the entire world, cast, plot, slowly since this is going to span an extremely long span like the original show. So that's where we are with that. Having said that much appreciation to all my readers just hanging out and enjoying the ride.C&C is always welcome.
"Your life is in danger, Aanya." Garak turns, but to even his own amazement, doesn't start at the loudly spoken words. Said words, follow the heavy door flying open into the wall hard enough to rattle the nonsense knickknacks on the shelf. The interruption is sudden but not unexpected after the loud conversation he'd overhead from downstairs a few minutes prior. In the time it takes him to look up Garak carefully but not unnaturally closes the notebook and pushes it aside. He still hasn't been able to crack the cypher; it hadn't occurred to him there would even be a cypher in the doctor's seemingly innocuous journal, but there it was, yet another mystery to be solved. To be fair to his own abilities, this is the first morning he's awoken without any pain. He'd woken early, in fact, blessedly clear headed, even the dull headache and lingering ocular occlusion of the previous day having passed. That unpleasantness itself preceded by days in bed, lost time, another miserable affront to his dignity as Leeta cheerfully volunteered to be his nursemaid until his "migraine" had passed.
Of course that hadn't been in the plan- the implant normally allowed him enough mitigations of subsequent symptoms to function normally with a happy little bit of hypospray full of whatever opiate was most readily available. The implant, much like the PADDs had failed spectacularly. All of it had failed at the same time that night. That moment when he felt that buzz, that thrum, that had to have been it. Electromagnetic storms, reactions from the copious veins of ore beneath the surface, the makeup of the planet itself- these were a series of explanations Leeta attempted to provide when she brought tea for his "migraine" the following morning. She was clever but no scientist and Garak decided that the specifics would have to be gleaned from someone who was. Someone who could explain and then tell him how to work around it. Because Garak didn't believe for a moment that in spite of the easy capitulation of the majority of the planet's populace to the strictly mechanical based technology that it could not be worked around- at least in a temporary measure for what he would need to accomplish later.
Such a vital yet convenient piece of information to be left out of the intelligence he received. A curious thing but it fit quite nicely with the rest of the narrative so far. But what it all came down to, whether by deliberate machination or bureaucratic failing hardly mattered at this point- was that nothing worked. Nothing brought from above so terribly dependent on all those electronics, circuits, wires, none of it, it seemed could be shielded from the planet's whimsical effects. And sitting there with no one but her, speaking to him in fluent Cardǎsda he never realized it had failed.
She speaks now, the words a bastardized mix of Bajorai and Cardǎsda almost offensive to his ears. Aanya... a quaint portmanteau of Aamin and "dead". He didn't question the address when she murmured it to him the first time finding the morbid pet name amusing in its own ironic way. The manner in which she spoke it also told him it wasn't a new idea thought up on a whim. Such a curious relationship. Nothing like the banal star crossed nonsense you'd envisioned now, is it, Elim? But it was a relationship with weight, history, and he'd thought he was prepared for whatever it may have entailed, until now.
Garak looks at her curiously, instinct pulling his face to a perfectly polite mask even as he realizes her current state of dress, or lack thereof. My, that's a sight to wake up to. The garment, of course is perfectly in step with the trending female evening wear he's studied during his brief sojourn, but reading a description of the peignoir on a page versus seeing it in the flesh is certainly a change. A quite welcome change in fact. It's a sheer white garment and sheer, Garak notes, while printed on a page conjures up a certain expectation. An expectation that falls perfectly flat in the face of a body that is anything but. He catches himself before politely averting his eyes knowing that no matter the circumstances there's no way that the man he isn't quite pretending to be would look away from his former betrothed like some celibate old man. Garak looks, of course. He looks at the way the silk curtains her body, those slight ties carelessly knotted between her breasts which are in no way hidden by that layer of gauzy white. If anything their fullness is only accentuated by the fabric clinging- doubtless a result of the dry air- beautifully hugging the rounded curves. Garak's fingers carefully curl just a bit tighter around the writing implement in his right hand- a pen-sill if he recalls the name- and he cannot help the idle caress of his thumb around the pink eraser. Doubtless tip of this device has nothing on such magnificent... Oh for Gul's sake you're behaving no better than a boy seeing his first naked female.
That bit of self recrimination itself is hardly enough to pull his thoughts from their sudden lascivious turn as his eyes sweep down the curve of her wide flaring hips to that extra fold of fabric down the center. The lace trimmed silk just covers her sex enough to create that illusion of propriety while doing nothing but stir him to want to pull it aside and- And sire a passel of half breed bastards at your age, yes, the perfect way to end your career, Elim. Why not simply write Tain now and tender your resignation, along with your Cardassian citizenship, while you're at it? He sighs inwardly at that internal splash of cold water forcing the two trains of thoughts distinct if parallel. If nothing else it will be a far better substitute for your fantasies than- wait, danger? Garak sits up straight, aware with a great sense of relief that all of that nonsense has passed in a mere matter of moments. He is immediately on alert, eyes quickly taking stock of the few feet to the weapon beneath the bed before he settles on staying put, his hand dropping beneath the desk to the weapon makeshift fastened to the underside facing the door. He leaves the safety on while she remains standing there.
"You seem to have me at a disadvantage this morning, my dear. Now I may not have come down to breakfast but I can assure you that your expert care these past few days has ensured my continued well being at least until lunch time." There's a little screw up of her nose at his attempt to calmly diffuse the situation and she waves at him like a put upon feline three paws of her hand to the air for him to be silent. He'd find it insulting if it wasn't somehow also amusing. Garak takes his had from the gun determining that her earlier theatric was likely for the dear departed Marritza's scatterbrained benefit. He sees her turn, looking down the hall, anxiously and he stands, deciding the aether gun free in his hand would be a better defense. He realizes, however, that she isn't holding her own gun, and he sees the strap around her thigh now that his thoughts have turned to more practical matters. It still holds the holstered small pistol- a modern two shot spin on an old derringer model, she helpfully supplied while sitting by his bedside the other night- likely loaded with the rather impressive high caliber rounds but otherwise undrawn. So then whoever she's looking for now, is not the enemy.
Garak takes that brief moment to secure his own weapon and holster, and for modesty's sake finishes buttoning the open linen shirt he'd thrown on upon waking. He doesn't wait long before he sees the Ferengi, Rom, appear in the doorway next to her. He cannot help the extra blink as she ushers him inside and shuts the door closed behind them both, locking it quickly. Garak is admittedly brimming with curiosity but he waits patiently- this is her show after all, and a much better one than he's had in some time- taking note of a strange rolled parchment in Rom's hand as the two of them look at each other.
"Is that it?" Leeta asks in a hush, Garak definitely wondering now what "it" may be. He sees the vigorous nod and idly considers her ease at being in such a state of undress near a man that she is not married to, and seemingly not romantically involved with. He supposes he ought to be jealous but then again Rom seems to be far more at ease with her state of undress than clothed, hardly paying it any mind. Well, Elim, he is a Ferengi, after all. But as to the paper-
"Show him Rom," Leeta says looking chagrined as she looks to the contents of the large unfurled page, worrying her lower lip admittedly adorably. Garak clasps his hands behind his back expectant, waiting, that nervous look on Rom's face as he turns it almost giving him pause. ...that is until he sees it and cannot for the life of him fathom what in the name of the State has the two of them in such a flurry. There is a drawing. That is the biggest kindness he can give the piece- acknowledging it is in fact a drawing. He can tell from the half deformed chufa that it's supposed to be a Cardassian. The ridges are... exaggerated to say the least and there's a rather comically sinister cast to the visage, practically a snarl to the face, a somewhat unflattering inking of spots of some marking that makes the poor creature look half Trill. The face is plump, overfed to be sure, and the coif resembles more some antiquated eastern human warrior than a true Cardassian with any sense of decorum. He can feel a half hiccup in his throat, aware that it would be terribly bad manners to suddenly erupt in gales of mirth while both Rom and Leeta look at him expectantly. He isn't quite sure what he's supposed to be taking away from the hysterically bad rendering of some poor Cardassian soul who had the misfortune to-
"Wanted: Dead or Alive
Aamin Marritza
5000 bars Gold Pressed Latinum"
No. Absolutely not. Garak stares at the words, mouth falling open. He cannot help it, he truly cannot as he realizes with proper horror- not for the reason they're thinking he's positive- as he takes another look at the offensive caricature.
"Is that..." Garak feels his face getting unnaturally hot, and he thinks if he was a pink skinned mammalian race his face would very well be close to purple. As it stands he can feel the hot flush of his ridges, the swell of anger, and the thought that it's likely only making him more closely resemble that ghastly image does nothing to help bring it under control. "Is that supposed to be me!?" He points, dumbly, not entirely sure what to do with his hands aside from stalk forward and rip the offending parchment into a million little pieces, the thought of that missive circulating the entire planet in a slow wave making him almost faint with nausea. "Tell me that... Oh... Oh come now... you cannot honestly believe that..." Garak swallows, calling unconsciously on the implant to bring the wild emotion to bear and of course coming up with nothing. Training, Elim, for Gul's sake, remember your training! You don't need an implant. Really. It's... it's funny if you think about it isn't it? Yes... funny...
"It looks just like him," Rom states matter of factly to Leeta and Garak decides in that moment that if it takes him a hundred years he will murder that man. He will eviscerate him with his own tooth sharpener. He will-
"It really does," Leeta agrees sadly, worried, and Garak would be moved by her concern, truly, if he didn't feel so completely betrayed. But it's that sobering thought that tempers his near outburst, his pulse, his respirations coming back to an acceptable metric. Garak attempts to keep that disappointment from showing too much on his face.
"Well as... uncanny as a resemblance as it may be," he forces out sounding more constipated than conciliatory, "I still fail to quite see the emergency that would cause you to rush in here in such a state at such an early hour." Yes, redirect the conversation to something other than the further assassination of your character and perhaps we can make this into a useful conversation. "I believe the matter was resolved with the good sheriff when we spoke the other night." If by resolve one means to pay an ungodly sum of latinum to expedite a... telly-gram off world to confirm that one Aamin Marritza is dead as a record of Central Command and that two the dossier for my alias holds up.
Leeta nods, walking towards him looking no less satisfied. She knows. Of course she knows now of his "death" in grand fashion- Garak found much to his surprise he'd in fact memorized a good bit of that verbal diarrhea- complete with dialogue, just as she also "knows" that there's a lot that she doesn't and shouldn't know, but in the end both truth and falsehood are preserved in beautiful harmony.
"I had Odo let me know as soon as he heard from his contacts." She puts her hands on his shoulders in a gesture he's sure is meant to be comforting, but all he can do is wonder how a man who railed with such vitriol against the Cardassian government, for a good two hours before being dragged bodily away, could be so frail. "It isn't good." It isn't good? What could possibly be so complicated about- "Marritza isn't dead," she says slowly, carefully and Garak's hands move to hers, easing them gently from his shoulders.
"Go on," he encourages with a pat to those soft hands held between the two of them, his mind a whirl of questions. "What about me? What about Garak, my dear?" And after the first revelation he knows better than to expect anything but the obvious. If this one crucial piece of easily verified public record is somehow missing then that can only mean one thing.
"They don't show any record of Elim Garak before leaving the LaGrange point. Nothing. It's like you don't..." she swallows, and he doesn't need to listen to hear him fill in the rest of the sentence as he keeps the careful pretense, giving her hands a quick squeeze before stepping back. The way the Ferengi is looking at him it seems that it won't do to appear too friendly. Okay, Elim, so we need to consider the evidence at hand quickly. First, a very public piece of information is being blocked from reaching on world. Anywhere else in the galaxy you have access to any number of pieces of evidence verifying your claims but short of dragging a witness off of Cardassia itself whatever communications, whatever intermediary is fielding these from Cardassia is altering them, and here you're left with nothing. Or possibly they're being filtered from Cardassia itself- Gul's balls you need to find out more to how this even works. You're not supposed to have any contact until the designated time and it's far too easy to monitor who goes on and off world from above for you to be able to try and check yourself. And then we come to the second part, that being that Elim Garak apparently no longer exists not as a tailor, an agent, not even as his own person. Ah, but then again you haven't been your own for decades now, Elim so why pretend it bothers you now?
But in the end it reaches back once more to the same conclusion that someone is very much trying to kill him and he considers Leeta's frantic entrance and the confrontation he heard quite well from the common room below.
"Yes, well as you can see I very much exist in the world and you both have my assurances that whatever the cause of this misunderstanding it will be cleared up." He looks at Leeta's unconvinced stony expression. "My dear, the day that I cannot handle one angry Bajoran female..." And he winced internally seeing a dangerous flash in her eyes at those dismissive words and he curses his carelessness. Yes, surely that fool Marritza would hardly cache it in those terms now, would he? Doubtless he saw the lot of us holding hands in some nonsense Bajoran prayer or whatever it is they do. "My apologies for my poor choice of words. They say..." He pauses for dramatic effect. "when they alter you," he takes care not to be too explicit on who they may in fact be, "that it changes you." He allows that to sink in while he studies Rom who is studying not him, but the room itself, pacing the perimeter, measuring tape in hand as he starts scribbling on the back of that offensive poster. Lovely, now there's reason to preserve it from immediate destruction.
"Oh, Aan-" Garak bring a finger to his lips and Leeta immediately nods cutting off the private name. Yes, poor Aamin, oh woe is he forced by nefarious persons to slip into this foreign skin, doomed to be alienated, irreparably separated from his one true love. Such a tragedy, sentimental drivel that could only be penned by a human. But she believes it, and that's all that matters right now. Leeta stands up straighter, pulling herself back together quickly, not allowing that emotion to show through any longer. Good, good girl. "Kira isn't the problem, Garak. That poster's the problem. They could've pulled them if the story checked out but it didn't. I took care of Kira. I mean... we have an agreement and it's probably better I don't tell you anything on that okay? But that price? Every bounty hunter on the continent's gonna be after your head."
"Five thousand bars is enough to pay off the whole building." Rom pauses at Garak's raised eye ridge. "Not that I would do that. I have five thousand saved up anyway."
"You mean Quark has it for "safekeeping"," Leeta interrupts with a disapproving purse of her mouth.
"Quark needs it to invest," he agrees obliviously. "But you know he's not going to approve these modifications."
"Who says I'm asking him?" she fires back crossing her arms with a smirk, red hair, fire, looking just damned beautiful. But not enough so to belay Garak from asking the obvious.
"Modifications?" Not that he doesn't already have a good idea when a quick glance behind him reveals an early sketch of wall plating, coupled with a series of what he can only assume is a composite of hair trigger booby traps. It's enough to make the ridges of his spine prickle uncomfortably.
"For security," she clarifies and he already imagines a macabre scene unfolding wherein he rolls off the bed and triggers an erupting coil of metallic teeth from beneath the floorboards. It reminds him of the old classic Parmalat stories, in which a cast of unfortunate characters must navigate the well guarded rooms of an eccentric old relative's compound- a relative who'd having passed without any shri tal. Secret after secret is revealed for the lucky soul who can unravel all the traps and triggers to the end; usually everyone dies. Yes, the cautionary tales of why one should never die without having a shri tal, or rather why one should be sure to hover around aging relatives like some carrion feeder lest they die unexpectedly and you're forced to contend with others for the throne as it were. Garak never understood why the main protagonist didn't just wait til the end and have the rest killed.
But Garak is hardly as concerned as Leeta is for his safety from what is doubtless to be a potential revolving door of opportunistic and more than likely grossly incompetent fortune seekers scouring the globe to make good on killing whatever poor creature happens to resemble that dubious likeness. No, his reflexes could most certainly use a good workout and he is terribly out of practice from such nostalgic threats to his life. He isn't even particularly concerned with whatever Parmalatian series of vole traps Rom is dreaming up, he can surely talk Leeta into something far more sensible, he's certain of that. But as for the true threat itself...
"Of course, and I look forward to continuing the discussion of my continued good health after a savory breakfast but might I inquire as to the other part of my request of the good sheriff?" He refers of course to the matter of who set the bounty on a dead man in the first place and then planted the clues for all roads to lead to him. Because the number of people who possessed the connections to know Leeta's whereabouts are surely not so numerous, unless the leaks in the Order are far larger than Tain led him to believe.
Leeta shakes her head.
"Nothing yet which is strange because that information is usually pretty easy to come by." He sees that concern resurface, far too personal for just another tenant but he already suspects she may have let Rom in on more than she should have. How novel, a trustworthy Ferengi. Still, it's a habit she'll need to rectify and he's only too happy to change the subject. If he cannot make headway on mystery number one then perhaps he can continue with the second. Garak solicitously steps around Rom making notes near the foot of his bed to a small scented perfumed card resting at the corner of the desk.
"Jadzia Dax; tour guide, translator, Trill extraordinaire."
"In that case, perhaps you can put me in touch with this person who I had the chance to meet a week ago while enjoying my dinner. I believe she may be able to assist me if her knowledge of Federation Standard is as proficient as I suspect it to be." Never let it be said that Elim Garak is too proud to consult an expert when it is called for and if you're confident in your abilities to decipher the code of one frontier doctor, then clearly the issue is the language itself. Yes, Dr. Bashir, I believe it is time to see what role you're to play in all of this.
