Made it for the Sunday update and had a lot of fun bringing Jadzia in here. I really think there was a lot of missed potential in the interaction between these two characters (and a lot of characters with Garak really) so I'm glad I get to play with that here. It's been fun seeing what roles i can fit everyone into that might not necessarily parallel their original roles perfectly but let me explore some other facets to them as well. But anyway, thanks to everyone reading. The plot may or may not thicken here or Garak may just be his lovable paranoid self. Thank to everyone reading. C&C is always welcome!


"I'm not a prostitute." That was how Jadzia Dax introduced herself to him when they first met on the large porch of "Guinan's House of Intangible Goods." He'd taken her hand with a small bow, a small polite smile as he kissed her fingers in some gesture he'd seen repeated more than once by many a suitor and suitor hopeful to a potential partner.

"Neither am I," he offered by way of greeting in return and saw her smile of amusement in return confirming his read of her dead on. He was thankful to note that he wasn't losing his touch. "As I recall your card indicated tour guide, translator, and... Trill Extraordinaire." He stepped back. "I must agree, you are quite extraordinary, my dear."

"Well now, flattery will get you everywhere but you know..." she'd stepped around him taking a seat on a cushioned wooden porch swing that seemed to made to accommodate two in a moment of intimacy and little else. "Money talks, Mister?..."

"Garak," he answered, taking a seat not allowing himself to be intimidated nor fall into the trap of being overly familiar. He allowed just a brief glance to the plunging neckline of the emerald dress before continuing with a quick flash of a few slips of latinum. "Just Garak, that is. No Mister. And I assure you we Cardassians are quite fond of our... speech."

"Well Garak, I think you and I might have a good few things to discuss after all."

A good few things turning into several hours of a consultation on that small swing which led him to reveal his initial confusion over the meaning of the phrase "intangible goods." It was not in fact a euphemism for the trade of more intimate services but rather an attempt to define the indefinable in selling time, expertise, exorcisms, a plethora of quite intangible things- in the case of Jadzia cultural consultation and translation services- to a more material minded Ferengi patron. Although, according to Jadzia there were a handful of who did supplement their income by more carnal means and should he ever find himself in need of a skilled practitioner of Oomox she could certainly put him in touch with a woman. Garak demurred but was pleased to find that Jadzia was exactly what he was looking for in a teacher. After the first visit the following day he found himself busy with several assignments while Rom, and Mr. O'Brien surprisingly, worked out the specifics of his room redesign. All with Quark's reluctant blessing under the promise of increased profits from the suite- and oh yes it was in fact a several room redesign- of maximum security rooms. This had been supervised by his erstwhile darling, taking the notion of protecting her beloved "Aanya" to almost frightening levels.

Yes, Garak had found himself looking forward to the second visit since Doctor Bashir had made himself strangely scarce following that incident and Leeta had found herself far too busy no matter how hard she tried to balance her extra work with keeping him company. And really, Elim, the poor woman's been running herself ragged on your behalf, you practically owe it to her to get out of her way for awhile. There is also the lure of conversing with so many new people, a luxury he hasn't been able to enjoy in years since his assignment began on Terok Nor. And what a pleasure today, for her hair is swept back, a pile of carefully pinned tresses interlaced with colorful threads and a bright green pin at the apex. The bustier is teal, not quite a matching shade, but a similar color palette, trimmed with black, boosting up everything that it needs to. The corset is cinched tight, though not forming an unnaturally slender waistline as he's seen on some, but just enough to draw attention. Her left leg is crossed, some might say immodestly revealing the lace top of the black garter stocking; fishnet is the style he's been informed , the strap disappearing somewhere amidst a flurry of crinoline, of almost shimmery fuchsia, a material of which he's yet to discern. It is perhaps what some staid thinkers might call a clash of colors but he absolutely loves it.

He's perhaps overly effusive in telling her so.

"I don't know," she answers, a black gloved finger examining his newly tailored red vest. "I think you might be worth a few slips of latinum yourself." Her expression is mischievous, an easy and comfortable pattern they've fallen into. Garak sighs dramatically.

"A few slips? I will have you know on Farius Prime I commanded no less than four strips of latinum for just an hour of my... company." She fans herself with a shake of her head.

"I think that might be a bit out of my price range but how about we call it even after today's lesson?" Garak glances at the large stack of books, word puzzles, various brain teasers and parchments all in Federation Standard resting to the side. Hardly, my dear, after the work you've put in it'd be fair to say I'm getting the much better end of the arrangement thanks to your pedantic dedication. He might find himself hard pressed by his own calculations should she raise the price but he keeps himself charming and knows nonetheless even if she does he'll pay it. Word play, double entendres, even the scourge of the layman that is puns, have been laid out before him and he's taken pains to absorb ever last bit of it finding that his proficiency in Federation Standard has grown by leaps even in this short time.

The translator has become such a crutch for you, you never realized what you were missing from your purely academic training, Elim. There is a world of conversation, of banter, witticisms and idioms as of yet unexplored with this language that you'd been missing out on. You shouldn't have allowed yourself such complacence- who knows what you may have missed already. He glances down at the paper in front of him, something she had called a mad lib, a paragraph full of strange blank spaces where critical words should appear. Despite not seeing the practicality of it, Garak completed his assignment diligently, the accompanying list penned with deliberately awkward handwriting. It certainly wouldn't to do show too much proficiency with penmanship this early on, and the Federation Standard language is a terribly boring and simple exercise with the stroke of a pen compared to what he's accustomed to.

"Well now, I can't speak to the endurance of my tongue after one of your delightful and challenging lessons, Miss Dax, but I will certainly endeavor to give it... the old college try, is that how you would properly phrase that?" His face is the picture of innocence as she searches it before laughing softly and shaking her head.

"If you're looking to get slapped maybe, but I definitely think you're getting the hang of it. Are you sure that you're not just pulling my leg when you say you're not secretly a master Federation linguist having fun at my expense?" She takes a long drink from the tall glass, a yellow beverage of something called lemonade that Garak has found to be quite refreshing in its sweet tart acidity. He waits, just a moment, the very soul of solemnity as he declares,

"My dear Jadzia, I thought you knew that I'm a very cunning linguist."

The effect is near instantaneous save for that brief pause as the words sink in. He sees her eyes get wide, a gloved hand going to her mouth as, caught between a laugh and a choke, she swallows half the beverage, the other half snorted, spit out in a series of coughs. He offers her one of the cloth napkins from the table and it's snatched away with a playful glare in his direction. He sees her pat the spilled drink from her neck, down to the messy dribble between her cleavage- he's not blind after all not to take just a short glance- and keeps his expression completely neutral.

"Don't think I'm going to let you get away with that," she vows, and he doesn't doubt for an instant that his dignity is in dire peril for the next few days. He's heard already tales of her "legendary exploits" including one where she'd managed to move everything in the sheriff's office an inch to the right. Leeta told him cheerfully she'd never heard the sheriff raise his voice like that in all the years she'd lived in Indigo.

Garak smiles at Jadzia, taking a drink of his own lemonade as he watches a gentleman in a long coat, pocketwatch chain coming from inside a vest pocket- and even Garak nearly winced at the overly warm looking layers- walk past their small table on the shady porch, staring at him warily. Garak identifies that parsing of memory, that calling to mind of that ridiculous drawing until at last that recognition dawns and that searching expression turns to an almost accusatory affront that he dare breathe the same air as a law abiding citizen. Particularly unnerving coming from all those eyes, though. Ah, but make the best of it, Elim, might as well practice your lessons, after all. Pygorians are known traders after all and the more business you can drum up the better position you'll be in to pay back the extra rate on your room that Leeta has covered out of her own pocket.

"Good day, sir, I see that your discerning eye has detected the rather smart new vest I'm wearing. Now this sophisticated number is made from the finest native oxen leather you'll find around as I was assured by the tanner. This is my own design of course. I'm a tailor by trade looking to set up shop, so should you find yourself in need of-"

"You're on the wanted poster in front of the sheriff's office," the man remarks bluntly, rather rudely ignoring the well crafted sales pitch. Really, the day a Pygorian turns down the opportunity to secure a good bargain... Though Garak has observed in his short time here that the culture on this world seems to promote a certain amount of posturing that one must adapt to. Ah, then he too must be native. How quaint.

"Well, I admit they hardly captured me at my best but if you'd like an autograph, I'm afraid the asking price increases as my notoriety grows." Garak sees his efforts at civility are wasted as the man looks instead to Jadzia.

"I'd watch that one if I were you," he cautions. "He looks just as shoddy as that picture." That warning is met with an acknowledging nod, Jadzia ever the teacher however, seems more focused on correcting his language.

"Your accent is improving, Malyo, it's a lot more natural this time. Though... I think you meant to say he looks as "shady" as the picture." Jadzia's eyes dance as she shoots Garak a look. "He's far too well put together to use an adjective such as shoddy. Put together meaning well groomed, well dressed, or you could say smart. Smart can mean either intelligent or dressed fashionably depending on the context." Perhaps not native after all. She makes a motion for Garak to stand and he indulges her taking the time to show off the careful stitching that were the results of several days of work without the use of more advanced equipment. "I think Garak looks quite smart, don't you?" Garak turns and finishes with a slight flourish lifting that vest just enough that the hilt of his weapon is visible. He sees the Pygorian open his mouth and then sees it snap shut at the sight of the holstered aether pistol. Good to see a man who recognizes when he's outgunned then. He sits back down proud that even that first impulse purchase turned out to be of such a high caliber weapon- aether possessing more penetrative abilities than even the hardest mithril bullets. Now how could she have ever known you were armed? Or perhaps it was a mere coincidence.

Either way, the man tips his head with a mutter of "Yeah, he's real smart all right," before he ducks through the doorway and Garak sits back down. Yes, coincidence... the milky libations of the lazy. How irresponsible of you to even consider such a thing, Elim.

"Really," he states loudly projecting affront to cover that brief introspection, "the Bajorans might say we all look alike but it's terribly offensive that every person here seems to think that... that crime of visual artistry in any way resembles me." He takes another drink noting that the more of the beverage he imbibes the thirstier it seems to make him.

"Perhaps just a touch around the mouth. I think I saw a bit of that sneer just now." She takes that moment of protest to slide the paper away from him reading it over with amusement. Garak watches as her smile blooms larger, full tilt as it were before there's an indelicate snort and full out laughter the more she reads. He'd read it himself of course, after writing the words down on the opposite sheet following her instruction to the note in not reading ahead. He's not sure what the joke is in the resultant ball of nonsense though.

"Kirk witnesses the destruction of the sweater but is helpless to thread. The Romulans have perfected an apron that renders their scissors invisible, and Kirk reasons he must fold and trace the enemy wool before it can return home." At least that's what it sounds like she's saying through staggered laughter. Jadzia drops the page, forehead nearly hitting the table as she struggles to regain her breath and he cannot for the life of him fathom what is so funny about the paragraph. There's nothing inherently amusing about any of the words and inserted into the sentence they do nothing but create an improbable and downright bizarre mental image of Humans and Romulans waging war with tailoring supplies. Perhaps he was supposed to make a better educated guess in choosing the theme of his words? He is about to ask when she holds up a finger, face bright red, the page half discarded as she sits up straight, fanning herself.

"I think... I think we can call it even after that," she declares to his mystified face.

"Well," Garak hedges cautiously, "I'm certainly pleased that it was so good for you though I do hope you might explain why such a series of ridiculous sentences is such a cause for amusement?"

""You know... I haven't met a Cardassian yet who's understood the humor behind these." She files the paper away in a folder, he imagines so that she might meditate more on it later. It's a dossier you idiot, you can already see there are other papers. Assume the worst and be surprised when the best happens. You know that. "I guess the best way to explain it is that the absurdity of the sentences is where the humor is. The more improbable the image, the funnier they are. I've never found that type of humor to be popular amongst Cardassians." She pauses thoughtfully. "At least not the ones that I've met to date." She shifts some of the books on the stack, over the folder he observes, while he once more recalls the images, as he rereads the short piece in his mind filling in each of his words, using his... imagination as it were and though he finds it makes a bit more sense he still can't quite bring himself more than a small amused quirk of his mouth. He makes a note to work on that in the privacy of his room. That shared humor might come in handy later in forming contacts.

"But I didn't forget your main area of interest," Jadzia says as she pulls out two books and a circular piece of parchment, one layered over the other. "Thank you for humoring me."

"Any time I can tease such a joyous sound from a lovely dining companion I consider the privilege mine," he parries back watching her lay out the wheel and turn to a marked page in one of the books.

"Mmm, see now that is how I know that you're a lot more advanced than you let on, Garak but luckily for you..." She slides the book and the wheel over pointing to a jumble of words, letters seemingly laid out at random. "I had accounted for that when working on today's lesson. I thought you might find some of the ciphers and cryptographs more interesting; I also haven't met a Cardassian yet who didn't enjoy a good word puzzle." He examines the circle and turns one independent of the other, watching the different letters shift and match up. So then she has been observing him.

"Have you kept company with so many Cardassians?" he asks maintaining that light flirtation.

"A few here and there. The interesting ones longer than others." She points to the paragraph and in spite of her penchant for loquacity curiously doesn't dwell on the subject. "This is called a Caesar cipher. The code is a simple substitution based off of this wheel, so if you can determine a few of the letters you can crack the code and figure out the "shift". That's the number of spaces the rotation moves." This might be a test, then. How convenient, Elim, to find yourself on a world deprived of your most valuable contacts, your tools, your previous ability to find information. Maybe this whole Gul's damned thing is nothing but a test. A test of what then? Survival? Loyalty? Perhaps Palandine's speculation that the head of the Order is chosen in some unthinkable and unexpected trial by fire is actually the truth. Yes, and Rokassa juice tastes better warm. You're living in a fantasy world now. But whatever is going on, you won't know until you complete your mission and return home and you haven't even started on-

"Now." She sits back, with another sip of her lemonade, taking no more mind of the stained bodice instead, watching him like a pet science experiment. That, he decides, he too obvious but might be a put on for his benefit. "The trick is, how do you determine those first few letters?" Garak looks at her only out of the corner of his eye as he focuses.

"How, indeed," he murmurs sure that she expects he'll be asking for a hint any moment. And it would make sense. It's exactly what he should do to maintain the ruse but he can't afford that right now. He needs to stretch his ability to think properly and recognize patterns in the language without any outside assistance and the sooner he can acclimate the better. The most commonly used letter in federation standard is "e", and only "i" and "a" stand alone... Alright, Elim, say something already.

"So Quark owns this building as well?" Given what he knows of the town and its residents, that's the only "Ferengi patron" that makes any sense.

"Oh if you ask Quark he owns the whole town... I think Odo might have a few things to say about that though. Between the two of them it's like game of cat and mouse though who's the cat, depends on who you ask." Garak nods, letting her talk, letting her relay any number of schemes that Odo has foiled for the ambitious Ferengi as he decides that "e" is "k" and "a" is "g".

"Ferengi and their profit... I believe I have it, my dear. This is a shift of six..." He quickly scribbles out the translation, every correlating letter visualized fast in his mind's eye. She reads the paragraph with a rush of excitement.

"Yes! That's perfect! Let's look at a few more and then we'll see how you fare when the words themselves are altered." She skims to a different page and he parses the piece fast, the rules of the game making it almost too easy. He forces himself to maintain the same pace.

"I would be most amenable to that if you have the time, of course." Shift ten. My, I do hope that this is only the very basics of what humans consider sophisticated obfuscation. I'll be most disappointed in you, Doctor Bashir, if your little book can be read with nothing more than this child's play thing.

"I have the time if you have the dime. That's another old idiom that's hardly used much. A dime is an ancient form of human currency."

"You sound like a Ferengi yourself, my dear." He notes that she doesn't take the statement as a slight.

"Well I do have a few friends I play tongo with some nights."

Garak solves the next paragraph quickly, in silence feeling her eyes on him even as she explains the finer points of the Ferengi game. Careful, Elim. She approached you after all with her card, and while it's natural given her line of work and your newness to the planet that she would seek you out for possible employment, she also seems all too eager to observe. And whatever pride you may take in your appearance, you know it's not common for certain races to find Cardassians aesthetically pleasing, so you shouldn't allow yourself to consider genuine romantic interest too seriously.

"Do you really know everyone in this town so well?" he inquires, politely. "Surely not the Klingons as well?" Jadzia smirks, crossing the opposite leg and as she hikes up the skirt just a bit he cannot help but wonder if she doesn't after all... until he sees the knife tucked snugly into a modified stocking band on that side. No, not just a knife, a d'k tahg. The same design on the grip as the old Klingon's in the gambling den.

"We came here together, the four of us. But that... is a story for another day."

"You know we Cardassians absolutely love a good story."

"Now if you want a good story," Jadzia begins with a quick look around, "I did hear the most exciting bit of news the other day."

Garak nods, discreetly flipping ahead some pages on his own to other puzzles beyond those needing the cipher as she stops watching him quite so closely the more she talks about Quark facing off with Odo over some contraband smuggled supposedly in a shipment of kanar. "Py crfl ttntn bcs y mght ntce smthng strng bt th wy ths nxt fw prgrphs r wrttn. t's mzng hw th mnd cn sly fll n th gps whn w'r rdng wrds tht r sppsd t b fmlr." He glances once, completely lost before reading it over again carefully, slowly, not one letter at a time but instead taking in the words as they appear, indexing them against everything that he knows until it becomes to painfully clear that it's nothing but yet another child's trick. "Pay careful attention because you might notice something strange about the way these next few paragraphs are written. It's amazing how the mind can easily fill in the gaps when we're reading words that are supposed to be familiar." Oh of course, you fool, it isn't just a simple cipher, not a simple code but a layering of codes, isn't it? You know how humans love their layers, layer upon layer, another game, another story, oh so much like you, Elim, that's just beautiful, isn't it? He smiles, looking back to Jadzia.

"Yes, I can hardly believe it myself," he answers as if he's been paying attention the entire time.

Doctor Bashir, your secrets are soon to be mine.


Also, the full mad lib that Garak completes can be found at Janet's Soapbox searching Star Trek mad libs since I can't link.