Note: Back to Garak and not gonna lie we're coming to some Garak/Jadzia. This part sticks to conversation but next part red flags ahoy. Also decided on Garak's level of awareness because hey, he is a master spy after all but that doesn't mean he can't have fun when it comes to the Scooby Gang. It also doesn't mean that everything will come right away. Probably somewhat close to it though where the amateurs are concerned. Mild language here and thanks to tinsnip for settling the question of whether or not Garak is considered "attractive" by Cardassian standards. Kinda racked my brain on that one. Anyway thank you to everyone reading, I hope you're enjoying the twists and insanity. C&C is always welcome!


Elim, this woman is attempting to seduce you. He does not allow that thought lightly; Garak is quite mindful of the fact that even amongst his own people he might be found the more favorable end of unremarkable. That is not to say, however, that he finds it inconceivable that a beautiful woman of any race would "put it all out there", as the saying goes and he's progressed quite well with his mastery of Federation idioms if he does say so himself, with the intent of sharing his bed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Garak has long grown accustomed to all sorts of women and men radiating sex and subterfuge in equal measure approaching him for a myriad of different reasons and varying levels of threat. The only true question comes when he is left to consider if the price is worth the pleasure- sadly more often than not it isn't- or in this rather intriguing case the question what the actual motive even is. So far it's rather neatly eluded him.

Not entirely, of course. Garak is all too painfully aware of her poorly hidden connection to Dr. Bashir just as he is equally aware of that same man's presence here tonight. He cannot see him well. Jadzia made a careful selection with their seats- in his line of sight but not allowing Garak to face him directly. Fortunately for him, it was a perfectly natural inclination to turn one's head upon the door swinging open, bells tingling to announce the arrival of a new patron, and his entrance far too closely followed theirs for Garak to believe it not deliberate. Dr. Bashir after all, had made himself deliberately scarce since their ill fated dinner. Garak had almost begun to believe that he had stopped coming by for dinner at all. Upon asking if he'd given some offense to drive the man away, however, Leeta assured him that he's kept his routine Thursday meal at his usual table. She claimed not to find it strange that he was never present at the same time as Garak. "Nothing but a coincidence, Aanya, really you're so paranoid anymore." And that roused his suspicions as well, but this time to Leeta rather than the doctor. After all, she is the only one who knows his schedule so closely to be able to inform another of his dining times.

Another strike against her is that he hasn't seen her tonight either. Or rather he hasn't seen her since Mr. O'Brien came rushing in a huff to pull her clandestinely to the back. That was a good ten minutes ago by the time on the large grandfather clock. Garak has a feeling that he won't be seeing her again; her place has been absconded by a dark haired Bajoran woman he's seen lend a hand in the past. Mardah, that's her name. So it would seem that Leeta has been made off with for the time being. Curious. A rather curious trio indeed. Well, trouble comes in threes, that's the old Federation saying, isn't it? Or is it fours, because there is nothing the two of them could possibly converse about for such a period of time at this exact moment now, is there? Consider it in another moment, Elim, you'd hardly want to disappoint your lovely dining companion now, would you?

Tonight Jadzia is quite lovely indeed. She's let her hair down this evening- a fitting colloquialism. When she first offered a special "after dark" class to tutor him in some of the more salacious points of Federation Standard she told him she'd feel a lot more comfortable in a different setting. Different being Rom's rather than Quark's or any of the other few spots open for dinner. But even the dining room itself seems to have taken on a different cast than its normal familiarity that doesn't just begin and end with Leeta's uncharacteristic absence. The room seems darker somehow or perhaps that may be because she's so pale. He sees starlight- if he's being poetic- woven through her hair manifested in the form of thin strands of shimmering gold ribbons almost hair thin creating a dazzling effect. The dress is blue, not quite royal, but a bright, stunning shade, neckline plunging, scandalous on Cardassia, standard here. He's sure he's seen more licentious garb on the dabo girls at Quark's but perhaps that's not an entirely appropriate comparison. The trim is white- feathers from some poor balding crane no doubt that corset around her waist to the short skirts ruffles upon ruffles.

He sees ruffles woven together like a blooming spray of white and blue peonies short enough to show terribly long legs in black fishnets. He has not as of yet ascertained the point of the frilly white length draped around her shoulders- a boa she'd explained before wrapping it around the back of the chair to eat- and the photographs he'd glimpsed offered little context other than yet another extraneous fashion accessory. He's noticed the inhabitants of this planet and even the visitors have embraced the bizarre fashion gaudy excesses of this culture. There is a staggering amount of impracticality to many of the accessories and trends but he recognizes the wisdom of his cover in that. The opportunity for profit, as a Ferengi would say is quite high for the successful clothier.

But profit is hardly at the forefront of his thoughts as she enthusiastically, almost childishly, slurps a tube grub between her blue painted lips. It, like most of the other delicacies has an odd Federation twist, in this case slathered in something red and sticky known as Barbed Q sauce. He isn't sure where the barb comes in to play but he politely demurs the wriggling dark red mass as she shrugs her shoulders and tells him to suit himself.

"Now this," she informs him, dabbing at her face with a damp cloth, "Is the perfect opportunity to discuss tonight's lesson." There's a particular sparkle to her eyes as she says that, remnant of her expression when she first proposed tonight's evening in the first place. More specifically, when she offhandedly informed him that the main dispensary of sundries- incidentally also owned by Quark- kept a regular stock of Inhibitor C.

Oh yes, the dear Inhibitor. The magic little pill which no respectable Cardassian family man would be caught dead with and no bold young freighter captain would be without. Cheap, effective, Federation gold, C-type almost impossible to come by in Cardassian space by any legitimate means oh but there is always a friend of a friend, isn't there? C type simply adapted to Cardassian biology where most mammalian humanoids found the most efficacy with A or B. He's recalls the warning tale of a desperate and equally lecherous camp guard during the Occupation stupidly letting a wily female prisoner pass him a triple dose of B with beautiful assurances the extra would compensate for the loss in efficacy. A cautionary tale in more ways than one, for the man lust blind enough to take anything from a willing Bajoran whore, and for the layman uneducated enough to think the differences in types were so simple. The fool had been left unable to evert himself without excruciating pain the moral goes and Garak had never met anyone stupid enough to have actually tested that particular mythos.

And it was that risk for the unlearned consumer that left most doctors hand wringing and finger wagging about certain medicines being too readily available and why should such a thing even be necessary in this day and age with the simple injections. Aside from those few without access to medical personnel or other personal reasons… Garak recalls that conversation taking a sip of perfectly warmed Sem'hal stew. Yes, a curious thing to mention that rather than the standard doctor administered injection that to the best of my knowledge certainly should still be readily available even here. So you're trying to keep me away from him with your clever conversation diversions and now perhaps even this. One might be inclined to think it borne out of jealously but that anxious look on the doctor's face hardly spoke of some torrid love triangle. No, there is a reason, there is certainly a subterfuge no matter how your ego may wish it otherwise, Elim. But as to whether or not indulging that base inclination to see such a seductive diversion through is worth the risk, he's yet to ascertain.

"Ah so there is a lesson," he remarks lightly. "And here I'd thought this a nothing master ploy to wrangle a free dinner out of me." But what's life without peril, after all. There is the appropriate wariness and then there is the caution of an old man with far too much to lose and while you might be one you certainly cannot make claim to the other. He made sure to take her advice even allowing an extra few days for everything to "clear out" just in case.

"Well if you're paying, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the idiom goes." She takes a long drink of the fizzy dark ale- root beer she informed him while offering him a drink of the overly fizzy cloying beverage. "Is the bread not to your liking?" He looks down at the hearty hard crusted rolls on the plate next to the stew. Mardah had suggested the accompaniment to the main course, leaving him slightly mystified as to why anyone would ruin a perfectly fine bread by using it as a glorified sponge to sop soup.

His eyes vacillate briefly between bread and stew determining at last that should this sour the meal he'll be left with far more opportunities in the future to enjoy the dish on its own. The pragmatic part of him points out that should he perish tonight at the hands of this delightfully wicked woman then he'll be going to hell with a sour belly and his last memory of food forever tainted by some asinine Bajoran culinary obscenity. Oh really, you're being far too dramatic, Elim. He smiles, breaks a piece of bread and dips just the tip letting it collect a small bit of the thick broth.

"When in Rome, right?" He raises the roll in toast before carefully tasting, finding that the texture of the crust, the yeast of the bread is a strangely appropriate complement. He imagines there must be at the very least a faint look of surprise on his face since Jadzia continues to watch him with a slightly unreadable expression. He's begun to realize that her open face, the friendly and coy demeanor are a perfect distraction for whatever emotion she might be feeling beneath the surface. He rather likes that about her.

"And now are you going to be brave enough to try a bite of my dinner?" She holds up a large tube grub slathered generously in that viscous sauce, the worm giving a piteous undulation as his eyes fall on it. He shakes his head.

"You know, I have a sneaking suspicion the purity of the flavor would be severely compromised by what I've already eaten this evening. I'll have to take a…" he fishes for the right expression. "Rain check, I believe." He watches her shrug her shoulders, once more slurping the grub between her lips with an exaggerated lustiness that would border on obscene if her zest appeared anything other than genuine. Nonetheless, he finds the sight strangely arousing as her finger swipes sauce from her cheek, quickly sucking it off.

"I'm so glad you said that!" she exclaims with a slight bounce in her seat, giving one final swipe to her thumb with her tongue. "You've given me the perfect opening for our lesson this evening." Garak continues to eat, listening politely as she explains with as much gusto as she eats, the ancient human practice of "flyting". He is somewhat impressed to find that humans have made belittling one another into a much vaunted art form but given their penchant for diplomacy and the loquacious character of a fair number of their kind it does make a sort of logical sense.

"And so you see," she continues with animated hand movement, "We come circle from Unferth's long boisterous challenge to Beowulf ending 'gif þu Grendles dearst nihtlongne fyrst nean bidan' to the incredibly complex word plays and allusions you see in today's modern performances. Now where traditionally those involved would have some foreknowledge of their opponent's history, exploits, and other characteristics, today that's not always the case. Of course with all the information that we have available at our fingertips- well off world anyway- you almost never find yourself without an opportunity to prepare notes and ideas in advance but there are still occasions where it becomes necessary to immediately act based only on a moment's observation. May I give you an example?" She looks so eager when her eyes meet his that it makes him pause in his own eating, dinner only half eaten.

"Do go on," Garak encourages her thinking that he's beginning to see exactly what her tact is.

"Just tell me if I go to far." Jadzia clears her throat, leaning in slightly, subtly. "I shouldn't be surprised that a Cardassian would refuse a taste of my dinner since this is a meal fit only for a true warrior." She looks about to sit back and Garak is pleased to find that while the dish in fact looks revolting the only true aroma she breathes out is that strong likely spicy sauce.

It is then he realizes, as he'd suspected to begin with that she's in fact just insulted his manhood.

"Do I need to explain that one to you? There were a few different levels after all that you might not have caught." And a second- he doesn't doubt the statement even the slightest bit pedantic, her tone is hardly fitting such a motive. She lets a small smile, a small tease slip after that waspish question not question. Garak is beginning to realize that most everything is a game to this woman and he rather likes that. Gul help me I'll regret this if I end up in the morning with my throat slit but such temptation. Such wicked temptation and I'm not half pious enough to turn it away a second time. And really, what faster way to uncover this little subterfuge than to go willingly along with it? Oh rationalize to all the Legates in Central Command, Elim, but at least have the decency to be honest with yourself. Mmm no. There's no fun in that now. He cannot help but smile, knowing that in rituals such as these, at least back home, there's usually some sexually infused gravity which speaks against such breaches in protocol but well... Garak usually is his nastiest behind that grin.

"No, my dear, I understand perfectly well. But I do believe your measure of man is terribly one sided if your only criteria in a partner is a love of raw insects." he sighs and shakes his head seeing her take a long drink. "Then again I cannot fault you for having only kept company with a decrepit band of Klingons for the formative years of your long past maidenhood."

Jadzia sets the cup down slowly, eyes narrowing at him as if she hadn't expected him to draw out that bit of information she'd yet to offer. He feels a warmth spreading, the kanar or perhaps that growing flush of desire. Really, the two are likely to mingle to the same if she keeps making such delightfully nasty faces at him. He hopes he does not have long to await her rejoinder- it would be terribly disappointing if she were not as up to the task as he. But she does not let him down, her own dinner half eaten, half forgotten, hand still around that glass as she leans in once more.

"I cannot imagine what you would know of that sort of company, Garak. I've heard that those in The Order are neutered to ensure that there is no outside interference with their work." She says it so calmly, so simply, that he nearly catches him of guard and he can feel the extraneous blink of his eyes, twice, three times as he collects himself, seeing that wicked little smile again hearing that challenge rapped out as she takes another long drink. He almost opens his mouth, that practiced action to placidly refute the claim, declare he is of course only plain, simple, Garak, tailor, gardener, trader, whatever skin he must wear for the sake of the mission except he realizes, that bald refusal seems as if it would be out of the spirit of this little game and far worse, do nothing but show that his wit has left him.

Perish the thought. And how did you think to throw that out? Who here has been tossing about such wild unfounded speculations? Doctor Bashir? Leeta? Kira? Surely no one else would guess such a thing and most natives wouldn't know the Obsidian Order from a ham sandwich.

"Cat got your tongue, Garak?" she teases him with poisonous sweetness that is beautifully infuriating and draws his attention once more back to her.

"You have my apologies, my dear Jadzia," he answers with his own saccharine patronizing. "It's just so surprising to see one of the lesser species with any knowledge of the order it's almost akin to a riding hound learning how to tap out numbers on the dirt, fascinating in its own quaint primitive way but in the end just an animal's trick." He shrugs his shoulders, seeing a slight widening of her eyes almost thinking he may have misread and taken this too far, but there is a slight blush beginning, a pinkening of her face that speaks to something far different. She smiles coyly, and slides her chair closer to his, dropping her voice nearly inaudible, her breath a delicate kiss to his ear.

"It's been said Cardassians are quick with their tongues, but I haven't met one yet whose mouth has been good for anything but talking, Garak. And where the mouth has failed spectacularly the hands do not even achieve that much. But then, I have it on good authority that you are a master of sleight of hand and perhaps a thief might succeed where honest men have faltered." And amidst the myriad of aromas in the room he cannot be sure that he can in fact attest a hundred percent if that faint smell he catches is truly her arousal or his own imagining but her words don't leave much to question. He watches her sit back slowly, enough to take another drink, certain a lesser man- certain Dukat in fact- might be part way to shaming himself partly everted, an obvious show to impress, but he's always had far better control that that. He watches the bob of her throat with those sips, watches those painted blue lips, how her teeth bite the edge of the glass just the tiniest bit in a childish habit that should be terribly ridiculous on a woman her age but her-

Her finger. It comes to him to stupidly and suddenly as she takes that drink that he nearly bites his own tongue as he sees what he's been missing. It moves. Or rather there's a gentle tap of her index finger and there has been each time she's raised the glass. No, not just a tap. It's a very deliberate motion- it's an entire series of alternate fast and lingering motions- and he can only partially bring to mind what the sequence might have been the other times but he is completely certain now that it is morse code. "gng... in... b... rdy..." more of that truncated vowel code but simple enough. She's making the move. Jadzia, of course, had not taught him that particular lesson. It's the result of his own self study. And as he maintains perfect focus on her, he lets his actual mental attention fixate on the background, on one Dr. Bashir still seated, staring intensely at that finger, another notebook peeking out from the edge of the table. Clever. Garak cannot help but allow his admiration for their little game to overtake his self flagellation at his own carelessness. Yes, letting that eagerness, that anticipation for the next move take over is what makes him take another drink of that sweet liquid, that lovely inhibitor of another sort as he determines he is absolutely going to allow this evening to play out to its fullest potential.

You're going for the book. You and the doctor, or perhaps just you but that's what your game is tonight. This charade, my disappearing Bajoran shadow, his presence back at his table, all of it. Oh my dear mistrustful doctor, I'm wounded that you didn't believe me when I told you I hadn't seen it. Wounded but thankful that you aren't quite as naive as I'd taken you for and with this little set up tonight, I can see you're far more devious as well. But never let it be said that Elim Garak is one to disappoint an attentive audience. I hope you keep watching, Doctor Bashir. I'll make sure you enjoy every moment of it. Garak clears his throat, that smile pasted on his face taking on just a slightly darker cast as he allows some of that excitement to bleed through. After all, he has clearly deduced that it is not his life that is in peril tonight oh no no no, not his life at all. He takes her hand, closing over her soft skin stuck to the glass, making sure his head is turned so that Doctor Bashir can see him as well. He catches a pause, a brow furrow of concern out of the corner of his eye and he doesn't doubt for a second now the man can read lips.

"A thief is it?" Garak laughs softly playing it up just a bit. "My dear Jadzia, you don't know the half of it." She meets that smile, and book or no he has a feeling there's no bluff to those words.

"Then why don't you show me, Mister Garak?"

"Not 'mister,'" he corrects, his turn to lean in and breath kiss her neck. "Just plain, simple, Garak."