Note: So yeah RL continues to be something is the easiest way to put it. Still struggling to get back into the swing of things. A lot going on but dammit I'm trying. Anyway, thank you all for sticking with me you're great! I did struggle a bit with this and the next chapter so not sure I'm entirely happy but I don't have anything else either so we'll see how it all plays out. I remember seeing this ep of TNG at Christmas last and I'm glad I got to work it in, though sadly, no Riker appearing. C&C is always welcome, and thanks for reading!
"Jadzia." Her name is spoken simply, not much different than it had been a few weeks ago back in Indigo. Her expression darkens as she steps away from the table. Her head still spins a bit, though not nearly as badly as before with that tonic seeming to have helped a considerable bit. There's also something about his voice, his stance, that doesn't seem quite right but she isn't sure if that's just the result of her impaired judgment. Jadzia shakes her head, trying to clear out that fog further.
"I already said everything that needed to be said, Worf. And this isn't a good time." Said, yelled, it amounted to the same, really and she'd had a completely irrational hope that he'd have been gone by the time she returned from Central. If she decided to return from Central. For all his stubbornness and insisting it was she who had sent for him claiming she was ready to return "home", she'd half expected him to be building a house by now for the two of them to live in. He hadn't taken her current residence well and the shouting match over what did or didn't constitute a whore house had prompted an uncomfortable confrontation between Worf and security. Which had given her all the opportunity she'd needed to grab her kit and a horse, leaving him to follow after her.
He looks strangely calm right now, which troubles her. Even with weeks to pass by, she wouldn't have expected such sanguinity given the circumstances in which he's once again found her. He'd never begrudged her her friends but she knew that her easy company with the Ferengi never quite sat well with him. Especially given how she's currently attired.
"Walk with me." The words are spoken as an order and not a question. She finds herself bristling automatically.
"I already told you this isn't a good time."
"I wasn't asking." Now there's a tone that sounds far more familiar. She smiles back with a pretty show of teeth.
"I didn't think you were." She's getting more agitated and there's a part of her that knows that this devolving into a shouting match isn't going to get them anywhere. And she pulls that combative edge back just barely, knowing that Julian and Garak are depending on her to watch the front. "Just because I left my career in Starfleet doesn't mean that I don't still have duties, and right now I'm working on something that I can't discuss right now."
"It will only take a moment. There is a grave matter that I need to address with you immediately." He's brusque, clipped, but still not exactly… emotional. Jadzia sighs as she considers just how long "a moment" will truly be before deciding that remaining will only heighten any potential confrontation. She can play nice when she needs to, after all.
"Just a moment then, in the gardens." She should still have a fair enough view but it will afford them at least the illusion of privacy as she leads him through the side gate to the quiet dark. Jadzia looks at him carefully as they walk past the hedges, no questing lovers to be heard or seen, but then again this isn't usually public domain during the week. It seems to her that there's something that's just a bit too stiff in his walk as the massive night flowers blood around them catching moonlight and that brightly lit side gate grows barely large enough to see. The Starfleet Uniform is curious. Somehow he manages to look even more out of place than he had wearing the ill fitting Westworld suit back in Indigo. Perhaps he's finally decided to return then. Even as Commander now, his station would only allow for so much leave and he's been here long enough already. Perhaps he means for her to accompany him back then? As Julian would say, not bloody likely.
"So what couldn't possibly wait a few more hours?" There's some immediate pinprick of wrongness as soon as she asks the question and she watches him subtly positioning his body between her and the arch of the hedges leading back to the front. They almost seem to have wandered further back than her initial guess. The large exotic plants box them into the center, the other arch leading further into the back. She knows the gardens from memory, but they seem to have expanded their carefully cultivated semi maze. She watches Worf, taking mental stock of her weapons. She doesn't worry about needlessly attacking. He would only be in danger if his guard was down, and he'd never be so foolish.
"You are my wife," he says in a clipped tone seeming to be unaware of her shift in posture. She subtly moves her left foot forward, resting back on her right. She laughs.
"I never stopped being your wife, Worf, but you-"
"It is time that you come home. This… nonsense has been going on long enough."
"I'm not hearing anything new," she answers carefully. He's always been stubborn, but it isn't like him to be this repetitive. He doesn't seem to have anything new to offer and she needs to get back to the front before she misses something important.
"I've been looking for you for a long time," Worf says, which she knows is a lie. She's never made a secret of her location. Unless he means here on Westworld, but again she's hardly been trying to hide.
Jadzia considers that, considers the situation, knowing that there's a dull to her reflexes still lingering because of the alcohol, that her full facilities still aren't there no matter how close to full functionality she feels. She thinks of Emony Dax never able to hold her liquor and is thankful that Curzon never had that problem.
"You know that Julian and Garak are expecting me back shortly," She drops the names expecting that anger bordering on rage he'd displayed back in Indigo. The invectives he'd spat towards the "Cardassian coward" and Doctor Bashir's unforgivable betrayal would not be easily forgotten. But he barely reacts, and that's the moment that she knows that something is absolutely wrong. There's a twitch in her, an urge to dramatically declare that he's certainly not Worf with a grand flourish. Garak seems to be rubbing off on her a bit and she keeps that smile tightly in check. Some of it still must seep through though even as he declares there is nothing amusing about their separation and she frankly tunes him out to listen for other sounds.
And there it is, a rustle, the laughter of some couple coming seemingly from behind him or possibly even from behind that hedge. She isn't sure, rely solely on her hearing and the direction the wind carries, but she has the feeling it's not a couple she wants to encounter them. The standard is accented, Cardassian she knows immediately, and her thoughts fall not to the bounty set on her, but to those that have been pursuing Garak. Jadzia knows she's gone too quiet and that's going to arouse suspicion. It may be too late though. She counts three; two men including "Worf", one woman. Depending on their skill level-
"Target isolated, Jadzia Daz," she hears spoken behind her, and she feels the tension in her body whirl, wanting to turn towards the source of that noise. Training battles that instinct and instead she pivots back, letting her body keep both parties in sight.
The man who appears from the arch behind is tall, muscular but agile, and very much Cardassian. He carries himself with a military air that's evident even in the Westworld clothing. He must have been speaking to himself because there's no communication device she knows of that would work here. Unless... there are others close enough to hear him and for Cardassian hearing. That certainly doesn't bode well for her situation. She studies him quickly on high alert for the rest that have to be around. He's dressed in black, blending into the darkness, appearing like some shade, long sleeves covering his hands. So then he'll have weapons. With her back to the hedge it's not perfect- it will keep anyone coming up from behind but it will also hinder her movements. There's a bench, a fountain, and she thinks she may be able to work with all of that depending.
"I told you I would take you back," Worf, who is definitely not Worf says and it irritates her that this impostor is still claiming to be her estranged husband. She can see why Garak usually favors levity, it's much more enjoyable to make an irritable situation amusing. She can't help the smile that appears on her face, the two knives drawn. None seem poised to draw guns and she knows they must be from off world, not trusting of Westworld arms. Well that's just fine by her.
"Consider this an annulment ," she quips feeling not entirely silly, testing the weight of the knife in her right hand. If by some chance it really is Worf whether he's finally lost his mind or something else is going on then she has no doubt he'll catch it- mostly… There might be something slightly satisfying about the thought of the knife hitting its target even if only in effigy. The knife leaves her hand, and she's already going for another carefully concealed in her dress when she watches, eyes widening as the blade is knocked askew in the air by another thrown from the Cardassian at the other arch. She can't help the low curse that escapes her as his threat level goes up in her estimation. She's also aware that she's lost the element of surprise, the two men not rushing in but instead waiting for the voices to come closer.
A tall Cardassian woman strides in beneath the arch they'd entered during the standoff, still dressed in the black military uniform from off world. She's flanked by a shorter man who appears to be looking around uneasily. Jadzia doesn't think that he'll be a problem, but there's something about the woman that strikes her. She carries herself as one in command, and there's an odd familiarity about her features as well that Jadzia can't quite place. It's clear even through the armor that she had broad shoulders for a woman and tight lean muscle. Her hair is slicked back in a masculine style but there's still a distinct sway of her hips when she walks. There's a stiff incline of her head, as if the imperious movements are the result of a careful practice and not a natural instinct. She holds up a hand just as it looks like the man in black is going to try and engage. Jadzia's grip on her knives remains firm but easy as she shifts back and forth on the balls of her feet just waiting. There's a twist of the woman's mouth considering and she speaks to Jadzia in Cardassian.
"Do you understand me?" she asks and Jadzia nods. Admittedly, she's curious as to the point of everything but not foolish enough to drop her guard. Still, this was an elaborate ruse from some clearly dangerous people and she immediately thinks of the attempts on Garak's life once more.
"You are The Snake's woman." The woman says it more like a statement than a question and the absurdity of it in the moment makes Jadzia want to laugh. Scratch that. She does laugh. It's such a strange phrasing that she would expect from the mouth of some weathered old prospector that the snort that escapes in spite of the gravity of the situation. The woman does not appear to be amused as her jaw tenses and she looks to the others briefly. "You are Jadzia Dax." Again, spoken with that certainty and Jadzia raises an eyebrow, her stance still wary and defensive.
"Then if you know I'm Dax, you know that I'm not anybody's "woman"." She thinks of the bounty hunter Kira Nerys and how proud she would be of that declaration. Kira would be a welcome right now; even if she is hard to control around Cardassians. Jadzia decides that she'll need to take out the man in black first. He hasn't left her peripheral vision and seems to be the most dangerous. She discreetly moves the hilt of the knife towards the small catch of the bracelet. It's minute, it's a hair trigger miniature feat of engineering as Miles has said but it has a lethal dose of venom and she's sure that won't be detected. The only trick will be to make sure that it hits his face and not his clothing as delicate as it is.
"The Snake," the woman stops and then corrects herself. "Elim Garak," she practically spits, "you know him. Intimately. I can smell his stink on you."
"It may have been dinner as well," Jadzia offers. "I did have lizard heart. It's considered a delicacy where I'm from." She smiles prettily, that subtle shift of her arm surely at the angle to hit the man in black with the small dart. "But if I did know this… Elim Garak… what business would it be of yours?" She wants to keep them talking; it would be far better to have someone come upon them than to have to take more drastic measures. Usually that isn't an issue with Cardassians, but she sees that stiffness in the woman's demeanor, an agitation and she knows in an instant that this isn't going to drag out much longer.
"You have a choice, Trill. You can come with us, or we can leave you as a gift for The Snake in pieces. And he won't care whether or not you live or die, I promise." It isn't an idle threat. Jadzia can see the woman ready to draw whatever it may be. She hopes it's a phaser so she can see the look on her face when it fails. It isn't a chance that she's able to take though
"Well, I always have been a gal who likes to play the odds. So let's see what you've got." Jadzia feels a rush of excitement at the words that Julian swears is going to be the death of her one day. But as Worf- the real Worf- would say, today is a good day to die.
And so she lets it fly.
A half hour later, Garak finds himself concluding along with Julian that yes, Cardassians are in fact quite ticklish. It was not a question he'd ever had much cause to consider before today but now that he has- thought about it that is, he realizes that his interrogation arsenal definitely will not be complete without adding this particular torture. Garak isn't sure what the human obsession is with this hyper stimulation of nerves, but it is a fiendish one that would make any member of the order seethe with jealousy as the ease with which an operative could use such a thing to extract information. Fortunately for Garak, Julian's interest is not in information but rather some sadistic sl experimentation as he brushes that light touch behind the knee once more, watching Garak twitch in the bonds helplessly. Of course it had not taken Data that entire time to relay the situation at hand. In fact, it hadn't taken the android more than five minutes to neatly and succinctly summarize a situation that as Julian so colorfully put it was completely gone to st. No, the remainder of that time had been spent indulging Julian's curiosity as well as discussing the matter of Garak's mental condition. At least that what he thinks has been occurring. The unforgivable distraction has proven to be… well… quite distracting.
The laughter for instance, that's probably worse than the darkened flush of swollen scales and the partial eversion of his cock. Raucous laughter has never been a part of any role he's assumed, nor is it a natural action. That is, it isn't a natural reaction to anything other than the breath stealing tickle that Julian delights in, deciding that he's going to move over his inner thigh while somehow still able to hear Data discussing… something… Garak has tried to stifle that reaction so that he could hear their conversation, but somehow he figures in the din of that sensation that he's been rather neatly maneuvered to this position by a diabolically and disgustingly clever Julian. The tickle had started out mild. Nothing but a small distraction and he was still more than able to process the situation at hand with the Ambassador. As Data had best determined, the Ferengi holding her captive had decided that having one of the galaxy's strongest telepaths at their disposal for business negotiations would allow their profit to increase their profit exponentially.
Naturally, Lwaxana was not a woman who felt particularly motivated to enter into such an arrangement of her own accord and therefore it fell to the Ferengi to use her daughter Deanna as a bargaining chip in the entire equation. There was still some confusion as to how such a feat was obtained given that she was on active duty in Starfleet but Garak could certainly guess. Though what Garak hadn't been able to quite determine at first was why they would still be here on Westworld of all places when they could potentially have the entire Alpha Quadrant at their mercy- fiscally speaking. To which Data had spouted off one of the old Indigo rumors about latinum flowing from the hills and had Garak not been about to swallow his own tongue when Julian let that feather dust over the scales on his chest, he may very well have tried to slam his head into the nearest wall in frustration.
He had no idea what insane attraction this planet held for so many that they were willing to come to this miserable backwater dirt ball full of madmen, but whatever it was, it kept them coming in droves. He only prayed it wasn't catching because as soon as this mission concluded, and he figured out just what he was going to do about… well everything really, he was going home and going to enjoy a nice few months with electricity, rainy afternoons, and a nice bottle of vintage kanar. Something told him that he wouldn't likely find his prize vintage in the cellar unscathed but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it as the humans say.
Which leads him back to the present, finding that Julian's conversation has taken a turn away from any real substance settling instead on his somewhat whimsical observations of Garak's physiological reactions. That's all well and good since along the way they'd pledged assistance in exchange for… for something Julian and Data had discussed while Garak was twisting away from that Guls d feather. Whatever it was, it left Julian satisfied that Garak's problem would be resolved. His neurological problem that it, the embarrassing matter of his shaking limbs and questing c remains at odds and his mouth is a tight line not wanting to make any entreaties but-
"J-Julian…" he manages to pant, fixing his eyes to the ceiling so he doesn't see that look of feigned disinterest poorly hiding some lusty amusement at his expense. "Far be it… for me to…" To squeak when Julian lets that line trail over his quivering stomach… "to make an unr-reasonable request but…"
"But?" Another flick down his side and he thinks that there are times when Julian is just so awful at hiding his emotions that his attempt to try is in itself offensive. Still, obstinance in this case certainly isn't going to punish Julian.
"But if you c… could s-see your way t-to…" He swallows, Julian enjoying this far too much. "finishing what you've s-started…."
He might as well since the conversation with Data has clearly led to whatever conclusion it was meant to. Garak has long passed the point of modesty and is more than willing to ignore the elephant in the room as the saying goes, as long as there are no comments from said elephant.
"I'll think about it," Julian says offhanded. Garak silently vows the wrath of the State on him when all of this is finished. He sees a look pass between Julian and Data and he wonders idly if such activities even hold any interest for him. He almost thinks somewhere dimly in the back of his mind that was a point of the conversation when Julian really began teasing him but it's rather foggy at the moment.
"Now this would be that impulse control that Garak is concerned about." Julian explains shooting him a sinful smirk over those lenses and he swallows hard, feeling that partial eversion evert just a little further, slicking rather obviously. Guls, don't tell me he's going to narrate through this… "He's not usually this demanding…" Julian says as he lets the hand holding the feather drop, leaving Garak to try and sit up further to better see him. "Garak?" Julian calls looking up from the floor and Garak watches that eversion neatly complete itself just as Julian naughtily murmurs, "I've done thinking about it," and proceeds to swallow him right down to the root.
Apparently his brain isn't the only part of him suffering an impulse control problem.
