Not precisely Portabello Road, but...(OTA - Garak opens a shop!)

[the_tailor_spy]

He had spent some time on this. After being assigned quarters - mercifully free of a roommate - the only thing to do was rearrange them to his liking. Easier said than done, certainly. Asking the replicator for anything Cardassian had prompted some impertinent questions from security, so he had made do with paint. Toning down the Federation colours into something more pleasing to the Cardassian eye.

But that had been his quarters. The question remained...what do with the other half? He had almost sighed, inwardly, when the answer came. There really was only one thing. At least he was good at it.

He had partially walled off one side of the quarters halfway with what construction materials he could get from the replicator, and the rest was behind some rather nice red curtains. A little touch of bright theatricality, but since his clientele here would be overwhelmingly human by the look of things, it never hurt to play to their sensibilities. On the bit of wall, well. He had reached into the hidden pouch in his bag and past the disassembled phaser components to bring out the rolled canvas he had carefully put there. Lovingly framed, he hung the art on the bit of wall. Not too obtrusively, really, not even noticeably. But it was there.

For a long time, after that, he had just stared at it. The last piece of Tora Ziyal he had.

But, to work. The other half was beginning to fill with reams of fabric. He'd brought some with him, others were replicated. Still more he was making himself from replicated materials. Hand-made had such a special cachet, after all.

Bit by bit, the tailoring shop was filling. The advertisements he had been putting up around the ship, well. Those would help, too.

He stood, brushing lint from a jacket on display. A simple grey, true, but in a somewhat modern cut. Business-like, but with that hint of...fun.

He really was a very good tailor.

Comments

[diamonds_are_forever]

Emma was pleased with the contemporary fashions that she'd been exposed to since her arrival on the Enterprise. She couldn't help but be interested in the signs for a tailor's shop opening. It seemed appropriate to have a nice suit for her work as a counselor, or perhaps something nice to wear if anyone ever caught her interest enough to be worthy of a date.

She stepped into the quarters, somewhat unprepared for the Cardassian gentleman who ran the place. SHe'd seen some aliens, but none quite as alien looking as him. Her reaction only lasted a fraction of a second, because he wasn't that strange to look at. The curtains were a bit much, but the suit on display showed that the craftsman had some taste. She needed help to look as good as possible in this brave new fashion frontier.

[the_tailor_spy]

The strange thing about being here, really, is that he's getting fewer askance looks than before. In the Federation, he is a member of a suspicious former enemy at best. These past humans, these other universe humans - just saw him as a new species.

Frankly an improvement. No baggage, no knowledge. How wonderful.

He acts as if he notices none of this, for a moment, then finally 'sees' her.

"Ah, welcome to my humble shop."

[diamonds_are_forever]

Emma looks over at Garak and gives him a curious look. "Ah, thank you. Have you had time to read up on the contemporary fashions since your arrival?" She assumes the answer is yes, but she won't act on that assumption. It's better to know for certain.

[the_tailor_spy]

It's an interesting assumption, and his mind pays just a little bit more attention to the conversation.

"Ah, well, that rather depends," he said, making a final adjustment on a lapel, "on what one considers contemporary. But my knowledge is expanding rather rapidly, if that is what you mean."

[diamonds_are_forever]

"You see, I have a problem," Emma noted, still cool and curious. "I'm not native to this time either, by quite a long shot. I have no eye for the fashions of this time, just yet. I require help discerning what will be fashionable to wear while making use of my copious physical assets."

What *is* she wearing? :P

[the_tailor_spy]

"You are in some luck there. I'm from just a few years in advance of this timeline, and, well. Let me reassure you that the uniforms of the crew are not galaxy standard. Your...specific requirements do call for significantly more...flair."

'Copious physical assets?' Well, well. This one wasn't shy. Of course, whether it was protective armour or not remained to be seen, but all in good time, if it was important.

"What precisely did you have in mind?" He gave her a discerning look, up and down. "More of...this? I can fulfill a quite wide range. Business, casual but smart, full gowns...and, I do admit to having some experience with shall we say nightwear? Not much for humans I'm afraid, but the principles are mostly the same."

[so_vain]

Cat looked confident, but he wasn't quite sure what a tailor would be like. He'd heard of them, of course, but until now he'd had a ready supply of clothes. He did here too, to an extent, but someone else going to all the effort of making them sounded like a much better idea.

He walked into the place - he'd never heard of knocking - and looked around. "I need new suits."

[the_tailor_spy]

Something that would, in future, make him reconsider the valuable concept of locks, but for the moment it isn't even an annoyance.

He turned, inclining his head.

"Well, suits I happen to have." He looks him up and down, considering.

"What sort were you looking for, Mister...?"

[so_vain]

"Something cool." He expected other people to know what meant - after all, he did. He wondered over to the fabric to examine it - by feel and smell as well as sight.

[the_tailor_spy]

"Ah. Cool."

He thinks that over for a moment, looking at the man. Cool? He must mean fabric that breathes, certainly, which could explain his current sartorial extravaganza. Granted, there's no way one would fall into such clothing on accident.

In case of blackmail, perhaps, but not accident. None of this shows on his face, of course, he just smiles and nods.

"Well, I believe I may be able to help you there. Why, this fabric for instance," he says, gesturing to a nearby, shimmering bolt. "Reproduction of a fabric used in night-wear on Ferenginar. I'm told it's quite striking, and indeed very open to breezes."

And also about as subtle as a brick to the forehead.

[so_vain]

Cat's clothing is definitely not something he fell into. It was all chosen carefully. Or as carefully as he could be when he was reduced to the stores and the replicator, and didn't have several racks of clothes to choose from.

He went over to the one Garak indicated to check it out. "I love it," he concluded, after an inspection. It was colourful, it changed with the light and it would go perfectly with a pair of shoes he'd acquired recently. He'd make it smell of himself later.

He turned back to the tailor. "Make me a suit from it."

[original_fine]

Jim had been looking out for the Cardassian as he settled in. There were other things on his mind, of course--foremost among them, how do I get back home?, but the meeting had left an impression. And when he realized the advertisements were Garak's, well, he made a point to drop by.

"It seems you didn't need my help at all," he said easily, leaning against the open doorframe. "I think you have a much better handle on this than I do."

[the_tailor_spy]

He smiled, inclining his head.

"Nevertheless Captain...er, Jim, it was sincerely felt, I assure you. And to be honest, I am rather used to displacement. One learns to make the best of it."

[original_fine]

"You do, at any rate," Jim said, stepping inside and glancing about at the wares on display. "I'm used to the unexpected. However, my primary inclination is not to open a shop. Possibly to my detriment, although I don't think I'd be much of a capitalist." The truth was, he was bored bored to tears, bored to bad behavior if that were an option. And if anything on this Enterprise had given him the impression that rebellion would be beneficial.

"As such, it strikes me I have nothing to offer in return for your goods. At the same time, I do recall a conversation in which we both lamented the current fashion." He grinned at Garak. "I'm a little reluctant to, ah, adapt to current Starfleet norms. Do you have any advice?"

[the_tailor_spy]

"Experience is a very good teacher in that regard," he rejoined, folding hands in front of himself.

"Unexpected experiences are, I suspect, part of our daily routine - I was on a Federation station, after all. And you should give it a try. I'm given to understand your species was once rather superb at it. You could have given the Ferengi lessons."

As for the rest, well, he gestures to a rack of fabrics.

"I have plenty of that, and let us say that I would much prefer the free advertising to leaving you in the lurch, to borrow a human expression. Besides, your greeting was very unexpected and...appreciated."

I'm assuming that other thread is pleasantly ended...

[original_fine]

Something flickers through Jim's expression. A concern, less for Garak's safety and more at the behavior of his would-be fellows. "I take it it's not the sort you encounter generally?" He frowns. "That's too bad. I'm reluctant to exchange goods for simple good manners, but I can't keep wearing this." He waves at his gold tunic. "I have a distinct feeling it makes me look like an antique."

[dressmaking]

After talking with Finnick and Annie and getting her bearings on board ship — that last had taken her a couple days, a lot of talking to people in uniforms and reading and asking the computer questions and even more reading — Lacey had decided she was going to try to see what and who else was here. She'd still not quite decided this wasn't the Capitol, not for certain; a ship in the stars was a little too far-fetched for her to trust the idea immediately. But she'd been watching, listening. The people here weren't like the people back home. No one recognized her. Nothing and no one said a single word about the Games.

If this was a trick, it was a very elaborate one. For now, she'd decided to play along. The hallways were long, and rather uniformly beige and gray; Lacey didn't know how anyone found their way around here without asking for directions all the time. She hadn't yet noticed Garak's advertisements, but she did, as she was walking through the guest quarters, notice the clothing, the fabric.

Lacey Harwood was born and raised in District 8, which, as everyone knew, was the center of almost all textile production in Panem. She was the daughter of a daughter of a dressmaker, and knew good clothing when she saw it. Not some of the overdone monstrosities people wore in the Capitol, but simple, well-made, elegant things. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she walked in, glancing around, pausing near a piece that had caught her eye. Whoever had made this knew what they were doing, that was obvious enough.

Then she glanced up, and saw the person on the other side of the shop. A man, if she had to guess, though a very strange-looking one. If she hadn't heard what she had from Finnick and Annie about other planets, she would quite honestly simply have assumed he was human, albeit with some unusual alterations. She'd seen so much in the Capitol, with its love of drastic body modification, that very little really shocked her anymore in that regard. Now, though... well, she still wasn't completely sure, but the idea that he might not actually have been human was there in her mind where it would not have been before.

Lacey didn't startle or freeze, exactly, but it took her a moment, a breath or two, to find words. If her bearing seemed guarded, it was. "Hello," she said, and had to suppress a wince. Very articulate, that. She swallowed, started again. "Is this your shop?"

[the_tailor_spy]

She would find quite the difference from the Capitol here. Garak was a man of great intelligence, and well knew that most of his business would be Federation. And this was the pre-war Federation, too. A rather more drab universe of business, in his experience. They liked colours, but muted. Style, but understated. And from the Enterprise itself, quite a lot of neutral colours.

Thus it was that many of the garments on display were of a conservative cut, in business like grays. Oh, there were slight flourishes. Deep ribbing or patterns to the stitching to distance them from other such things. He did have pride, after all - even if being a tailor had always been...well. Something less than his real line of work.

But there were others. Bright fabrics, some that shimmered. Most were simply that, still. Sample sheets, hanging like flags. There were, however, other garments. One he'd spent time on.

"Ah, welcome!" he said, with a perfect air of harmless, civilian helpfulness. His stock in trade, in many ways.

"It is indeed my shop. I am known as Garak. Simply as Garak, yes. A pleasure to make your acquaintance and, hopefully, your custom."

[dressmaking]

"I'm Lacey. Lacey Harwood." It felt strange to have to introduce herself, for once, when she was used to most people recognizing her on sight. When you were a victor, it was hard to avoid people knowing who you were.

She was looking over the fabrics and garments on display, curious. Some were similar to things she was familiar with from back home in Eight. Others... not quite so much.

"Back home, I'm a dressmaker." Was that a very, very slight smile on her lips? "It's... good to see people make clothing by hand here. I was starting to wonder."

Her own she'd gotten out of the replicator, after a lot of work and a lot of suggestions on the computer's behalf that ranged from boring to downright ugly. The dress she had on probably looked outdated — a look similar to what was in style on Earth in the mid-twentieth century — but it was at least colorful, made of a lightweight deep blue fabric with a subtle floral print. There was nothing wrong with neutrals as such, but for herself Lacey always preferred colors.

[the_tailor_spy]

"Ah, well, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harwood."

He steps forward, hands folding, an expression of genuine interest on his face.

"A dressmaker, you say? Goodness! It's rather good to see others doing so as well. I do hope I'm not in for too much competition!"

And far from it, in terms of dress. The future could be so dreadfully dull, at least by fashion standards for humans. The Federation was too formal about these things. The older centuries were vastly more interesting.

ooc: I hope it's not too late to tag in?

[and_she_waited]

Oh, thank goodness. The replicators and stores are fun and all, but Amy's been gasping for a real shop. One with rich fabrics and a pretentious bloke in a £1,400 suit who knows all the gossip in town.

This place is halfway there already.

"Ah, hello?" Amy calls from the doorway in her Highlands lilt, uncharacteristically reserved; "Yeah, I got this flyer about ... that jacket is fantastic."

She'll just be letting herself in, then.

OOC: No such thing as too late

[the_tailor_spy]

If only she knew what he functioned as back home, she'd realize how much closer to the mark she was, really.

"Oh, do come in - and yes, it is rather nice, isn't it? A facsimile of Klingon leather, but I assure you quite a bit better than the original-" he holds up a hand as he says this, as if that might be a mark against it "owing to the fact that nothing was slaughtered to make this. It is also, as a result, significantly smoother, as you can see."

He pauses, smiling at her.

"And it can be made to measure and cut to flatter." He considers that fiery hair. "Hmm. And perhaps coloured to accent the hair?"

ooc: \o/

[and_she_waited]

She isn't shy about marching up and touching the jacket, even before he starts in on how the fabric feels. Hopefully he won't mind that enthusiasm, as it won't be going away any time soon.

"It's gorgeous," she hums, holding one of the sleeves against her outstretched arm; "I wouldn't know Klingon leather from a Starfleet jumper, but whatever this is it's better than anything I've seen since I've been here."

She flashes him a brilliant smile, every bit as bright as the copper in her hair.

"Now you're talkin' my language," she enthuses, bouncing on the balls of her feet; "how much would this cost?"

[the_tailor_spy]

That is somewhat amused by that. She's ahead of the pitch, certainly. And one of those humans. Again, definitely not Federation. Too bold, too forthright. Too accented.

"Oh, believe me, you would be able to tell the difference - this, for once, has style."

It is said matter of factly, and moved on from just as fast, with a polite smile in return for hers.

"Hmm, yes, definitely a rather regal red, to compliment. And, well, technically it should go for, oh, three strips of gold-pressed latinum - but I am a flexible businessman. We can negotiate currencies or trade items."

[and_she_waited]

She may be one of those humans, but if he's got an eye for boldness he hasn't seen anything yet.

The Doctor isn't here to tell her 'no', after all.

His undercut wins a little laugh from her; she's no stranger to salesmen who are on the mean side. It just means they know their business.

"Regal?" she singsongs, arching her eyebrows; "normally I'd be suspicious you're only tryin' to butter me up, but since you obviously have good taste I won't argue."

She bites the inside of her lip. Part of her had hoped a new wardrobe might be free, like the replicators and other trade on the ship, but she figured she wasn't about to get that lucky.

"Negotiation is my business," she says, with no small measure of confidence; "I think we can strike a deal."