ten_fwd | Not precisely Portabello Road, but...(OTA

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In truth, Garak views him as something like a wolf stuck in a zoo. A natural leader, shorn of the ability to lead. On Cardassia, his story would be a tragedy of a man unable to fulfill his duty to his state. Well, the old Cardassia that he still saw in ashes and cinders when he closed his eyes. He had been ready to build a new one, but, demigods and best plans both went awry.

"Goodness me, no. I'm not even sure how they ventilate those...things." He says it with a vehemence that only a very good tailor could hold. "Not even a uniform so much as actively deciding that one never wants to choose their clothing in the morning. No, absolutely not."

He leaves the last comment be, noting it for future reference.

"I was thinking, for a start, a jacket." He gestured to a leather-like material, but very thin. "This is from Aaamazzara. A replicated hide, I'm afraid, but hand-cut and stitched. Note the sharp lines, emphasizing one's height and shoulders."

"I can, of course, hand-dye the fabric to your specifications. The small scaling means that it will feel much like your leather, just significantly lighter on your frame."

Jim has never much thought about fashion. But the truth is, he's bored, and lonely, and Garak has, in their brief acquaintance, proven interesting and receptive. It inclines Jim to take him up on any diversion available. He steps into the shop to caress the material between thumb and two fingers.

"Nice," he says. "I'm not particularly invested in the need for a living creature to die for my wardrobe, so I wouldn't worry about that." Also, the temperature regulation on the Enterprise is more than adequate, so a jacket need not be heavy. "One question--what is it, exactly, you think I hope to convey by the change?"

Jim's never been a tall man, or a vain one, though the latter is mitigated by the fact that he's always been naturally easy on the eyes without much effort.

"Ah, well, all the better for me since I understand the creature in question is large, scaled, and rather belligerent. Probably for the best."

He said it with a hint of humour, because to be quite honest, he had really little idea what the creature was, nor did he care. It wasn't as if he'd ever had to harvest the hide - and if he did it would have been prudent to only choose creatures he could hunt with a slow stride and a large hammer.

"Well, I couldn't possibly say," he began in answer to his question, "but I would think it would be to convey...boldness. Oh, not recklessness. But a man who knows who he is, which is a far rarer commodity in the universe than many think."

He almost allows himself a smile.

"Besides which, the fabric hangs decently under the arm, see? A light garment that will move easily if, oh, you suddenly needed to wave your arms." Like a punch, being the obvious unspoken message.

"I would also point out that while the hide is light, the molecular bonds are actually incredibly tough. You'd be hard pressed to damage this garment on the errant edge." Some knives will have trouble with it.

He turned, smiling.

"I can of course install the odd internal pouch, too, either under the arms or at the small of the back for oh, what have you."

He's read the stories. He knows the basics of this man, and now he's taken his metaphorical measure. This man would tie the devil's tail in knots if he needed to. A man of action.

Jim watches Garak... well, work, his expression becoming more subtly appreciative as the Cardassian continues. Someone's done his homework, and he's in his element in a way he clearly hadn't been while just arrived in a hallway. Jim's not sure whether to admire or be suspicious, but it's probably valid to do both and neither will do him any harm.

"Well," he says finally, tucking his hands behind him and rocking a bit on the balls of his feet, "I've clearly come to the right place." Jim clearly has more reading to do--he is suddenly very interested in the fact that Garak won't say much of anything outright, but has to swaddle everything in such obscurity. He's not even certain he's getting all of what the man's laying down, but it's enough to know that nothing is as it seems. "It would hardly do to give in to any sort of notion that, for example, a man like me cannot keep up with the times." Or be relevant to them, no matter how out of his own element he finds himself to be.

Garak, were he aware of such thoughts, would advise both as a precaution. Trust nobody, after all. He'd made one - well, one and a half, really - exceptions in his life. But adaptation was a speciality, really.

"It is my experience," he replies, making a few notations on a piece of paper, "that some beings shape the times to them."

A piece of advice, and for once clearly given. The only thing you can do with a fire-eater like a Kirk - the Kirk - is to give them their head and see what they achieve. The worst thing to do is chain them, especially to a desk.

"The expression is, I believe, 'carpe diem'? Still, for the moment we can at least get you some choices in attire. If you are satisfied, I can be ready in, oh, make it three days."

Jim has, rather heroically, avoided being too curious about his own future. No one has made him more eager to break that stance than Garak, whose veiled comments are too flattering to be true. At least in the sense of any historical importance, though Jim's well aware that making the history books is not always a virtue.

Still, he cannot deny that he very much itches to take control of his destiny, here.

"I'll take that under consideration," he says dryly. "And three days is fine. I'm confident in your abilities, Mr. Garak. I do not think you would dare risk your reputation by any aesthetic disservice."

"Considering I might have to look at it, that would be a rather self-defeating attitude."

He smiled, briefly.

"Three days it is."

Jim's smile was broader, and much less guarded.

"I'll hold you to that. Having to look at it, that is. I haven't forgotten our rain check. Until then."

Well, well. There was precious little to do on this ship, as a mere passenger. Intriguing conversation was one of the only outlets Jim had for his restless imagination, and he was eager to ensure there was more in future. With a wave, Jim stepped out, no more certain about who Garak was than before.

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

no subject

I dearly wish I had sketches of Garak's fashionplate Kirk

Me too

whelp I certainly didn't mean for this to be a month later...

Still worth it :)

<3

no subject

no subject