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Who: Elim Garak and YOU
Broadcast: Network wide at first; to the Red Fish ship afterwards
Action: In his room
When: December 28th

[A wholly pleasant smile appears on the network. While the face it's attached to is . . . reptilian, to say the least, at least the smile is friendly. Prominent ridges outline Garak's cheekbones and where a human's eyebrows would be; his black hair is neatly combed back from his face.]

I wonder . . . while the planet below is quite charming, I find myself rather disliking the temperature. And while I can amuse myself with embroidery, I find myself wanting nothing more than a good book. Do any of you have recommendations? I'm somewhat familiar with Terran literature; a friend of mine even says I have a favorite genre: realistic fiction, if that's any help.

My sincerest gratitude to any who might help.

[A beat. He cuts off the feed and adds to the members of the Red Fish:]

Coil. Might I ask you to stop by when you've a spare moment?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah, thank you. [he gives a small, impromptu bow while still sitting in his chair.] I'm flattered.

I should love it if I could hear more myths one day. They're a good deal better than most human myths.

Oh? I'll admit that Gratian myths can very widely. We've a very long, complicated history, it would seem...

But it would do me good to remember more of them. I'll think of something fun for next time.

Mm, I'll do my best to think of some Cardassian myths as well. It's hardly fair unless you get something in exchange.

I would love that.

[and he seems really genuinely kind of excited! until he notices just how excited he's getting, and suddenly switches to looking a little surprised at himself.]

Hm, maybe I really did miss my calling.

[Oh, no, that's really cute. Garak laughs softly.]

Perhaps I can indulge in a small one now. If you're not too busy?

Not at all. I mean, I think one of those moose things walked by a little while ago, but that's been the biggest event of the evening.

Right. Well. Once upon a time, many centuries ago, there was a tailor named Nurak. He was a good citizen of the State, our government, and always did his duty. He lived on the very edge of the desert, in a small town that thrived in the wilderness.

Now, nearby his home was a small enclave of khav'vichkah. They're creatures who bear a striking resemblance to my people-- but their skin is brown, not grey, and they're far taller and more slender. Quicker, too, quick enough to run across the hot sand and not be seen.

Now: Nurak had heard tales of these creatures his entire life, and one day, on the day of his fiftith birthday, he decided to try and find them. He packed up food and water, and set out.

It took him four weeks, but eventually he came upon some camps where they were located. He could see the smoke rising from their fires, smell the foods they cooked-- strange, foreign things he had never smelled before-- and even, if he listened as hard as he could, hear them chatter among themselves.

Nurak was excited. All he truly wanted was to see one, that was all. So he crept closer, and he was so consumed by his excitement he failed to check his environment-- a foolish mistake. Even a tailor ought to know that there are always traps for the witless, and so it was now.

[Garak can watch as Robin mouths the foreign word, hoping to commit it to memory--language is just as interesting to him as culture and story are. he's a very captive audience, and sits still otherwise.]

Oh dear...

[poor Nurak. is this going to end well, or poorly?]

Edited 2015-01-02 19:11 (UTC)

Oh dear indeed. Fortunately for our good tailor, he wasn't killed-- merely knocked out. When he awoke, it was in the tent of the khavichka'n-- and one in particular was watching him, waiting for him to wake.

Nurak had gotten his wish: he had now seen his first khavichka'i. Within moments, he knew he was in love, for the khavichka'i was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen-- unlike anyone or anything he had ever witnessed before. Immediately he knew he had to be with the khavichka'i; he would rather die than go home alone.

When Nurak's captor saw he was awake, he called to his fellows-- each of them more beautiful than the last, but Nurak had only eyes for his first guard. After some chatter he could not understand, his khavichka'i asked him in Kardasi: "What is your name?"

"Nurak." And then, feeling bold, he added: "What's yours?"

"Aterareanhui," the creature replied, and Nurak found himself pleased, for the creature's name was as strange and beautiful as its form. "Why have you come to our camp?"

It was in his best interest to lie, but Nurak was admittedly unusual, and so said: "I wished to see what you looked like. I have heard stories of your grace and beauty, and I wished to see if it were true."

This caused quite a stir. The other three began talking among themselves, but Aterareanhui only stared at Nurak. Finally, after a long time, the oldest one barked an order, and they left. Aterareanhui pointed his spear at Nurak, who stared back, unflinching. He was a Cardassian, and though he did not want to die, if it was to be his fate, he would face it unflinching.

But to his surprise, Aterareanhui did not kill him. Instead, he tore his bonds and got him to his feet. Quickly, Aterareanhui lead him to the edge of the camp, until Nurak found himself in the desert once more.

"You are free," Aterareanhui told him briskly, and Nurak began to panic. He did not want to be free, not without Aterareanhui-- and yet the creature gave him no choice.

"Thank you," Nurak said, and then, thinking quickly, added: "But I must repay you. I must give you a present."

"There is no need," Aterareanhui said doubtfully, but Nurak shook his head.

"I am a tailor," he replied. "Let me sew you the finest shirt you've ever known, out of the strongest, lightest material. I'll return in a moon cycle."

"We will be gone by then," Aterareanhui replied, and Nurak hissed in shock, as if he had not known it was so.

"Then come to my home," he proposed, "and I will give you your gift." To his glee, Aterareanhui eventually nodded.

"But if you are attempting to trick me, or murder me, or find out secrets of my clan, I will kill you," Aterareanhui threatened, and Nurak nodded hastily, agreeing. He wouldn't do such things, no, no. He had other plans for his obsession.

Over the next four weeks, Nurak worked every hour of every day, cutting, measuring, working as hard as he could. He poured his heart into this shirt, and as he worked, he spoke. He told the shirt of Aterareanhui's loveliness, of his cunning and warrior-like nature, of his strange beauty and foreign ways, and how Nurak admired them.

[Garak pauses, and then adds:]

It was not right to do so. Cardassians are an insular people, and we do not take well to outsiders. But Nurak was in love, and could not help himself.

Finally, after a month's time, it was ready. The only thing left was a drop of Nurak's blood-- for this was a time when magic still ruled, and blood was powerful. He pricked his finger and added a drop, and his plan was complete: for he had placed a spell on the tunic, and whomever wore it would fall in love with Nurak.

And so it was. When Aterareanhui came and tried on his reward, the spell worked perfectly: he turned to face Nurak, and desire was clear in his face. All he wanted was Nurak, and all Nurak wanted was him.

[sometime during the telling of this story his hand went up to his face and stayed there. he looks so... "charmed" would be a good word.]

Three years passed in happiness, with Aterareanhui never suspecting a thing. His people did not need to bathe the way we do, so he never took off the shirt, and the spell never broke. One day, when Nurak was out shopping, he heard tell of a new construction project coming-- one to take place in the desert, to try and build the town into a city. The only problem were the herds of khavichka'n; they had been all but wiped out, save for one.

When he heard this, Nurak paled. He was a sentimental man, and he did not want Aterareanhui to suffer. The moment he got home, he told his lover of what he'd heard. Aterareanhui's reaction was simple: "I must warn them."

Nuvak protested, of courses, for if Aterareanhui left, he would be hunted as well. "Tell me where they are, and I will warn them!" But of course, Aterareanhui had been gone for several years; he had no idea where his camp had moved.

"I must go," he said, and brushed the tears from Nuvak's eyes. "We have ways of being unseen-- I will be fine. I will go and warn them and return to you." And finally, though his heart ached and protested, Nuvak agreed.

But of course, the shirt that he had made was bound to Nuvak's desires-- and his true desire was for Aterareanhui to be safe. Aterareanhui, try though he might, could not get past the open door. But though Nuvak wanted him to stay, he also loved him, truly and deeply, beyond lust or puppy-love. So he took his scissors, and cut the shirt, freeing his lover from the spell.

Immediately, the effects were obvious. Aterareanhui stared at Nuvak in horror, fully aware for the first time in three years. "What have you done," he snarled, and left. Nuvak wept.

[Garak smiles thinly.]

The rest of the tale isn't so long, now, and I thank you for your patience. Aterareanhui and his clan were able to evade capture for a bit, but of course, we Cardassians are thorough, and soon they were found and killed. In their questioning, the police found that Nuvak had been the one to help them-- and so, in his own way, betrayed his country. He was put on trial and executed publicly, as a lesson to all. The town prospered, becoming more wealthy and a good source of income to the State.

And so everything was orderly and in its proper place. The end.

[...he sighs, still smiling.]

And so it was, I see. What a fascinating story...

[he laughs, then, finally relaxing back in his chair. now that he can afford to divide his attention again, he's got a lot to think about.]

And wonderful to listen to, thank you.

Of course. It's been quite a while since I've had a captive audience, frankly.

Well, I would not mind repeating the experience either.

May I ask--what do you think of that story?

Oh, it was wonderful. I do love cleverness in my protagonists-- so much better than brute force.

Ah, that's something we share. I'll keep it in mind for the future...

More stories from the Underground would be a good match, I think. It's actually disadvantageous to be the big guy down there, so they have a lot of clever, quick-thinking heroes to pull from.

Is it a real place, then? I wasn't certain how much was legend and how much was fact.

[he laughs!]

Actually, it was all fact. You said you liked realistic fiction, so I figured I'd meet you halfway.

Truly! It rather had the sound of myth, but I suppose that's thanks to the teller. Do said creatures have a name now, then?

You know... [he... scratches his head, a little.] After hearing so much about other people, their worlds, their cultures... I've come to think that mine is not quite as good at naming things.

Most would still call it a monster. The few who still study this sort of thing would call it a n'z'clari, from the old texts, but that mostly translates to "large, mythical thing we don't understand".

Well, so long as they're honest about it. To be fair, I believe most names originate in such a way-- most people simply refuse to admit it.

Ah, I'll agree with you there. My world might get there someday, perhaps once writing things down finally becomes habit again...

[not that he's... yeah, okay, he's bitter about that last one.]

Not a particularly literate people?

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