video;

[parricida]

[Hey, it's Garak! Looking, admittedly, not quite his best-- his hair is tremendously mussed, sticking up a little and far too long, and is that blood smeared on his neck? No. That can't be-- that's probably not blood. Probably not.

Anyway. It's Garak, sitting in his ship, smiling at the camera.]

Now. Despite our recent opportunities on these three moons, some rather lovely ladies have reminded me that one can't always have the clothes one wants. And with some new fabric in my possession, I thought I too might offer my services to the fleet.

I'm a tailor by trade-- a very good tailor, in fact. If you, like myself, are getting rather tired of Floot Loops clothes, send me a message, and I may be able to help you.

Comments

video;

[parricida]

I do indeed. Interested?

video;

[catamite]

Yes!

I keep washing mine from home, but they're still so gross now.

What kind of things do you make?

video;

[parricida]

Frankly, that's entirely up to you. Since there are so many styles and differing interests, I was going to let each person design their own work, instead of creating a few stock outfits and having people but them.

video;

[catamite]

Do you guys have, like... clubs, where you're from?

video;

[parricida]

Clubs? I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific.

[Like, what, an assassin's guild? They have those ... or does he mean more like a bar?]

video;

[catamite]

Like... dance clubs. With loud music and drinking and stuff.

[seriously, why does no one know what he's talking about when it comes to this? was Nor the only place in the universe where people go clubbing?]

[parricida]

Ah.

[A beat.]

My dear, how old do you imagine I am?

[catamite]

Um.

[a slow blink as he tries to figure out what this has to do with his question, and also figure out if it would be more polite to guess high or low.

give him a moment.]

...Are you saying... you don't... club much?

[parricida]

That is indeed what I'm saying, yes.

[But he's so sweet, he can't even keep this going.]

You'll have to tell me what specifically you want, beyond club clothes.

[catamite]

Oh... um.

[Nel is so outmatched in this conversation, it's not even funny.]

I'd show you a picture if I had one, but...

[just floundering away.]

[parricida]

[He laughs softly.]

Tell me what you want. Trousers and a shirt, yes? Long legs or short? Clingy, or loose? In what colors?

[catamite]

Black. Clingy is good.

[it's not much of a start, but it's something.]

[parricida]

Black and clingy. Two piece or one?

[catamite]

Two? Like... pants and a shirt.

[parricida]

[He laughs softly.]

All right, all right. I'll do my best with some illustrations and send them over soon, hm?

[catamite]

[both so relieved and impressed!]

Wow, okay!

...I've never had, like... anything made for me before.

[parricida]

No? Well, I do hope I impress you, my dear. It's rather nice, having one's clothes tailored to fit.

[catamite]

[he should maybe not be this unconditionally thrilled to be receiving something from a scaly-faced man who looks like he just got done hunting down his own lunch.]

I can't wait.

...Do you take measurements and stuff? Or do you have one of those mannequin things on your ship?

[parricida]

[Don't be fucking rude]

Measurements are needed, yes-- but only once we get the initial sketches done, so I know what precisely to measure.

[catamite]

Oh, I get it. Okay.

[...he only mostly gets it, let's be honest.]

[parricida]

[He snorts.]

I'll simply call you when I'm done, hm?

[catamite]

Okay!

[he's so excited so excited]

Thanks again!

[parricida]

Of course, my dear. In the meantime: how have you been?

[catamite]

Oh, um. I'm okay.

[which will be his answer always and forever.]

[parricida]

Of course you are. You're resilient, aren't you?