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[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

[merchantprince]

Hahah, well, I'm not afraid to get my hands a little dirty.

[Varric watches him work. He's curious; it's been a while since he sat down and actually watched his clothes be mended.]

They are, aren't they? It's like they set up this shit on purpose. It's perfect. I haven't enjoyed myself this much in a while.

And with no Merchant's Guild breathing down my neck... let's just say it's more like a vacation than going home.

[parricida]

A merchant, then, are we? Or something more specific?

[He glances up, meeting Varric's gaze in clear interest, before settling down to work. The tear is long but not particularly wide; with little efficient stitches he begins sewing it shut. There's a patient, methodical movement to his work; clearly he really is quite good at this.]

[merchantprince]

[Varric doesn't flinch away-- he only smirks in return. This isn't the first time he's made shady acquaintances. Varric knows he's pretty shady himself.]

Oh, me? I'm just a businessman and a storyteller. Like you're simply a tailor.

[He leans back.]

Did you know that if there's money on top of a table, there's always money under it? Always found that interesting.

[parricida]

Oh, people will always be people. Trying to squeak out an extra coin or two out of everyone.

[He keeps stitching, never looking up.]

Though I suspect there are those who try and do it a bit too much.

[merchantprince]

Believe me, I know. There's a difference between haggling and swindling. Haggling doesn't get you shanked in an alley.

[Varric pops the cork on the wine.]

Got any glasses?

[parricida]

Upper shelf. They're not precisely nice, but they work. Rather the entire ship is a bit rundown, frankly. Is yours much the same?

[merchantprince]

Sure is. I wouldn't have known the difference if I hadn't been stuck on the big one for a few days.

[He goes to get the glasses, but he's... too short.]

Andraste's tits--

[He might be quickly scrambling up the counter while Garak's back is turned. But he does manage to get the glasses without help.]

[parricida]

[A slight twitch of his mouth is the only indication he gives that he saw Varric-- otherwise Garak simply sews quietly, and waits for Varric to pour him a glass.]

Tell me of your world, why don't you?

[merchantprince]

[He dusts himself off and pours the wine.]

What's there to say about it? It sucks even worse than here. And yet I miss it anyway.

[He sips the wine. Definitely better than the Floot Loop shit.]

There's a lot of politics. Some people on the fleet here just don't... get it.