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

[parricida]

Even emotionally, hm?

[catamite]

Oh, well...

[a little shrug and another shallow smile]

They say that it's hard to bother an elf. So, I guess so.

[parricida]

Mm. Now, if it was me, I'd be terribly worn out over it. Enslaved, another man killed over me, and not to mention the entire fleet knowing my business-- terrible, isn't it?

[catamite]

[...and here he'd thought that Garak was merely talking about his attempt to stay behind on the winter planet.

so, as he reorients to the actual scope of the conversation, his smile melts away and face pales.

and he's just silent for stretching moments, as it all sinks in-- the fact that Fenris might have been more successful in his hunt than he'd realized, that Garak knows all about it, that everyone might know about it... about him...]

private;

[parricida]

[The way he responds, it looks as if he hangs up on Nel-- but all he's doing is turning it to private.]

Now, that's more the reaction I was looking for.

private;

[catamite]

[he's a little rattled when Garak speaks up again, so he must have either really believed that he'd been hung up upon, or had already started to tune out and shut down.

he sounds a little hollow, uncomprehending, when he replies.]

...But why?

private;

[parricida]

Why what, my dear?

private;

[catamite]

[he focuses on the screen again, and repeats himself--but the question changes.]

...What do you want?

private;

[parricida]

I hardly want anything. I simply wanted to make sure you're all right-- such an experience is going to affect you, I certainly know.

private;

[catamite]

[he nods, dumbly, not really absorbing the sentiment. and he glances to the side because he doesn't understand... this man tells him these things, seems pleased with the reaction, but claims to leave it at that.

it leaves him floundering, feeling exposed.]

...And everyone knows?

private;

[parricida]

They do.

[He exhales through his nose.]

Unfortunately. But I think most people are content to leave it be-- and far more interested in Fenris than yourself.

private;

[catamite]

[he can pull himself together over many things, force smiles onto his face and dance around things that bother him... but this one makes him collapse in on himself a little, shrinking down and looking sick.]

How much do they know? ...Who told them?

private;

[parricida]

All of it. And it was rather pieced together-- Fenris raged over the network.

[He somewhat regrets bringing this on-- but it's better for Nel to know.]

They'll forget soon, you know. As will you.

private;

[catamite]

[Nel's not exactly a creature gifted with the ability to see or appreciate the long-term. again, he looks up at the screen like he can only understand half of the words coming across it.]

...Me?

Re: private;

[parricida]

Mmhmm. The worst part of it is now, when you're reeling.

private;

[catamite]

...What about after?

[he's doubtful, to say the least.]

private;

[parricida]

After, you're able to square it away.

private;

[catamite]

[yeah, the doubt gets worse, and he hangs his head a little. so rarely does cynicism get a hold on him, but when it does manage to dig its claws in, he sinks hard and fast.]

I won't ever forget...