[backdated to November 10]

[simpletailor]

Garak's visits to the market were always productive in one way or another.  No matter the traffic that day, either he gathered information or he gathered new customers, both of which were valuable.   Today, it seemed to be more of an information-gathering sort of day, as the number of islanders wishing to barter had been small so far.  That could

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[cantstopmoving]

Man on a mission, Dick strides through the market toward the tailor's stall. Four custom wedding dresses for wealthy but large brides, three pantsuits, two skirts are loaded on his arms and one very long train trails out behind him. Anyone familiar with that sort of thing would be forgiven for thinking he knows how to move with that much fabric wanting to wear him. He does. For lots of reasons.

Of course he's curious about the alien, but there's nothing to see on his face but the smile of a man who loves life and knows what he wants - from it, and from the tailor.

"I'm sure you can guess why I'm here." He grins, almost shamelessly cheerful about this. Serena's going to love the dress and Blair might, just might, not feel like she has to work so hard in hers.

Not setting down the fabric, because you don't - that is, dump work in front of a designer like it's day old laundry - he works a hand from under the pile. "Name's Dick Grayson."

[simpletailor]

Garak glanced up at a large spot of white out of the corner of his eye, then continued to glance, since the large spot of white was accompanied by a man who was striding towards his humble stall. For all that the fabric was quite voluminous, the man didn't seem bothered or impaired by it. He actually moved with something akin to grace.

When he was addressed, he allowed himself to raise an eyebrow and glance at the man and then at the fabric, and then at the hand sticking out.

"Well, you're either interested in a few garments or one tent," he replied, with the witty yet deferential tailor persona firmly in place. He took the hand that was still sticking out and shook it politely, though he didn't allow the contact to linger too long.

"My name is Garak, but I suspect you may have known that," he added. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grayson."

[cantstopmoving]

"Just Dick, if we're going to do business together, Garak." The handshake falls into the category of unfailingly polite but reserved. Reticence, deference, discomfort - physical or emotional, lies...possible reasons all float through Dick's mind, background noise. Today's business isn't detective work, and his own handshake is generous, bon vivant without being loud or aggressive.

"And yes, dresses. Two today, something of a rush. Several more at a much more leisurely pace. As for tents--" His lips quirk and eyes brighten mischievously at the thought of a Tabula Rasa circus. "That's not a bad idea for spring."

[simpletailor]

Rush had been both one of his favorite and least favorite words before he'd arrived here. It was nearly always good for his overall profit margins, but it was also fairly stressful. It was like the word "war" in that way.

"As you prefer," he agreed to Dick's suggestion regarding names, and considered the handshake and smile under the cover of the ever-present mask. Here was someone accustomed to being liked, being noticed, being admired. He wondered if Dick was the type to begin to almost physically itch if he was not liked, noticed, or admired. Of course, he couldn't test that idea, since he had to maintain the friendly deference of a tailor, but it was interesting.

"While I don't know if I can assist you with tents, I certainly can be of assistance for the dresses," he assured the other man. "What sort of rush did you have in mind?"