(Untitled)

[simpletailor]

This day had been far more eventful than Garak had originally thought it would be.  Instead of spending his afternoon cutting fabric for the dress Ensign Williams had commissioned, he'd landed on an island, and to add to the situation, it was apparently an island that defied all explanation, logical or otherwise.    Oh, certainly, Dr. Bashir had

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[weemanmurray]

Ian stopped. Dead. He stopped dead in the middle of the path, and he stared. His mother had always told him that it was wrong to stare, and yet, there he was. Staring.

His arms tightened around Jamie.

"Jesus Christ and his sainted mother..."

[simpletailor]

The staring was something he'd gotten used to on the station, once he was the only Cardassian left, and it seemed he would continue to be used to it here. He'd never quite heard that expression, though. It seemed to have something to do with some human religion. He never could remember them all.

"Neither, I'm afraid," he replied pleasantly. The man sounded a little like Chief O'Brien, and the child he carried with the protectiveness of a parent was still very small and fragile-looking.

[weemanmurray]

It took a moment, but Ian seemed to remember himself. He remembered the look that he'd often gotten back on the Ridge, once he'd come back with his tattooed face. He remembered that, and he found that he was ashamed of himself.

"Ye'll forgive me," he said. "I havena ever...ye've..." He blinked. "I'm terrible rude. M'mother would...be ashamed...of me."

[simpletailor]

"Oh, I'm not offended, I assure you," he replied, still speaking pleasantly. He had the feeling that this man's statement about his mother being ashamed was actually true and that such shame would have an effect. He could certainly understand such feelings. Mila had always an extraordinary talent for reminding him of his duty and occasional lack of attention to it.

"I...presume you have not met anyone who looks quite like me?" he hazarded, though he was nearly certain he knew the answer.

[weemanmurray]

Ian shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead.

"No' exactly, no," he said, his face still flushed under tattoos and freckles. "Then again, I get that a lot around here too, ken. No' many people have these."

He scratched his thumb across the tattooed bridge of his nose.

[simpletailor]

The facial markings looked very similar to those favored by some of the inhabitants of the Native American colonies on the edge of Cardassian space, especially those inhabitants who tended to join the Maquis.

"I had noticed a remarkably sameness in the appearance of the population," he replied simply. "I don't mean to pry, but would your...tattoos? happen to be of Native American origin?"

[weemanmurray]

The smile that spread across Ian's face was huge and genuine.

"Yer th' first person I've ever met who recognised them fer what they were." He beamed. "They bled th' white man out of me, ken."

He ducked his head, still looking pleased.

[simpletailor]

"I've met one or two people who have had similar tattoos," Garak replied, and chose not to mention that those meetings had usually involved bleeding as well. The man in front of him didn't seem very white, honestly. More of a pinkish tan.

"They're fairly easy to recognize once you've seen them a few times, I suspect."

[weemanmurray]

"Aye. I wouldna imagine ye'd forget them, ken." Ian wouldn't ever forget them, anyway. "An' ye...are yer people...part lizard?"

Ian blushed. It was the idea of a small boy.

[simpletailor]

"No, one doesn't tend to," he agreed simply. Cardassian memory was eidetic, so he could could have drawn the patterns perfectly if requested. Ignoring the blood, of course.

The man's blush was entertaining and reminded Garak of the way the good doctor had often reacted when they'd first become acquainted.

"And yes, actually, we are," he admitted. "I'm what's called a Cardassian. Our reptilian ancestors have left quite an influence on us."

[weemanmurray]

"I didna mean any offence," said Ian, by way of apology and explaination. "I just...I havena seen anythin' like...ye. If'n ye dinna mind me sayin'."

[simpletailor]

"I'm not offended, I assure you," Garak repeated. "It takes a great deal more than that to offend me."

"I've also been warned by the person who greeted me that my appearance might cause a small reaction until others become used to it."

He spared a thought to be glad he wasn't a Flaxian, not just because of their mercenary assassinatory culture, but also their appearance, which would have caused quite a bit more of a stir.

[weemanmurray]

Ian's smile relaxed a little, as he shifted his son's weight in his arms.

"Aye, well. I expect people'll get used t'ye. This is a strange place, man, though I expect someone'll have told ye that already?"

[simpletailor]

Garak did not particularly worry about whether others would, as the man said, get used to him. He had no particular expectations of such an event, after all.

"I have been informed that it is a somewhat peculiar locale," he agreed. "The person who greeted me was quite clear about that."

The good doctor hadn't been very clear about some other things, but he had provided a wealth of information that Garak was carefully sorting mentally.

[weemanmurray]

"He did a good job of welcomin' ye, then," said Ian, cradling the back of Jamie's head with his hand.

"It isna a bad place, though, fer all that. We do alright."

[simpletailor]

Human children always looked so fragile, especially in the head and neck area. Cardassian children did not develop prominent neck ridges until they reached adolescence, but the other cartilage ridges were apparent at birth, if in a reduced form.

"He did," Garak agreed. "I suspect I will have to spend some time learning the minutiae, but the overall situation seems fairly straightforward, and overall the adaptability of the residents is to be commended. It is a worthy attribute."

Those who could not adapt to unexpected events did not tend to live long, in Garak's experience.