Usually these new buildings Garak disregarded as quirks of the village. But this one was significant. When he approached the door, the smell of fresh earth and warmth of the air and the smell of growing plants wafted out toward him.
He could hear Tolan in his head, could feel the dirt between his fingers as he buried Edosian Orchids. Or he could feel the hot Romulan air as he tilled the ground at the Embassy, feeling suspicious eyes at his back even as he indulged in the smell of clean garden air.
He was almost hesitant to open it up, knowing even as the door opened he was getting... well... heartsick. Of all the bitter, cynical, uncaring things he was capable of, and here he was missing the man that wasn't really his father and being a service worker and actually feeling lovedGarak only managed to get the door halfway open, before he started to step back and close it. He was discomforted by his wave of emotion, and he was a little afraid of that lonely little boy inside of him
( ... )
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, with one of his wide, ingratiating smiles and a slight bow.
"Mila," he murmured. Vorta had good memories. They were programmed that way. "Ah...I see." He eyed Garak with a tiny smile that was half-taunting, half-tentative - almost fey.
Garak glanced over his shoulder and caught that smile, which earned a stabbing look that was quickly eaten by one of his patented smiles. Yes, I see you smiling, it sort of read, before he looked back to Winifred. "...She was. Very. Even if I could have stood to be a little more creative."
"Mr. Garak is making the mistake of believing I take his naturally mocking nature personally," he told Winifred, with a much more pleasant smile. "This is a lovely garden." He shot Garak a glare, as though daring him to say how would you know?. "Are you in charge of it all by yourself?"
"Ah, but that was a high compliment. And you were a child," she smiled at Garak. "So the name is perfectly fine."
The interplay between the two 'friends' was interesting.
Her brows rose slightly as she watched them exchange looks and veiled barbs. "Thank you," she smiled at Weyoun in turn. "The garden is lovely, is it not? I seem to have been gifted with it just this evening. Though possibly others will need to care for it as well, for it is quite large."
This would likely be an interesting discussion for later. Garak suppressed the twitch of a lower eyelid as he reached out to pluck up another tiny frog from one of the fronds.
He held it out to Weyoun, despite the spiteful glare from before (or because of it, these little creatures could jump alarming distances). Whether it was poisonous or not was a non-issue, considering he was a Vorta... unfortunately.
"I'm certain I could come in occasionally and lend a hand. My experience would hopefully translate well even to alien plants such as these."
"What a remarkable place this is!" Weyoun enthused, returning the smile warmly, though he was naturally suspicious of anything Garak said that sounded like a compliment. That was no reason to be rude to pleasant young women, however.
He plucked the frog gently from Garak's hand, examining it. "Hello," he told it, politely, as though addressing a fellow sentient. How very small you are. You must be very happy to live here." Weyoun liked greenery, in particular trees, although the strange compulsion he sometimes had to climb into one and hide was an evolutionary tendency he tried to suppress.
"Tailor, gardener, spy. Assassin. Man of all trades," he murmured, absently, absorbed in his examination of the frog.
"You are welcome to do so, Garak," Winifred nodded. "And it is possible that you will find other plants--besides the ones that you have brought--that will be familiar to you. This village continues to surprise me."
She watched Weyoun with the frog. He was gentle.
His murmured words caused her pause, however, and her gaze became intent as it moved from the frog to Weyoun--though her face remained calm and pleasant.
"Perhaps, that would be very convenient." Weyoun was surprisingly gentle with the frog. He was impressed until he caught some of that murmuring. Then he rather hoped the frog would leap on the man's face. That kept his smile more genuine.
"I would probably say I was the best at tailoring, myself. It's the only occupation that I had some spite and maliciousness in learning the skills for. The others... the authority figures of my youth can be blamed for. But that's not to say I won't treat your flowers with the utmost respect."
Weyoun offered the frog back to Garak, unsure where best to place it to ensure its safety. "Interesting creature," he said. But then, he found everything interesting. Even Garak. Perhaps especially Garak.
"He's extremely respectful of flowers," he confirmed, to Winifred. "It's people who have to be more cautious."
She carefully hid her distress at the disclosure that Garak was, among other things, an assassin.
Only a whisper of a breeze fluttered the leaves around them and then, with a slight clenching of her jaw, stilled.
An assassin's arrow had been meant for her cariad and had pierced her instead.
Eventually, he'd been murdered as well... and then cursed for eternity.
Winifred inclined her head to Weyoun before turning her eyes back to Garak. "Mmmm... I require a respect for flowers and people here," she said softly, a firm though subtle emphasis on 'and'.
"I am afraid that Weyoun is referring to occupations that I have not been involved in in quite some time, and were obligated of me. I shall refrain from making similar charges of him, as he's been excused of any obligations he might once have had."
By me, and if you don't shut up I might be tempted to do so again. If there wasn't a tiny frog being offered to him he would have been much more irate.
"I'm so sorry if I spoke out of turn," Weyoun piped, blinking his violet eyes innocently.
Excused from obligations. Well, yes, unfortunately. "There is a difference between following orders in wartime, and arbitrarily shooting an unarmed person in the head," he had to point out. "Although...perhaps you had a better excuse that I gave you credit for."
The concept of filial loyalty intrigued him, since he'd never had parents; it was certainly something he could respect more than loyalty to an alcoholic terrorist.
"I do apologise," he adding to Winifred, "for washing our dirty laundry in public like this." Except that he was enjoying it thoroughly, of course.
Winifred listened to Garak and then Weyoun, green eyes thoughtful, her face smoothed of expression.
After a moment's pause, and a brief glance at Weyoun after his 'apology', she turned back to Garak. "I will not presume to judge you for actions that I did not witness and for motivations that I know nothing about."
She was not, herself, truly innocent. Battle and following orders... or making orders... often grayed the line between right and wrong.
Revenge, rage, blood and death were not unknown to her.
She could only hope that her decisions had always been for the greater good.
"I insist, however, that none of these past 'obligations' follow you into this place. I will protect it." Again, her words were soft, with no anger or force evident.
"I have too much reverence for the place to consider such a thing, and I am grateful you would allow me to keep my flowers here." However, he was tempted to physically drag Weyoun out and have a word with him. Besides pointing out that the idea behind assassination would insinuate there was no personal involvement, and what he did to the Vorta had been very personal.
"Though I should likely step outside and discuss this matter with my friend." And he was still smiling. All through it all, still smiling.
Usually these new buildings Garak disregarded as quirks of the village. But this one was significant. When he approached the door, the smell of fresh earth and warmth of the air and the smell of growing plants wafted out toward him.
He could hear Tolan in his head, could feel the dirt between his fingers as he buried Edosian Orchids. Or he could feel the hot Romulan air as he tilled the ground at the Embassy, feeling suspicious eyes at his back even as he indulged in the smell of clean garden air.
He was almost hesitant to open it up, knowing even as the door opened he was getting... well... heartsick. Of all the bitter, cynical, uncaring things he was capable of, and here he was missing the man that wasn't really his father and being a service worker and actually feeling lovedGarak only managed to get the door halfway open, before he started to step back and close it. He was discomforted by his wave of emotion, and he was a little afraid of that lonely little boy inside of him ( ... )
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"Mila," he murmured. Vorta had good memories. They were programmed that way. "Ah...I see." He eyed Garak with a tiny smile that was half-taunting, half-tentative - almost fey.
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She watched Garak gently transfer Mila onto a branch. "Your mother must have been special to you, then.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, Weyoun," she replied.
His murmuring and odd smile were not lost one her.
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The interplay between the two 'friends' was interesting.
Her brows rose slightly as she watched them exchange looks and veiled barbs. "Thank you," she smiled at Weyoun in turn. "The garden is lovely, is it not? I seem to have been gifted with it just this evening. Though possibly others will need to care for it as well, for it is quite large."
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He held it out to Weyoun, despite the spiteful glare from before (or because of it, these little creatures could jump alarming distances). Whether it was poisonous or not was a non-issue, considering he was a Vorta... unfortunately.
"I'm certain I could come in occasionally and lend a hand. My experience would hopefully translate well even to alien plants such as these."
Reply
He plucked the frog gently from Garak's hand, examining it. "Hello," he told it, politely, as though addressing a fellow sentient. How very small you are. You must be very happy to live here." Weyoun liked greenery, in particular trees, although the strange compulsion he sometimes had to climb into one and hide was an evolutionary tendency he tried to suppress.
"Tailor, gardener, spy. Assassin. Man of all trades," he murmured, absently, absorbed in his examination of the frog.
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She watched Weyoun with the frog. He was gentle.
His murmured words caused her pause, however, and her gaze became intent as it moved from the frog to Weyoun--though her face remained calm and pleasant.
"Indeed? An interesting combination of trades."
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"I would probably say I was the best at tailoring, myself. It's the only occupation that I had some spite and maliciousness in learning the skills for. The others... the authority figures of my youth can be blamed for. But that's not to say I won't treat your flowers with the utmost respect."
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"Interesting creature," he said. But then, he found everything interesting. Even Garak. Perhaps especially Garak.
"He's extremely respectful of flowers," he confirmed, to Winifred. "It's people who have to be more cautious."
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Only a whisper of a breeze fluttered the leaves around them and then, with a slight clenching of her jaw, stilled.
An assassin's arrow had been meant for her cariad and had pierced her instead.
Eventually, he'd been murdered as well... and then cursed for eternity.
Winifred inclined her head to Weyoun before turning her eyes back to Garak. "Mmmm... I require a respect for flowers and people here," she said softly, a firm though subtle emphasis on 'and'.
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By me, and if you don't shut up I might be tempted to do so again. If there wasn't a tiny frog being offered to him he would have been much more irate.
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Excused from obligations. Well, yes, unfortunately. "There is a difference between following orders in wartime, and arbitrarily shooting an unarmed person in the head," he had to point out. "Although...perhaps you had a better excuse that I gave you credit for."
The concept of filial loyalty intrigued him, since he'd never had parents; it was certainly something he could respect more than loyalty to an alcoholic terrorist.
"I do apologise," he adding to Winifred, "for washing our dirty laundry in public like this." Except that he was enjoying it thoroughly, of course.
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After a moment's pause, and a brief glance at Weyoun after his 'apology', she turned back to Garak. "I will not presume to judge you for actions that I did not witness and for motivations that I know nothing about."
She was not, herself, truly innocent. Battle and following orders... or making orders... often grayed the line between right and wrong.
Revenge, rage, blood and death were not unknown to her.
She could only hope that her decisions had always been for the greater good.
"I insist, however, that none of these past 'obligations' follow you into this place. I will protect it." Again, her words were soft, with no anger or force evident.
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"Though I should likely step outside and discuss this matter with my friend." And he was still smiling. All through it all, still smiling.
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