Work Text:
It took Julian a while to notice. It may have even been months into his Cardassian linguistics studies, but once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. The reason being was that it was in a word: adorable. He had first made the observation to Garak while they were sitting in the living room going over one of his more recent lessons. It was fascinating how his enhancements gave him a decided advantage in the field of medicine but didn’t quite gift those benefits to other areas: Languages being one of them. Well, perhaps he was able to retain vocabulary more easily but pronunciation and accents were a bit trickier than most things he’d tackled in his life. Garak still assured his “fragile augment ego” that his Kardasi like everything else was progressing at a marvelous rate.
“Does Kelas have an accent?”
Julian had asked the question in English, not quite sure if it was the sort of thing one would want others to notice. Garak had at first feigned ignorance, asking why Julian would think that. He even suggested that perhaps it was Julian mishearing or misunderstanding a word that he spoke. At first, Julian second guessed himself and let the subject drop. It wasn’t until he progressed a few more months along that he noticed that no, he was quite correct the first time. Parmak definitely had a distinct way of speaking that he’d never noticed before through the translator. They still relied on them for a great deal of communication but he was finding it less and less necessary than he had when he first arrived. He’d be quite happy getting rid of them all together, his Kardasi and Garak’s English narrowing in proficiency gap.
“Alright, I know I’m not imagining it now, he definitely has an accent.”
Julian made this assertion to Garak’s pained expression in response. Upon seeing that expression, Julian wasn’t sure that he really ought to press the matter. It didn’t take a genius to realize that certain cultures, certain languages, accents, faced all sorts of ridicule and censure across the galaxy. So he cleared his throat, sparing a glance down the hall before lowering his voice just a touch.
“If he’d rather I didn’t say anything about it I won’t I just-”
“He’s from Nokar,” Garak said with a shrug as if that should explain everything well enough. Unlike his usual penchant for conversation, he seemed little inclined to elaborate further, and when Parmak returned with a brilliant cold concoction of lemonade made with local sunberries that had a similar taste to tart raspberries, Julian decided he’d just have to look into it on his own.
Garak can be protective when it comes to Parmak though it’s hardly warranted. Parmak is far more resilient than Garak gives him credit for at times and it’s Parmak himself who volunteers the rather ignorant stigma of “Northerners” - that is those hailing from Nokar and Kraness - as being less civilized and cultured. Having lived with both Parmak and Garak since his settling on Cardassia Prime, Julian couldn’t think of a stupider sentiment but Parmak lets him know that he’s long grown used to it and as such tries to hide it as best as he can when he speaks. It’s then that Julian tells him he noticed it because he finds it charming. Parmak’s words have a melody to them. They flow together like a warm current and now that Julian can listen to him without the translator he can appreciate the faint “tsu” when he says “tud”, the extra run together of words, the “sya’s” and “kya’s” and sometimes - much to a bit of Garak’s jealousy - he’ll ask if Parmak won’t mind reading to him out of one of the older epic odes Garak’s always banging on about.
Garak complains that Julian doesn’t have a care for the art otherwise but he doesn’t quite know how to explain that listening to Parmak read at times allows him to close his eyes and remember once when he’d had a chance to hear a live reading from the Quran. The words had a similar music to them, but Parmak’s voice is softer, a little higher in pitch and Julian really does love his natural voice without the filter. He explained it to Garak as best as he could in Kardasi before having to switch back to English, finding with a bit of poorly concealed fondness under Garak’s token indignation admitting that he too was quite enchanted with Parmak’s voice. “Of course that’s not to say that I don’t adore your cultured cadence speaking filthy things to me all enunciated and sexy,” Julian had assured him. There are also times when in a certain mood a particular whisper or speak of Julian’s name with that accent will makes his toes curl and his breath pick up. Parmak says his name with an extra affected syllable- a soft “Jiu-lian” that makes him dying to hear other things he might say in English.
Parmak is bemused but he decides it would be a fun adventure to learn English as well.
As far as Julian knows Parmak doesn’t have any special genetic gifts or enhancements. As a matter of fact, he told Julian a short time after their initial acquaintance that his white hair and stoop weren’t the result of age - though it turned out at a hundred and ten he was older than Julian had imagined - but rather congenital as were the slight pink of his eyes and faint violet tint to his skin, and his poor eyesight. Another uneducated Northerner slander was the accusation of inbreeding and those traits have never done him any favors in that assumption either. Parmak was sure if he hadn’t been fostered by an old respected Southern doctor he may very well have never been able to become a doctor himself. But his mind, Julian found was as sharp and quick a study as anyone he’d encountered in his field, Parmak sometimes making jumps in his thought train that astounded even Julian. He isn’t sure how well that will translate to languages but Julian observes over the course of the next few weeks that it goes quite well.
“This is a table. That is a window.” It doesn’t take him too long to pronounce simple sentences, though his accent is far stronger than Garak’s. Julian can tell the Nokaran influence is much more difficult to account for in the foreign tongue where Parmak isn’t sure what corrections need to be made. It sounds more like he says “Zis-es a tabel. Zat-es a windsoe.” Julian is sure that it’s some poor reflection of his character that he finds Parmak’s accent darling, watching him study carefully bent over a PADD each night, pushing his slipping spectacles up his face. Garak has taken to helping him practice as well, though Julian notices that their practices often divulge into heated hissing contests and inevitably a delay in dinner which Julian hardly objects to being treated to - an occasionally invited to join in - a rather heated show and Garak sandwich.
“This rug is red. This flower is yellow.”
“This soup is warm. That glass is cool.”
Julian often comes into the living room to find Parmak looking for things to describe during his lessons and always delights in thinking of new ways to describe him and Garak.
“This boy is sweet,” he says to Julian making him grin dumbly.
“This man is handsome,” he says to Garak who smiles in turn and compliments his good taste. Julian asks why he’s a boy and Garak is a man when Parmak gives him one of those sweet but naughty little Parmak smiles and pushes his glasses back up on his face. Garak raises his PADD a little higher to hide the smirk.
“You’re incorrigible, both of you,” Julian declares, sitting next to Parmak on the sofa with a huff.
“Then don’t encourage me!” Parmak exclaims quite pleased with the rejoinder Garak has taught him. Julian resists the queen mother of all eye rolls as Garak makes some suspicious snerk from behind the PADD once more.
“Ha,” Julian says rubbing his forehead against Parmak’s shoulder. “So has Garak taught you any other useful phrases?” Julian asks in English, not sure if that’s too complex for Parmak to understand.
He thinks a moment before sighing and answering in Kardasi.
“No, but I have been picking up a few things on my own from some of our human colleagues.” Julian isn’t sure whether or not to be intrigued or concerned as Parmak clears his throat and sits up a bit indicating Garak proudly.
“This slut,” he declares beaming at Garak like the sun itself, “is perfection.”
Julian and Garak meet eyes in that moment and war silently over who gets the unenviable tasks of correcting him.
In the end they decide to just leave it alone; Julian officially being “sweet boy” and Garak being “perfect slut”.