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The residents of the station rarely appreciate Garak’s keen eye for fabrics. The Bajorans who frequent his establishment prefer to look humble and plain. The popularity of their religiously conservative styles betrays a certain homogeneity in Bajoran culture.
For this reason, Quark couldn’t help but scoff at the people he passed while stomping through the promenade. A sea of brown tweed and maroon cotton; do they even have colors on Bajor?
Of course, excess is not a part of their culture. Therefore, Quark thought, they’re a species of inferior consumers.
Quark had very few opinions about morals, but the one thing he knew was wrong? Blatant disregard for aesthetics. Most everyone on Deep Space 9 would call him gauche. As one of the only Ferengi for lightyears, he imagined those priorities were just beyond their comprehension.
How one could be so adverse to the feeling of silk on the skin, of gold embroidery on the collar, a finely cast brass button on the cuff… well, needless to say, it eluded him.
He is what he owns. Clothing is how one presents themself to the world and Quark wanted to present luxury, immaculate taste, and an eye for quality. As much as he hated Garak’s personality, he certainly did have quality. It’s a tragedy that it’s so undermined by the station’s residents.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite model!” Garak cooed from the other room the instant he heard Quark enter the shop.
Cardassians have a good sense of hearing, and Quark assumed Garak recognized how his footsteps sounded. Although, how could he not, given that Quark was generally wearing 3 inch platform shoes?
Shortly after, Garak emerged from the back and set a stack of shipments on the floor, then slid behind the register. He was so big he barely squeezed through the counter hatch.
“Good evening.” Quark replied, looking over the outfits on display. All sinfully ugly, but no doubt bestsellers. “I better be your favorite, considering I probably refer half your customers.”
“A likely bet, indeed.” Garak said, his voice so sickly sweet that it came off as disingenuous. “And how can I help you today?”
Garak continued, “Ah, I did just recently get the finest shipment of furs from Kronos. Or perhaps you would be interested in embroidered velvet from Betazed? The colors are simply extraordinary—”
“No, not, ah, not today.” Quark stopped him. Garak knew how easy he was to tempt, and oh how he loved the velvet that Lwaxana wears when she visits, but no, that’s not what he’s here for.
“The wedding.” Quark said simply, and approached the counter.
“Wedding?”
“The wedding.” Quark hissed, “Between my brother and Lee— the dabo girl!”
“Ohhh, that wedding.” Garak feigned knowledge, and smiled slyly. “Of course. Forgive me.”
“I’ve catered a hundred Bajoran weddings by now, and I’m positive everyone will be dressed in…” Quark waved a hand, “Brown. I mean, they look like they’re at funerals. Pathetic.”
Garak laughed.
“Ferengi weddings are exquisite, and I want to dress, let’s say, culturally appropriate.” Quark sighed, “It’s not for a few weeks, but I want to give you a headstart.”
“Culturally appropriate.” Garak echoed, “And how does one dress culturally appropriately for an interspecies wedding?”
“You know what I mean. Ferengi appropriate. I couldn’t care less about the Bajoran aspect of it.”
“Ah.” Garak hummed, then rifled around underneath the counter, and set out an assortment of swatch booklets and patterns. “You want a light color, I presume?”
“I was thinking pale green.” Quark grabbed one of the swatch books and cursorily flipped through, “Maybe a silver embroidery.”
He pointed at a swatch close to his description, “Like this.”
“Tasteful.” Garak mused, and Quark scoffed.
“I know.”
***
’I wish I was dead,’ Quark had said to Rom the day before. It wasn’t entirely true, of course. Quark had a flair for the dramatic and everybody knew it. But a portion of it was earnest. Quark couldn’t think of many reasons to live these days.
He couldn’t place it. In all regards, Quark was more successful than his brother. Even with his bar being fumigated, he was still wealthier, smarter, a natural leader— not to mention handsomer than his brother!
He should feel fulfilled, he should be happy; opportunities should be falling into his lap. And yet, he had a void inside him, one his brother didn’t seem to share. Thinking about this wedding made that void swell with hunger, and Quark didn’t understand why.
What was Rom’s secret, anyway? What made him so damn optimistic and satisfied? So confident and decisive?
Well. Not that it mattered. There was nothing like a little retail therapy to fill said void. The wedding was, at least, a good excuse to go all out.
“For the cravat, I’m thinking cream.” Garak said, as he counted out a handful of pins.
“I want it to be sheer.” Quark replied, flipping over skeins of fabulous fabric that Garak laid on the counter.
For larger projects, Garak liked to cut all his patterns immediately, especially since Quark would be on a transit to Ferenginar by tomorrow.
“Of course. With a rolled hem, no doubt.” Garak guided Quark to two skeins, “This chiffon is from Risa, the color is meant to match that of the sand.”
“Ohh,” Quark inspected it, impressed.
“But another favorite would have to be this Romulan silk. Very hard to get a hold of, and very expensive.” Garak explained, “Popular for weddings.”
Quark touched both, pinching each between his fingers and savoring the soft, luxurious textures. Really, who needed the touch of another person when you could feel this on your skin? Rom really was missing out.
“I like them both,” Quark furrowed his brow, “You’re making this difficult for me.”
“May I offer my input?”
“Go ahead.”
Garak unraveled a quarter-yard of silk, and held it up against Quark’s chest, leaning over the counter. “I feel the sleek quality of this fabric compliments your skin better. The boldness suits you.”
Quark almost blushed. “You’re just trying to sell me the more expensive one.”
“And?” Garak tilted his head, smiling coyly, “Is it working?”
It was a weakness for a Ferengi to be seduced into a purchase so easily. Normally, Quark would make himself harder to convince, barter a little, even when he actually did intend to buy the silk. But Garak was obviously provoking him, and Quark enjoyed the flattery.
“Oh, what the hell.” Quark wrote the fabric’s tag number on the PADD beside him, the order form growing more complicated the more time he spent in the shop, “Silk it is.”
“Wonderful choice.” Garak set the skein atop a pile of others, and took the PADD back to sit in a cubby that would, in a few day’s time, hold Quark’s custom suit. “Now, why don’t we update your measurements?”
***
“Ow!” Quark cried as he was suddenly stabbed with a pin. “Careful! I’m a paying customer, here.”
“My apologies,” Garak said, “This seam is in an awkward position. Bear with me.“
Quark sighed, staring at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that adorned Garak’s back room, paper patterns delicately pinned to his body.
“Hmm.” Garak contemplated aloud, undoing pins and rewrapping tape around Quark’s waist.
“What?” Quark spat; he hated when people went ‘hmm’ and then didn’t tell him what they were thinking. Such a waste of time.
“It seems you’ve lost weight since I last saw you,” Garak looked genuinely surprised, “Did you cut down on the root beer?”
“Ha, ha.” Quark rolled his eyes. Although, he actually had no idea why he’d lost weight. He hadn’t been intending to. “Very funny. You know I don’t drink that disgusting sludge.”
Garak entered the measurements into a PADD, “Well, if you lose any more weight, you won’t fill out this suit.” He tutted.
“I guess,” Quark shrugged, “I guess I haven’t exactly been eating that often.”
“Hm. And why would that be?” Garak asked innocently as he began repinning patterns together.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Quark scoffed, “But, I dunno, I just don’t have an appetite.”
“I see.” Garak was silent after that. He had nothing else to say, for he had no advice for that particular situation. It was something he struggled with himself, although at his size, you wouldn’t easily distinguish a malnourished Cardassian from a healthy one.
“I’m seeing my mother tomorrow.” Quark mentioned, “A few slug pies will pack the pounds back on.”
***
It felt like time itself was determined to screw him over, as it dragged on and on while Quark was uncomfortably draped in paper and fabric, Garak painstakingly measuring the fit of invisible trousers. The tailor liked to take his time, especially since he had no customers at the moment.
Although, it could be worse. Quark would never admit it, but he enjoyed the company, and the attention. It was good to talk to somebody.
“So the bride,” Garak began, “Is a dabo girl.”
“Unfortunately.” Quark sighed dramatically.
“Leeta.” Garak remembered, “She was the one the good doctor was seeing before.”
“Exactly. Obviously, she can’t be trusted,” Quark shook his head, “Can’t commit. She’s going to break Rom’s heart when the next guy comes along, you’ll see.”
Garak laughed coldly, “I don’t think that doctor’s heart was ever broken.”
“That’s not surprising, hoo-mans barely have hearts.”
“Is her being humanoid why you disapprove so much?”
“Ferengi and non-Ferengi don’t really mix like that.” Quark shook his head in disgust, “Personally I find it revolting. A Ferengi male and a humanoid female, who insists on being fully clothed all day, asserting herself left and right! I would never tolerate it, much less engage in such degeneracy.”
“Forgive me if this is out of line, but you sound a tad hypocritical.”
“Hypocritical?!” Quark gaped in his reflection. Garak leaned over his shoulder.
“Oh please. One would have to be blind not to see how much time you spend in a certain constable’s office.” Garak snipped his scissors, loudly and threateningly, “Although, I’d hardly classify him as humanoid.”
“What? That’s absurd.” Quark swallowed, his face flushing a deep orange. “Just because you and that doctor have some… perverted fascination with each other doesn’t mean everyone else acts the same.”
“Just an observation. I would’ve presumed you’d be in favor of an interspecies relationship,” Garak grinned, “I mean, you and Natima were awfully close, too…”
“H...How do you know about Natima?” Quark’s voice cracked. He stared at his reflection, and Garak looked right back at him.
“I know about everything that went on at Terok Nor.” Garak hummed, “Again, I’m very observant. You seem to like other species just fine. Maybe it’s hereditary.”
Quark fell silent, chewing on the inside of his cheek, raw from the sharpness of his teeth.
“The difference,” He began, “is that I’m not going to marry any of those people. I would never invite them into my home.”
“I suppose not.”
“And I would never take any of them seriously. Not like you.”
“Like me?”
“That doctor, you know he’s oblivious.” Quark raised his arms and Garak re-measured his hips. “But I’ve seen how you look at him, at the bar.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t mean I ‘take him seriously.’ You sound biased. Besides, things have begun going well for me in other romantic pursuits.”
“That Cardassian girl? Oh, please. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve been told I’m hard to read, actually.” Garak stepped away, and entered the last of Quark's measurements into his PADD.
They were quiet for a moment as Garak continued to focus on the device, now sketching his idea for the suit. Quark watched him, unsure of what to do in the silence.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get married.” Quark blurted.
“That’s surprisingly earnest of you.”
“I don’t know. Just making conversation.”
“Well,” Garak placed all of his tools into a sewing box, “We’re both hopeless then, aren’t we?”
“A couple of miscreants.”
“Slaves to our desire.” Garak laughed again.
“It’s this station. It corrupts you.” Quark said, shaking his head. “You take what you can get.”
“Hm. That’s rather grim.” Garak led Quark out to the register, “Corruption aside, your brother is doing something you could never do.”
“Because he’s stupid enough to do it.”
“Some would say stupid and brave are the same thing.” Garak opened his till.
“Those people are also just stupid.”
Finally, Garak set his drawing of the coat on the counter, “Well, what do you think?”
“I just told you what I think.”
“About the design, Quark.”
“Oh.” Quark stared at the picture. It was absolutely perfect. Too bad it wasn’t for his own wedding.
“I’m a satisfied customer.” He said, and opened his wallet.
***
Quark was Garak’s final customer that day, and it was late by the time he returned to his quarters. He was halfway through packing for his trip to Ferenginar when his doorbell chimed.
Quark groaned. Please don’t let this be his horrible brother. Anyone else would be better.
“Come in.”
The doors slid open. Scratch what he thought earlier. Anyone but her would be better.
“Hi Quark.” Leeta said, and peered inside. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“You definitely are.” He sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Look, if you want paid time off for the wedding, you’re not getting it.”
Leeta laughed. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure?” Quark replied sarcastically.
“Look, I…” She turned something over in her hands, some kind of parcel. “I get that you’re depressed or something right now, but, you could start treating me a little more like family, you know.”
“Depressed?!” Quark snapped, “And what would you know about that? Whatever Rom told you? He knows nothing about me.”
“And,” Quark hissed, stepping forward, “We are not family. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still just my employee. If you want to keep it that way, I suggest you cut to the chase and stop bothering your boss off the clock.”
Leeta looked at him, mouth agape, clutching the parcel to her chest. “You... you’re unbelievable. Rom said you didn’t approve but, this...”
She shook her head in disbelief, “Why can’t you just be happy for your own brother? Your nephew adores me, you know.”
“I don’t recall asking you for their opinions,” Quark blinked, “They have theirs, I have mine. Now, what can I do for you?”
“You know what? Fine, I’ll skip the niceties, just business, in true Ferengi fashion.” Leeta sneered, and pushed the parcel into his chest. It was perfectly square, wrapped in brown paper and gold ribbon, and heavy as hell.
“Am I supposed to know what this is?” Quark said, taking the box.
“It’s a dowry, smart guy.” Leeta crossed her arms, “Since we’re not having a bridal auction, the bride’s family pays the groom’s head of household a dowry. It’s a generous one, too.”
“You’re kidding me.” Quark weighed the package in his hands, “You want me to take a dowry from a Bajoran? Most of this I probably paid you in the first place. I swear, this has to be some kind of prank, or a test from the Nagus.”
“Actually, believe it or not, I won that gambling.” Leeta smirked, “I can be more Ferengi than you think.”
“But you’ll never be Ferengi enough.” Quark tutted, and set the parcel on his shelf. He sighed, deep and heavy. “Let me tell you something.”
“Are you going to scold me more?” Leeta pursed her lips, “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“No.” Quark approached Leeta, “The most important thing about a Ferengi woman is her commitment.”
“Commitment.” Leeta repeated.
“Rom’s ex-wife… she was only ever after his profits. She was a snake, and a thief, and I don’t even think she remembered Nog’s birthday right.” Quark sighed, and rested a hand on his future sister-in-law’s shoulder, “And she wasn’t committed. But he still loved her.”
“That sounds like Rom.” Leeta forced a small, sad laugh. “He gives the benefit of the doubt.”
“Exactly. Now, I have bets on your marriage lasting no longer than two months,” Quark raised his eyebrows, “But honestly, that’s a bet I don’t really want to win. I mean, not for your sake, for Rom’s.”
“But if all the pride a Ferengi woman has is her commitment,” Quark continued, “And one couldn’t even commit to Rom, I don’t know if a high and mighty Bajoran woman could do the same. That’s why I’m not happy for him, because he’s taking a losing bet.”
Leeta thought for a moment, then smiled.
“You are so, completely wrong.” She said, and peeled Quark's hand off her shoulder, covering it with both of her own, “The prophets guided Rom and I together. He makes me happy. I lost my entire family to the Occupation, and I don’t plan on losing my new one anytime soon. Including you. I mean, at the bar, you’ve always been like an older brother to me anyway.”
“Wh—” Quark stammered, bewildered, “That speech was not supposed to encourage you. I’m not giving you my blessing.”
“You will.” Leeta grinned, “That dowry is legally binding, since Rom and I are already engaged.”
“I didn’t accept any dow— hey, watch it!”
Before Quark could protest anymore, Leeta pulled him into a full blown face-to-chest hug. Quark was unsure if it was a genuine gesture of affection or just an attempt to get him to shut up, but regardless, it worked. He immediately fell silent, frozen.
It was so strange. Quark couldn’t remember the last time he was hugged. Literally, maybe not since he last saw his Moogie. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. It was so good. Better than any velvet, cotton, fur, fabric, lace. Like the little void inside of him became a little smaller.
Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around her in return. She smelled good. Piney. Motherly.
“You’re making a mistake.” Quark murmured, “You don’t want to be in our family. Everyone on this station treats us like we’re jokes.”
“No,” Leeta said, “I do. I really do want to be a part of it. I will.”
When she pulled away Quark almost wanted to protest, but he had far too much pride to do so. There was no way in any universe, wormhole, or alternate mirror dimension, that Leeta would ever find out just how much he enjoyed that hug, or how much he wanted another.
“We’ll see.” Was all he could muster, as she wordlessly waved and left his quarters. Quark stood in her absence for a moment longer, the void growing larger once again, hungry for something indeterminable.
He saved the parcel for when he finished packing. Without his business license, he wouldn’t need to take the money with him anyway, since he couldn’t do any trading.
True to Leeta’s word, inside the parcel Quark found multiple solid bars of latinum. Nothing extraordinary, but a reasonable payout for a groom like Rom.
What was more interesting, though, was what he found beneath the dowry itself.
Quark turned a small silver— no, a polished latinum, chain in his hand. On one end, a clip for a virgin earlobe, and the other, a clip for the cartilage. Altogether, a Bajoran earring made just the right length for a Ferengi, obviously commissioned by a jeweler. There was a traditional inscription he didn’t understand, and quartz-like gemstones on the embellishments.
It was, dare he say it, shockingly… tasteful. For a woman, anyway.
He knew he wouldn’t wear it the way she intended. And she probably did, too.
But, perhaps it would make a good chain for the collar of his new suit.