Star Trek: Deep Dish Nine AU
Jan. 28th, 2013 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: A Masterpiece of Western Epic Opera
Fandoms: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU/humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (language, comedic treatment of stalker behaviour [aka Dukat])
Words: 1517
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: When Dukat comes looking for Kira, he doesn't expect to have to deal with Worf and his opera.
Author's Notes: Written very quickly to be a part of the DS9 pizza shop AU, Deep Dish Nine. Finally, I get to put my year of opera study to good use!
Not even remotely meant to be taken seriously.
". . . And then I got a flat. In the middle of rush hour." Kira's lips pinched together. "It's a miracle I'm here at all. If I have to deal with one more thing going wrong today, I swear I won't be responsible for the consequences."
Ezri made a soothing sound. "Don't worry. I'm sure you must have used up your quota of bad luck for the—"
"Kira, duck and cover," Jadzia called out as she breezed through the door. "I just passed your favourite man in the world on the way here in the Defiant."
Kira groaned and actually turned a small, despairing circle on the spot. "Oh god no. If I have to face that asshole now, I'm going to get fired—or, even more likely, arrested!"
Without waiting for either Dax sister's response, Kira fled to the kitchen. At the moment, it was completely empty, save for two presences: Worf, who was chopping ingredients for an order, and Worf's opera. Even on the other side of the room, she could hear some woman bellowing away, probably about a terrible tragedy. (She could sympathise. Oh, could she sympathise.)
"Worf!" she yelled.
No response.
"Worf!"
Worf started to hum loudly enough to bring the number of other presences in the room to three.
She didn't have time for this!
Kira closed the distance between them at a sprint, reached up, and jerked the huge audiophile headphones off Worf's ears.
Immediately, she was met with a glare. "What?"
"Dukat's on his way here. I'll cover your shift if you'll cover mine until he leaves," she told him over swelling violins and horns.
The glare deepened. Not one of them liked Dukat and his incessant sleazing, and for good reason. "Agreed. On one condition."
"Name it."
"I can play my music over the restaurant speakers."
"Just don't blare it and you can play whatever the hell you want." She pried the knife from his fingers. "Go go go!"
*
Worf reached the cash with only minutes to spare, but he still had enough time to begin tending to a customer before Dukat meet his grand, proprietary entrance.
"Nerys, it's been—"
"That will be $13.82," Worf told the older man before him.
Dukat crossed Deep Dish Nine with a far more ordinary stride than before, a scowl lining his face. Rather than waiting his turn, he shouldered the other customer out of the way. "Where's Nerys? This is her shift, isn't it? And what's that awful noise?"
Worf stared at him until Dukat gave the customer a little space. "Kira is working in the kitchen today. And that 'noise' is Der Ring des Nibelungen, by Richard Wagner. It is a masterpiece of Western epic opera."
Dukat's indifference couldn't have been more obvious if he'd yawned. "Tell her I'm here to see her."
"You may see her once the opera has finished." Worf gave the other man his change and nodded as he stepped out of the way. "I will not have my listening disturbed."
"I won't disturb your precious opera by simply speaking with Nerys," Dukat argued.
Worf folded his arms. "I disagree. Have a seat and wait."
"Oh, all right." With the poorest of grace, Dukat obeyed.
Time passed. Opera was sung. Dukat eventually ordered and made his small pizza last a truly impressive length of time. Finally, over two hours later, the music came to a resounding instrumental finish. Worf let out a quiet sigh and his features relaxed for just a moment.
Then Dukat stood up and his expression snapped back to a scowl.
"Sit down."
"What? I waited for your damned opera to—"
But before he could say anything else, he stopped, because once more, Deep Dish Nine was filled with the fierce sound of strings.
"That was the first part, Das Rheingold. Now it is time for the second."
"How many parts are there?"
An expression of regret touched Worf's face. "Not enough."
For a very long moment, Dukat sized him up, obviously weighing his chances of successfully forcing his way past Worf and into the kitchen. Worf returned his gaze impassively.
Dukat went back to his seat.
A little more than an hour later, Garak entered Deep Dish Nine. As had every customer that day, he did a mild double take at the change in ambient music, then went to his usual table. In the less than sixty seconds before Julian came to take his order, he eyed Dukat—whose frustration was slowly but steadily becoming fury—with pleased curiosity.
"Tell me," he said as Julian sat down opposite him. "What is it that's going on today?"
"You mean the opera?"
"Mm. And our cheerful friend." Garak nodded at Dukat.
"Oh, well." Julian leaned in. "Worf told Dukat he couldn't see Kira until his opera was over. She's been covering his shift in the kitchen. It's been going on for hours now—I'm amazed he hasn't left yet."
"Dukat always was too brainless to know when he was beaten." Garak cocked his head, listening. ". . . You wouldn't happen to know the name of this opera, would you?"
"I don't know. Something in German. It's about a ring, I think."
The oddest look crossed Garak's features. "It wouldn't be Der Ring des Nibelungen by any chance, would it?"
"That's it, yes. Do you know it?" Julian asked.
Garak's only response was to come as close to giggling as any of them had ever heard him. It was so downright bizarre that for a beat, Julian could only watch in bemusement.
"Garak?"
Garak, still laughing a bit, beckoned him closer; he obeyed.
"Der Ring des Nibelungen . . . is fifteen hours long."
Julian boggled. "You must be joking."
"I'm not. It's the truth." Garak beamed. "Our friend has a very long wait before him indeed."
Now it was Julian's turn to be overtaken by giggles, to the point where he had to grip the edge of the table to steady himself. "Oh god, I have to go tell Kira!"
"By all means." Garak sat back. "Just . . . do us all a favour, and don't tell Dukat."
Julian scooted off, leaving Garak to send a seraphic smile Dukat's way.
It was not appreciated. "What are you looking at, tailor?"
Garak held up both hands. "Oh . . . nothing important. I apologise for disturbing you. Far be it for me to interfere with your enjoyment of this fine establishment's unique atmosphere."
Dukat's only response was a growl. Garak's smile grew, and he settled back again to await Julian's return.
More time passed. The second part of the opera cycle concluded. A third began. At one point, seemingly at the limits of his patience, Dukat lunged to his feet and got halfway across the restaurant before he collided with the might of Worf's stare. Still in place behind the cash register, he was a glacier of a man: cold, imposing, and half as given to movement.
Once again, Dukat went back to his seat.
Incredibly, in one of the most extraordinary displays of stubbornness anyone had ever seen, Dukat stayed in Deep Dish Nine until closing. By the last hour, his rage had become so palpable that there was a vacant space of two tables in every direction as the other patrons decided unanimously to give him a wide berth. At last, after the final customers had departed—still to the rich harmonies of Wagner—Worf left his post to stand beside Dukat's table. "The restaurant is closing. It is time for you to leave now."
Dukat blinked a few times, then turned up to Worf the glazed expression of one who was simultaneously in the deepest depths of fury and bored out of his skull. "Not before I see Nerys. Bring her out, now."
"Kira is no longer here." There was no change in Worf's tone. This statement, like all others, was delivered as fact. "Her shift ended several hours ago and she departed shortly afterward."
The dull look vanished from Dukat's eyes, seared away in an instant, and he exploded from his seat. "What? How dare you leave me to waste my time in this hole in the wall!" He crowded in and stabbed a finger into Worf's face, but received no reaction save slightly raised eyebrows. "You had better not be planning on going anywhere alone in the next good long while, because let me assure you, you will regret it."
"How?" Worf folded his arms. It made his well-defined muscles impossible to ignore.
"I'll leave that up to my friends to decide." Dukat used his shoulder to shove Worf as he passed. "Mark my words—you'll be sorry you ever crossed me."
He swept out of the pizza shop, slamming the door behind him.
Worf rolled his eyes. "Foolish man."
Then, as there were no longer any customers in the restaurant, he went to max the volume control on his mp3 player in its dock. In full voice, as he counted the day's earnings, he sang along with the masterpiece of Western epic opera until at last it was time for him to depart.
Fandoms: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU/humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (language, comedic treatment of stalker behaviour [aka Dukat])
Words: 1517
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: When Dukat comes looking for Kira, he doesn't expect to have to deal with Worf and his opera.
Author's Notes: Written very quickly to be a part of the DS9 pizza shop AU, Deep Dish Nine. Finally, I get to put my year of opera study to good use!
Not even remotely meant to be taken seriously.
". . . And then I got a flat. In the middle of rush hour." Kira's lips pinched together. "It's a miracle I'm here at all. If I have to deal with one more thing going wrong today, I swear I won't be responsible for the consequences."
Ezri made a soothing sound. "Don't worry. I'm sure you must have used up your quota of bad luck for the—"
"Kira, duck and cover," Jadzia called out as she breezed through the door. "I just passed your favourite man in the world on the way here in the Defiant."
Kira groaned and actually turned a small, despairing circle on the spot. "Oh god no. If I have to face that asshole now, I'm going to get fired—or, even more likely, arrested!"
Without waiting for either Dax sister's response, Kira fled to the kitchen. At the moment, it was completely empty, save for two presences: Worf, who was chopping ingredients for an order, and Worf's opera. Even on the other side of the room, she could hear some woman bellowing away, probably about a terrible tragedy. (She could sympathise. Oh, could she sympathise.)
"Worf!" she yelled.
No response.
"Worf!"
Worf started to hum loudly enough to bring the number of other presences in the room to three.
She didn't have time for this!
Kira closed the distance between them at a sprint, reached up, and jerked the huge audiophile headphones off Worf's ears.
Immediately, she was met with a glare. "What?"
"Dukat's on his way here. I'll cover your shift if you'll cover mine until he leaves," she told him over swelling violins and horns.
The glare deepened. Not one of them liked Dukat and his incessant sleazing, and for good reason. "Agreed. On one condition."
"Name it."
"I can play my music over the restaurant speakers."
"Just don't blare it and you can play whatever the hell you want." She pried the knife from his fingers. "Go go go!"
Worf reached the cash with only minutes to spare, but he still had enough time to begin tending to a customer before Dukat meet his grand, proprietary entrance.
"Nerys, it's been—"
"That will be $13.82," Worf told the older man before him.
Dukat crossed Deep Dish Nine with a far more ordinary stride than before, a scowl lining his face. Rather than waiting his turn, he shouldered the other customer out of the way. "Where's Nerys? This is her shift, isn't it? And what's that awful noise?"
Worf stared at him until Dukat gave the customer a little space. "Kira is working in the kitchen today. And that 'noise' is Der Ring des Nibelungen, by Richard Wagner. It is a masterpiece of Western epic opera."
Dukat's indifference couldn't have been more obvious if he'd yawned. "Tell her I'm here to see her."
"You may see her once the opera has finished." Worf gave the other man his change and nodded as he stepped out of the way. "I will not have my listening disturbed."
"I won't disturb your precious opera by simply speaking with Nerys," Dukat argued.
Worf folded his arms. "I disagree. Have a seat and wait."
"Oh, all right." With the poorest of grace, Dukat obeyed.
Time passed. Opera was sung. Dukat eventually ordered and made his small pizza last a truly impressive length of time. Finally, over two hours later, the music came to a resounding instrumental finish. Worf let out a quiet sigh and his features relaxed for just a moment.
Then Dukat stood up and his expression snapped back to a scowl.
"Sit down."
"What? I waited for your damned opera to—"
But before he could say anything else, he stopped, because once more, Deep Dish Nine was filled with the fierce sound of strings.
"That was the first part, Das Rheingold. Now it is time for the second."
"How many parts are there?"
An expression of regret touched Worf's face. "Not enough."
For a very long moment, Dukat sized him up, obviously weighing his chances of successfully forcing his way past Worf and into the kitchen. Worf returned his gaze impassively.
Dukat went back to his seat.
A little more than an hour later, Garak entered Deep Dish Nine. As had every customer that day, he did a mild double take at the change in ambient music, then went to his usual table. In the less than sixty seconds before Julian came to take his order, he eyed Dukat—whose frustration was slowly but steadily becoming fury—with pleased curiosity.
"Tell me," he said as Julian sat down opposite him. "What is it that's going on today?"
"You mean the opera?"
"Mm. And our cheerful friend." Garak nodded at Dukat.
"Oh, well." Julian leaned in. "Worf told Dukat he couldn't see Kira until his opera was over. She's been covering his shift in the kitchen. It's been going on for hours now—I'm amazed he hasn't left yet."
"Dukat always was too brainless to know when he was beaten." Garak cocked his head, listening. ". . . You wouldn't happen to know the name of this opera, would you?"
"I don't know. Something in German. It's about a ring, I think."
The oddest look crossed Garak's features. "It wouldn't be Der Ring des Nibelungen by any chance, would it?"
"That's it, yes. Do you know it?" Julian asked.
Garak's only response was to come as close to giggling as any of them had ever heard him. It was so downright bizarre that for a beat, Julian could only watch in bemusement.
"Garak?"
Garak, still laughing a bit, beckoned him closer; he obeyed.
"Der Ring des Nibelungen . . . is fifteen hours long."
Julian boggled. "You must be joking."
"I'm not. It's the truth." Garak beamed. "Our friend has a very long wait before him indeed."
Now it was Julian's turn to be overtaken by giggles, to the point where he had to grip the edge of the table to steady himself. "Oh god, I have to go tell Kira!"
"By all means." Garak sat back. "Just . . . do us all a favour, and don't tell Dukat."
Julian scooted off, leaving Garak to send a seraphic smile Dukat's way.
It was not appreciated. "What are you looking at, tailor?"
Garak held up both hands. "Oh . . . nothing important. I apologise for disturbing you. Far be it for me to interfere with your enjoyment of this fine establishment's unique atmosphere."
Dukat's only response was a growl. Garak's smile grew, and he settled back again to await Julian's return.
More time passed. The second part of the opera cycle concluded. A third began. At one point, seemingly at the limits of his patience, Dukat lunged to his feet and got halfway across the restaurant before he collided with the might of Worf's stare. Still in place behind the cash register, he was a glacier of a man: cold, imposing, and half as given to movement.
Once again, Dukat went back to his seat.
Incredibly, in one of the most extraordinary displays of stubbornness anyone had ever seen, Dukat stayed in Deep Dish Nine until closing. By the last hour, his rage had become so palpable that there was a vacant space of two tables in every direction as the other patrons decided unanimously to give him a wide berth. At last, after the final customers had departed—still to the rich harmonies of Wagner—Worf left his post to stand beside Dukat's table. "The restaurant is closing. It is time for you to leave now."
Dukat blinked a few times, then turned up to Worf the glazed expression of one who was simultaneously in the deepest depths of fury and bored out of his skull. "Not before I see Nerys. Bring her out, now."
"Kira is no longer here." There was no change in Worf's tone. This statement, like all others, was delivered as fact. "Her shift ended several hours ago and she departed shortly afterward."
The dull look vanished from Dukat's eyes, seared away in an instant, and he exploded from his seat. "What? How dare you leave me to waste my time in this hole in the wall!" He crowded in and stabbed a finger into Worf's face, but received no reaction save slightly raised eyebrows. "You had better not be planning on going anywhere alone in the next good long while, because let me assure you, you will regret it."
"How?" Worf folded his arms. It made his well-defined muscles impossible to ignore.
"I'll leave that up to my friends to decide." Dukat used his shoulder to shove Worf as he passed. "Mark my words—you'll be sorry you ever crossed me."
He swept out of the pizza shop, slamming the door behind him.
Worf rolled his eyes. "Foolish man."
Then, as there were no longer any customers in the restaurant, he went to max the volume control on his mp3 player in its dock. In full voice, as he counted the day's earnings, he sang along with the masterpiece of Western epic opera until at last it was time for him to depart.
