DS9 - Oh yeah I'm doing this project too.
Jul. 25th, 2013 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: 30-Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge - 05. Bartender AU
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: G this part (alcohol), PG-13 overall?
Words: 351 this part, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian has never met anyone better at making him forget that the role of a bartender is to listen, not to talk.
Author's Notes: This one is just a little thing based on me once again thinking about the trope, seeing where my mind automatically assumed Julian and Garak would go, and then switching their places. Julian continues to have the weirdest career path, more or less.
". . . and so after that disaster, I decided professional tennis was off the list for good," Julian finished.
"So, you took up bartending instead?" Garak prompted.
"No, first I—" He stopped and huffed a little laugh. "Garak, I've never met anyone with such a talent for making me forget all my training. I'm the bartender—you're the one who's supposed to be talking to me." He grinned. "Are you sure you aren't actually some kind of interrogator?"
Garak spread his hands, easily avoiding his half-finished drink on the bar before him. "There's nothing sinister about taking an interest in people, is there?"
"That depends" —he folded his arms and leaned on them— "on what kind of interest it is."
"Oh, only the most innocent variety, I assure you—no more for me, thank you," Garak added when Julian reached to top up his drink. He rose from his seat. "It's time this plain and simple tailor was in bed."
"All right, then. Have a good evening, Garak."
Garak pressed his payment with his usual outrageous tip into Julian's hand, the contact as always a few beats longer than typical. "You as well."
Garak was a funny one, Julian mused as he took a moment to tidy up. He came in often but never had more than one or rarely two drinks, tipped like the proverbial drunken sailor, but only occasionally sought out other company besides Julian's. It was strange. Patrons weren't friends, but . . . he was beginning to think this one might be.
He hoped so. Garak had a way of leaving him in a good mood even into the early hours of the morning. He'd—actually rather enjoy having him as a friend.
He smiled to himself. Maybe next time, he'd suggest they have a drink together while on the same side of the bar. It could be fun. Actually, with Garak, it was guaranteed to be.
Buoyed by the thought, he spent the rest of the shift whistling on and off, and not even three vomit incidents in a row could put a dent in his happy anticipation.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: G this part (alcohol), PG-13 overall?
Words: 351 this part, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian has never met anyone better at making him forget that the role of a bartender is to listen, not to talk.
Author's Notes: This one is just a little thing based on me once again thinking about the trope, seeing where my mind automatically assumed Julian and Garak would go, and then switching their places. Julian continues to have the weirdest career path, more or less.
". . . and so after that disaster, I decided professional tennis was off the list for good," Julian finished.
"So, you took up bartending instead?" Garak prompted.
"No, first I—" He stopped and huffed a little laugh. "Garak, I've never met anyone with such a talent for making me forget all my training. I'm the bartender—you're the one who's supposed to be talking to me." He grinned. "Are you sure you aren't actually some kind of interrogator?"
Garak spread his hands, easily avoiding his half-finished drink on the bar before him. "There's nothing sinister about taking an interest in people, is there?"
"That depends" —he folded his arms and leaned on them— "on what kind of interest it is."
"Oh, only the most innocent variety, I assure you—no more for me, thank you," Garak added when Julian reached to top up his drink. He rose from his seat. "It's time this plain and simple tailor was in bed."
"All right, then. Have a good evening, Garak."
Garak pressed his payment with his usual outrageous tip into Julian's hand, the contact as always a few beats longer than typical. "You as well."
Garak was a funny one, Julian mused as he took a moment to tidy up. He came in often but never had more than one or rarely two drinks, tipped like the proverbial drunken sailor, but only occasionally sought out other company besides Julian's. It was strange. Patrons weren't friends, but . . . he was beginning to think this one might be.
He hoped so. Garak had a way of leaving him in a good mood even into the early hours of the morning. He'd—actually rather enjoy having him as a friend.
He smiled to himself. Maybe next time, he'd suggest they have a drink together while on the same side of the bar. It could be fun. Actually, with Garak, it was guaranteed to be.
Buoyed by the thought, he spent the rest of the shift whistling on and off, and not even three vomit incidents in a row could put a dent in his happy anticipation.
