Setting Up Shop

It was a busy day on the Promenade, even with the Hippolyta on its away mission with a good portion of the station's residents. Bajorans and Starfleet ensigns and Ferengi and, yes, even a Cardassian or two stopped and chatted with each other (well, maybe not the Cardassians or Ferengi) and perused the stores. A few children -- one of them a certain Lucy with nightmares -- hung their feet off the balcony railing as they enjoyed Breen ices and occasionally burst into giggles at the happenings below.

And then, one store to the left of Wheezy's silk shop was a tall man with spots running along his shaggy hairline toward his spine, a carefully regulated amount of scruff growing from his chin. He stood out like a sore thumb -- or maybe just a really muscly thumb -- in a metallic v-neck tunic the color of his eyes and pants that, while not particularly tight (or particularly loose) he filled out effortlessly. He had one arm crossed in front of his chest to tap fingers on the elbow of the other, which in turn tapped fingers on his chin and lips.

The store was dark and empty and he was eyeing it with a concentrated frown.

Val Etilen breezed out of Wheezy's, having just gotten a few dressier items re-tailored and embellished. He stopped short and glanced back at the man, trying to figure out why he was familiar. He shifted the pile of silks in his arms and gave the man a lopsided, uncertain smile.
"Do I know you, sailor?"

It took the spotted man a moment to realize that the slight Bajoran was addressing him. When it finally registered, he turned his head slowly to take in the shorter fellow with a slight upturn to his lips and a cocky lift of his brows. Or maybe that was just his face. Maybe that was just what his face looked like. Always.

And then his expression turned to pleasant surprise. "I should hope so, you twee bastard!" he exclaimed, already wrapping Val up in a bear hug that would no doubt lift him a few inches off the ground.

Val grunted as the man's grip constrained his chest and pressed on his healing bruise. When he spoke, Val instantly remembered who he was.
"What are you doing here? I thought for sure someone would have arrested you by now."

This spotted man -- known only as Gammon, like Cher or Q -- put Val down after successfully resisting the urge to toss him over his shoulder like a damsel in distress and parade him around the shops. But he didn't quite resist the urge to give the other man a firm slap on the shoulder after letting his feet touch the floor.

He grinned rakishly at the Bajoran's words. "Arrested? Of course! Convicted? Never."

"Gammon..." Val stroked his forelock contemplatively, and a touch coquettishly. "What happened? Everyone on Bajor catch on to you?" he glanced at the empty store front. "You're not turning respectable, are you?"

"I would never!" Gammon exclaimed with mock offense. "But the Federation likes to pretend everything's on the up-and-up, as you know, so if I'm going to live here, I guess I have to at least look like I'm trying." He punctuated it with a wink, skipping over whatever might have caused his absence.

Instead, he took a step back and gestured for Val to turn around. "Now let's have a look at you. The last time I saw you, your voice had barely changed." He grinned. "I approve of the scruff."

Val put down his load of silks and did a turn.
"It comes in handy," Val said with a smirk. The Bajoran's figure was much as Gammon had last seen him - very slight, with not much in the way of muscle. However, he looked much healthier on the whole. Not malnourished, and his skin was smooth and healthy, if a little bruised at the arms.

A shadow passed over Gammon's face, or perhaps that was just a trick of the light or nothing at all. When it was gone, he grinned more certainly. "Still in the family business then, I assume?" After a beat, his face brightened considerably. "How's your mother?"

"Retired," Val said simply. "And hopefully keeping out of trouble. Last I heard a few fisherman come to her house from the village thinking she was a medicine woman. It provided her some entertainment."

That, at least, seemed to offer Gammon some open relief. "Good for her," he declared, letting out a laugh at the idea of Etilen's mother as a medicine woman. "And so she is, after a fashion."

He glanced back at the storefront then with a studying frown. "What do you think? I always liked the look of this one and it puts me so very close to that old wormy bastard in there."

Val's brows knit high on his forehead as his limited imagination tried to conjure what the man could possibly be imagining for the place.
"What are you opening, a saloon?"

Gammon gave a hearty laugh at that. "That's not a half-bad idea," he admitted, grinning at Val. "But I've got a cargo bay full of Gamma Quadrant merch that would fry any replicator. I thought I might just set up shop at the crossroads of Cardassia, Bajor, and the Federation. At least for a while."

Val's eyes lit up. "Gamma Quadrant merch? Anything pretty?"

"Tell you what," Gammon offered with a smirk, "once I sign all the documents on this place and set up, you can have right of first refusal." There was almost a big brotherly tone to the deal.

And then the larger man leaned closer to Val with a more serious, though still cockily amused, expression and lowered his rumbling voice. "I picked up about ten crates of this amazing lube from a little low-grav water planet. Words cannot even begin to describe."

Val's brow quirked with intrigue, then he raised his chin haughtily.
"I'd have to try a sample. I don't just put anything up there, you know."

"That's my boy," Gammon replied with his lips pressed together in approval. And then, from his pocket, he pulled out a little tube that he palmed discreetly to Val. "I thought I might run into you today." He winked.

"That one's on the house. But a piece of advice? ...Anchor yourself to something."

Val looked at the man skeptically but tucked the phial into his pocket. "I take it you've tried it? The last thing I want is another rash," he smiled.

"Another?" Gammon laughed, his brows shooting up his forehead. "You've got to be pickier about your clientele."

He once again lowered his voice to admit, "I swear by the stuff. Granted, I've never been on the receiving end with it. But nobody's complained so far."

Val dragged his fingers across his low neckline.
"It wasn't uncleanliness or disease.. it was simple species incapability. If I do not venture into the unknown, how will we ever know what is possible? I'm a pioneer."

"If you're going on a space walk," advised Gammon with the air of someone who knew all about interspecies incompatibility, "somebody involved ought to be wearing a space suit." He grinned then. "But look at me lecturing you on your business. Why don't I buy you a drink for old time's sake and you can fill me in on all the pioneering you've been doing."

"All right," Val reasoned, picking up his pile of silks again. "You can meet me at the Ceti Eel tonight."

"The Ceti Eel," Gammon repeated, giving Val a cockeyed smile. "Oh, and Etilen? If you speak to your mother, do send her my regards."

Val groaned as he walked away.
"If she knows you're here she might even visit."