It was somewhat surreal, being back on DS9. He'd forgotten how chilly it was, and an old routine in the back of his head was telling him he was off schedule to open his shop.

Garak took several moments to drink in the sight of the promenade. There were faces missing, and new ones to replace them. he took note that the infirmary was much less busy, and the security forces seemed much more relaxed. Quark's bar looked to be thriving. There were several Klingons arguing near a set of stairs.

To be honest with himself, he never wanted to see this station again, but at the same time, he somewhat missed it. Some of the only good times of his life had happened here, even if some of them were misadventures rather than 'a walk in the park', to use the human saying. Here, he'd met Ziyal; poor, sweet Ziyal. Perhaps the best year and a half of his life. He'd almost felt normal, perish the thought! Here, he'd met the only man he would ever admit to trusting, a true friend if he'd ever had one.

Perhaps I could catch lunch with him if there's time to spare. He could use a meal over a conversation, now more than ever; rebuilding one's species was a dull an dreary affair. He was only here to collect the few personal effects he'd had in his quarters.

A scream from down the promenade made him start. A scream... and the roar of a targ. Multiple targs. He tensed, ready to run, and relaxed when he realized they were on the first floor, and not the second. Though that was only minimally relieving, because these targ were usually large, roughly the size of horses, and-was that a Starfleet officer clinging to one?

"Julian! Let go!" and there went Ezri Dax, running after the targs instead of away from them, while none other than Julian Bashir clung to the mane of the leader.

"Y-ou're cr-az-yyyy!" he screamed at her. The targ leader ground to a halt suddenly as Station Security Officers lined up with fasers(likely set to stun), and the doctor went flying into none other than the table he and Garak had normally used, right into what looked like someone's pineapple desert. Moments later, as security opened fire on the targs, the brit popped up again, pineapple in his hair, uniform ruffled, his comm badge missing.

"I'm good!" he announced cheerily, giving the area a double thumbs up.

It wasn't funny. The consequences of the escapade could have been deadly.

It shouldn't be funny.

It definitely wasn't funny.

Annnd of course he failed miserably and burst into hysterics, pointing at the human.

"Elim Garak! I'm going to bloody end you!"

Stranger things had happened on the station, but it was nice to see things hadn't changed too much.

Just a random plot bunny.

Fare Thee Well!