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The Assignment - Kelas and Erzek
Dec. 7th, 2018 11:35 pm
His first thought was to question the order. His second thought was to bow thoughtfully and assure Enabran Tain that he would see to it to the best of his abilities, that he would not fail, and most importantly that he would perform the task so well that it would not even be necessary to have such a position in the future. Erzek Temar, second son of Glinn Erza Temar, had learned always to disregard the impulsive first thought and act on the speculative second. That second thought amused Tain, as his second thoughts frequently did and he warned Erzek that Doctor Parmak might seem pliable on the outside, but beneath that conciliatory exterior was a man made of far stronger conviction than many in the Order.
Erzek wondered if that was meant as a slight against him, but decided that it didn’t matter.
Affront, revenge were first thoughts and he discarded them as easily as a spent disrupter coil.
Instead he smiled wider, nice teeth, long neck, scales polished, teased for being nearly half again a preening sunbird as his senior Pythas Lok. Erzek always ignores the ignorant jeers and reminds himself that affront is a first thought. It’s beneath him because Erzek is a special case having been recruited into the Order at a much older age than standard. But that was exactly how Erzek engineered it deciding that his intellect and ambitions would be much better served in the Order than the Military. Once that was decided he kept his ears open, knowing that the dissident movement was stronger away from the capital where the fools thoughts their treachery wouldn’t reach.
They didn’t count on Erzek’s cunning when he heard a few whispers from his classmates.
His father says he was lucky and that only fools seek the Order out so willingly. Erzek always smiles and thanks his father for his counsel as a dutiful son in their correspondence. His first thought is always to kill the man. His second thought is to remain just unassuming enough that the only traits which stands out are his loyalty and capability. So far Tain has taken little notice. Until today, that is.
The assignment is one that earns laughs and false aplomb from his fellows. Tain’s personal physician Doctor Parmak is a known dissident sympathizer amongst the Order. Doctor Parmak is an overly sentimental and weak fool according to some, a brazen Nokaran whore according to others, but as far as Erzek is concerned he’s a way to the top. Doctor Parmak, Tain decided is in need of a watchful eye, of monitoring, of censuring and silencing when need be. With a firm but gentle touch was clearly emphasized and Tain felt that he was best suited for a job.
Tain felt that he was best suited to guard the defiant and opinionated doctor.
Tain was wrong. Erzek is going to do far better than that.
Erzek is going to teach him proper behavior, one subtle manipulation at a time.
He stops outside the door to Doctor Parmak’s infrequently used office, knowing that there will be preparations underway for the annual Order physicals, the pathetic ruse Tain devised to justify the presence of the overly pretty ornament “tending to his needs”. Doctor Parmak should be in then. Erzek pastes on his most solicitous expression as he knocks.
Kelas is in his office. He has been cleaning it, fussing at cobwebs, re-arranging things that had somehow gotten ‘unarranged’ in his absence. Obviously Tain, or someone in his employ, had snooped around and left it disorderly on purpose as a reminder to him that he was being watched. Kelas sniffs, and frowns, how dare his books be out of order? Unacceptable.
He kicks a little stool towards the bookcase to reach the highest shelf. The room is small bordering on cramped but at least it is functional and one of the walls has a set of floor-to-ceiling bookcases that Kelas would have enjoyed in his own modest home if he was ever inclined to splurge. He pushes himself up onto the tips of his toes to reach, wobbling a bit–damn being short!
Maybe if he topples over and breaks something, he thinks, he could skip out on having to do the physicals. After all Kelas Parmak had not completed his extensive medical training in order to keep Enabran Tain’s lackeys in shape. But here he is. One does not exactly say ‘no’ to Tain if they wish to be alive and Kelas has too many things to do to be dead just yet.
Besides–if he doesn’t preform the physicals then he won’t be able to mark half of the agents ‘unfit’ for something or another he has found (made up, really–in this case medical ethics could be eschewed). If he marks enough of them perhaps the entire Order could fall at his hands. Of course that would be far too suspicious. But one could fantasize anyway.
One more book on that very top shelf and at least things will be in order and he can deal with the rest of the day without frowning too hard. Another hop onto the stool, stretch, and tip-toe. He hears the swoosh of the door open behind him.
Whomever is walking in at this moment will have the loveliest view of his bottom from this position–the pants that he has worn tailored to show off his hips especially, the way his tunic dips down low in the back, showing off the tops of his shoulders, upper portion of his back, and his neck. He has woven his hair into double braids that morning, interspersed with beads, specifically for the purpose of keeping his hair from obscuring that scandalous back neckline. A hint of blue in the chufa, a hint of blue stain on the lips, and his act of defiance-by-dress is complete.
If he is forced to show up for this rubbish then he will at least dress himself as inappropriately as he can dare just out of spite. He knows very well that Tain enjoys to look at him but that he would have been expected to dress more modestly, and probably more in line with his gender, than this when seeing patients for Tain. Well. One could only keep Kelas Parmak under their thumb to some degree. If Tain had preferred him to wear something else then that was just too bad.
There, the last book in place.
Kelas turns on the stool to face whomever has entered his office–and that puts them at exactly the same height.
“Hello, Dr. Parmak,” Kelas greets his arrival, giving a polite little bow of his head, “I didn’t have anyone scheduled just yet–am I to assume you’ve arrived early for your physical?” He steps down from the stool and goes to his desk to retrieve his PADD. “If you’ll please sign in and highlight your name on my patient list.. then we may begin.”
Erzek’s first thought upon seeing the scandalous form of the doctor is a fascination with the body. Nothing so base as pure mindless lust. Those sorts of thoughts are beneath his ambition. Rather, his artist’s eye sees the curves, the elegant lines, particularly concentrated around the hip, make a study of the hair, of the symmetry. He does not entertain such base thoughts as his hands on those hips nor his mouth to the back of the exposed neck, to the shoulder, biting ridges, and Erzek certainly does not begin to think the words opening the torrid tale “He beholds the beauty of blindness as he carefully plucked the spectacles from the kneeling doctor’s face, a ritual before pulling that mouth to service him”.
Those are first thoughts and easily thrown away.
Doctor Parmak is little better than an object, a composition of little biological machines working in tandem to create a small, delicate looking thing that breathes and holds out a hand. There, that’s a much better thought. Erzek holds out his own hand always always wrapped in gloves. He’s certain he’s never left a print anywhere that he can imagine, never allowed any of his fellows to touch his bare skin. He is aware of the dangers of any in the Order getting leverage over him, getting advantages. He knows that they’ll seek to exploit them and Erzek is always exceptionally careful not to leave a scale not to leave a single hair where any could find it, scrubbing his scales nightly, checking for loose hairs as he removes the piece over his actual hair.
Only Enabran Tain is privy to that information.
The handshake is an unpleasant reminder that he’s going to be subject to that yearly vulnerability, that yearly drawing of blood, that series of tests mean to gauge his fitness. He’s trained hard, careful to compensate for any weaknesses in eyesight that might stand out, careful to make sure he knows what will be found in his blood. He wakes early every morning to participate in the early exercises to keep fit, ignoring the sneers of those passing him by as he feels the muscles work. He knows that Doctor Parmak is looking for any reason to discredit him. The doctor is always working against them and while Tain may tell them that they should always expect to be tested, Erzek knows the difference between a test and sabotage. He gives a careful shake of that hand, firm but quick, smiling blandly.
“Not yet. You’ll notice that I’m not scheduled until next week, after Gala Nok number fifty three,” he recites smartly. Erzek is always careful to keep the arrogance from his tone, voice smooth and earnest, sure to keep the censure from it, always deferential when correcting those that need it. “I can see that you have a lot of preparations to make,” Erzek observes, discreetly wiping his gloves hands on his trousers. “My assignment may have slipped your mind.” Erzek is sure that Tain hadn’t told him, deciding that leaving the matter secret wouldn’t allow for any protests. “I’ll gladly refresh you doctor,” he says stepping away, content to maintain that careful space bubble.
“We understand,” he says hands behind his back (those damn soldier habits and training hard to break) “that you require extra assistance. We worry about your safety and we worry about the strain of your position and so we thought that you should be assigned an extra hand to ease your life.” Erzek uses the Order “we”, a bit formal, another series of snickers from his colleagues, but that’s proper speaking and it keeps him distant and aloof without being rude. “I find it very useful myself to have a few external reminders for my behavior and habits. I’m sure you will as well.” He knows the doctor want and so he knows not to smile but again to maintain serious, sober, a slight lift of his chin just daring the doctor to defy such an innocuous declaration. Small steps, small steps, one simple agreement at a time, Erzek thinks.
Too easy.
Kelas watches the man watch him–patient examining doctor–instead of the right way around. But that is typical to expect from an Order agent. Kelas is used to eyes that stare and try as if to decipher some meaning from him. Let him look.
He frowns at the word ‘assignment’ and once the assignment is explained he sighs, and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, and counts for a moment.
“First of all, Mr. Erzek, if that is your name–which it probably isn’t–indeed I would have noticed that your appointment was not until next week… had you introduced yourself like a proper Cardassian being. I’m afraid I don’t have any other-worldly powers handed down from the Ancients–if you belief in them–to render your name by merely staring at you long enough. Call me old fashioned, but I need it to be said,” Kelas swipes the PADD away since it was no longer necessary and places it down on his desk.
He folds his arms over his chest.
“Secondly, I’m not a child in need of a keeper,” he sniffs, “I know very well you’re not here to help me with the ‘strain of my position’. How offensive to imply that I cannot handle my occupation and duties on my own. I do not need my life to be eased unless it is by extracting those from it who would meddle needlessly.”
His first reaction is to sit down in his chair and have a good, if brief, pout over the situation but that would be unbecoming. These agents are all about their ridiculous mind games which Kelas hates to play or to be played but if necessary he probably can play them. He finds them tedious and ridiculous. It is the reason he is terrible at flirting in the traditional sense and has long ago given up on it.
Instead of sitting down he steps into Erzek’s personal space, having noticed the man likes to keep a distance between them. This will at least ruffle his scales a bit if Kelas is lucky. He works his frowning lips into a kind, gentle, smile–closer to the one he uses with his regular patients, though that one is always genuine, and this one is not.
“If you would prefer to bore yourself hanging on my coat tails then… by all means, I suppose,” he gestures to his office. “You could make yourself useful.” He takes a step back from Erzek and plucks a scloth from the corner of his desk and holds it out delicately tweezed between two fingers. “The spines of my books are dusty. I wouldn’t want to be untidy now, would I?”
He has in fact already dusted the books but he isn’t about to let this ridiculous man dictate his behaviors and mannerisms. The Order has him as their doctor. They can just tolerate some things. It isn’t as though he is out in the city center inciting rebellion. And this man can fake-dust his books. If he wants to spy and to pry then Kelas will insist upon giving him tedious tasks and making it as difficult as possible.
How could his behaviors and mannerisms be un-Cardassian anyway? Oh. He knows how. But at the same time it is absurd. His scales are Cardassian, his blood is Cardassian, his DNA is Cardassian–therefore his actions are by nature Cardassian whether they measure up to social norms or not.
“Please, be a dear for me. You’re so nice and tall you won’t even need to use my step-stool to reach the top.”
The words write themself, Erzek thinks as he takes the cloth silently. “That smart Norther’s mouth is silent as it works, the fine hair soft between fingers that tighten, the hips moving slowly because this will not be over quickly…” Dismissed, wiped away with his hands grasping the cloth, even with gloves not wanting to touch Parmak’s hands more than necessary. He was unable to help the absent tense as the air current shifted space warmed, taking every measure of self control not to step back at that invasion of his space, warmth bleeding into the usual chill of air around him.
Erzek doesn’t allow irritation to linger as he gives a low bow that might be considered mocking by some. He’s always careful not to allow any of that derision show.
“Of course it is my pleasure to use my natural biological advantages to serve in any way that I might,” he says taking only a few steps before setting the cloth down on the shelf and taking a PADD from inside his jacket. “Please excuse me,” he says softly, the soft tones always good for keeping ire from his voice. “I find my notes to be useful,” he says as he begins writing the carefully coded words. Should anyone be careful enough to decode his custom cipher they would read the words of the story so far as it’s been playing out in his head.
“I had forgotten we had that in common… our unusual backgrounds,” he murmurs more speaking to himself. “When I had first come here I did not have the benefit of the early training so it took considerable time to acclimate to observation.” Erzek continues the story, continues the conversation. “It was a poor assumption on my part to think that you would be so similarly adapted. You are correct, I should not expect a special case to be versed in our traditional Order protocols. Serving the Order is not the same as serving Tain so you would not have the same ingrained recollection of ‘Erzek Temar is notable for his gloves, his lack of eye contact, and his disdain for casual speech even amongst his peers’.” It’s a game that the new initiates play, guessing agents by observation alone especially where a lot of them don’t stand out.
Erzek deliberately refrains from so much as glancing at Doctor Parmak as he writes and speaks, putting the PADD back in the inner pocket when he finishes.
“There we are,” he says satisfied as he takes up the cloth again. “I have made sure to take the necessary notes so that I can properly commit to memory any behaviors or speech that you might find upsetting when I retire for the evening.” Erzek begins dusting, letting silence settle just a moment, smiling inwardly where it will never be seen. “At this time Enabran Tain has not seen fit for my assignment to fall outside of daylight hours and I think if we work well together then it will not be necessary for me to recommend any changes,” he adds sure to make the balance of power clear as he is obedient in his task.
Kelas isn’t thrilled about all this note-taking but he decides to go on about his day as usual. He plans to ignore Erzek being there at all. To hush him at every turn and tell him that he works best in silence. For all Kelas is concerned Erzek can become a decorative sculpture in one corner of the office.
He hasn’t decided yet what he will concede to this ridiculous game, and what he will not. For now he feels defiant–should Tain not be happy enough that Kelas is serving him medically–when his qualifications and specialty would dictate his usefulness more appropriate elsewhere? When he is serving Tain in other ways when Tain calls him. Is Kelas really that much an affront to the image of the Order? He’s only a doctor.
He sees his first few patients and waivers between behaving himself, or doing something that deliberately peeve his new guardian. The idea is still in the back of his mind of failing certain agents as well but throughout the morning he keeps his evaluations honest and aside from his dress and appearance, he seems to behave professionally enough.
But by midday, and without time for a break for a meal or even a snack, Kelas begins to feel moody and irritated.
“Wouldn’t it be more fitting with the Order to check up on me at random intervals, instead of to stand and watch over me all day long? To check up on me intermittently would yield better results. You might surprise me, catch me off guard doing something ‘un-Cardassian’ whatever rubbish that’s meant to be. Mother Cardassia would be ashamed of you I think. Who are we to dictate how her children should behave or whom she would find worthy of her acceptance, hm? Of course it is mere speculation. I wouldn’t wish to offend the State.”
Kelas has never really heard anyone outside his village use the term “Mother Cardassia” to refer to the Union. He is aware that gives away a heritage that many label ‘inferior’ but he doesn’t care. It could have been worse, after all. There are plenty in his home village who still know of the old ways, who still pray and call upon Oralius. What reaction would he have if he muttered old Nokaran curses under his breath, or sat down on the floor in the middle of the office, face upward toward the sun in the sky, and began to pray to a deity the State thinks they have vanquished long ago. Oh, poor Erzek might suffer an aneurism or a mental collapse.
Though in reality, as much as Kelas might want to do it out of spite and shock-value, he knows better than press his luck on some things. Should he be recorded officially as a follower of Oralius (which he was neither officially nor unofficially) he could face consequences and he wasn’t about to risk his career or freedom for a few moments of spite presented as a false prayer to old gods.
But he does prefer to think of Cardassia as a loving mother and that just maybe–she can accept her children even with their flaws, so flawed as he is it is a more appealing idea than the harsh sameness that is dictated by the State. It isn’t a believe in any gods, not really anything as sacred as it sounds to be, it is just a bit of hope that Kelas holds onto to keep himself from becoming too cynical and fed-up.
When he had first come to Culat, out of his village, to study he had thought it best to hide any part of his ‘inferior’ heritage but as time had gone on he had taken bits and pieces out again to help himself exist in a way that was healthier–deciding that Mother Cardassia might be gentler than the State helped Kelas to be a bit gentler with himself as well. There had been a point in his life, not all that long ago, when he’d felt all he ever deserved was punishment. Luckily his meeting with a special stranger had brought him to question this, and had lead him to figure out a way to find kindness for himself.
“After all,” Kelas says, glancing to Erzek and attempting to keep his voice convincing enough, “we have all been taught that the State knows what’s best for us and I am but a lowly Nokaran physician. My head is full of ridiculous things. What would I know about what’s decent or indecent? Perhaps you can find a modicum of grace to spare any ill feeling at my backwards thinking.”
This is going to be more difficult than he had initially anticipated. First thought discarded. The second comes to him quickly on the heels of the first, more helpful, clarity, and Erzek feels the little ping to the side of his temple which is a smile captured before it can escape, bottle and shuffled, noted but disregarded. The second thought says to him that Northerners are dogs and if one cannot to appeal to their reason then they must be treated as such. Erzek blinks at Doctor Parmak with a slow, considering tilt of his head, careful to remain expressionless but sure to cast his expression down nonetheless as he calls benevolence to his tone.
“Mother Cardassia…” he murmurs softly, careful to cast censure softly. He isn’t sure if the doctor will need to strain to hear when he drops his volume. “That’s quaint,” he supplies, “and your humility is appreciated. The task is a great one and I appreciate your input into the process, Doctor Parmak.” He looks up from his notes, eye contact just long enough before fixing his expression on some other point of the room. The entire process had been thoroughly unengaging until now but he brings himself back, not allowing a lingering expression over lips and shoulders. That would be scandalous though he cannot help but catalogue the angle, the slope, the artist making a study of the lines and he finds himself lost a moment as his mind moves from the written word to the pencil over the page, sketching the lines of the doctor’s body.
Alright, maybe it lingers after all.
Erzek nearly sighs but refrains. This is the lead in that he needs, after all. It will allow him to modify the subject’s behavior more readily and simply. Tain after all, had given him a free hand and Erzek intends to use every bit of that leeway. He’s already studied the space, already thinking of the devices that he’d swiped from his cousin, one device in particular.
Internal laugh, small smile on the outside. “We do not expect those less fortunate to know what is and what is not appropriate but… that is why I’m here, doctor.” Deferential duck of his head. “I am here to assist but I can see that my presence is… unsettling,” he says carefully making another note.
“Yes, that Nokaran whore mouth is good for far more than speaking sedition. The best way to quiet an obstinate savage is to gag him, to keep him carefully trained.” Erzek writes before taking the PADD under one arm.
“I shall leave you for today so that you might recenter yourself…” amused, he pauses, “Mother Cardassia has a calling for me as well tonight but I believe that in the morning you will see things differently.” He gives a low bow, lower than Doctor Parmak should deserve, eyes down already seeking out the optimum location on the shelf, right between the pages of one old book in particular “On the Diseases of the Cardassian State” which is less a medical text but thought to be a carefully masked dissident manifesto shrouded in the most bland of medical dissertations.
Yes, Erzek knows just the thing…
—
Northerners are little better than hounds and must be trained, handled, and treated as such. Their intellect may be on par with those of better blood, but they have tendencies and weaknesses which Erzek fully intends to exploit. The device is small, however it isn’t a flat paged monitoring device but rather a device capable of emitting a very particular noise by remote. It’s a sound that only registers to certain frequencies- Nokarans and hounds, Erzek thinks amused, recalling that it’s a high pitched and unpleasant sound fast and sharp and the tests he’d conducted on his father’s least cooperative stud, a massive one eyed son of a glitch yielded quick results.He expects the same here, he thinks as he greets the defiant doctor the next morning.
He notes that Doctor Parmak is dressed as scandalously as ever, the curve of those hips just as defiant, Erzek’s hand curling and uncurling as he gives a bow, hands behind his back. He was sure to know this time, sure to keep a small smile as the Doctor greeted him with annoyance. Erzek had sketched last night, had sketched out the scene, Parmak on his knees, the frames of his spectacles slipped down on his nose, mouth open slack, and in Erzek’s mind that negates what little power the doctor thinks he may command, the images overlaid, the delicate savage reduced on the page to nothing but a slavish ornament.
“Good morning, Doctor Parmak,” he says politely. “I’m here today to observe again but you have my assurance that I have no intention of censure or interference. Perhaps if I can make enough positive observations we can reduce the breadth of our assignment.”
“After all,” he continues fondling the spines of the old book, careful that his body obscures the quick movements of his hand, “we understand things better than you think.” Erzek holds up the notepad, feeling a quiver of excitement through his fingers not thinking of the next scene but knowing that it will come to him as he takes his notes. But as for the doctor… The small control beneath Erzek’s sleeve will ensure the proper response conditioning to any… undesirable behavior. Simple, clean, done.
