mad, bad, & dangerous to know

@ofthecontinuum​ said: Well, well. If it isn’t the woman from the floating brick! 

“ and you must be q, riker warned me that you had terrible fashion sense. ”

“Oh, I don’t know about TERRIBLE. I pick my appearance to suit whomever I’m visiting--this i the height of human fashion right now. What would you prefer, skinny jeans and a side part?”

Oh-ho-ho, really? Thera’s eyes narrowed a touch, out of thought rather than anger or fear, but if he wanted to take it as those she wouldn’t correct him. One of the ‘dealing with Q’ rules she’d figured out for herself was to let him think he was stirring you up.

“I don’t suppose you care to tell me where you heard that?”

“Just a pigeon in a nice red uniform,” Q replied smugly, preening under the glare of his own solar ego. He did so love riling up his little Federation pets and watching them frenzy, and to watch them do so over a little tidbit he had sniffed out for himself was fun almost beyond words!

“Oh guys, really? ” She knew better than to take a late shift when she was used to working different hours aboard the ship, but the opportunity was there. For a moment there had been a rushing thrill at the possibility of contact with something or something out there across her communications system, but the light tone and somewhat snide remark had dark eyes rolling. Pushing back from her chair, leg cross over her knee as she glanced around herself in the empty communications room. She was more than sure that the those monitoring security feeds were laughing at her momentary excitement of false contact.

“Pranks are so entirely 21st century, but you got me. Very funny.”

“Since I happen to enjoy the odd prank or two, I’ll let that one slide. Why, I’ll even give you a point for it!” One moment, Q’s voice is in Liesel’s ear, clear as crystal and sharp as a knife: the next moment comes the signature star-flash of light, and then he’s seated on the console next to hers, heedless of the buttons that his humanoid weight ought to be pressing down. He holds one finger up in warning, leaning a little closer to her. “But just the one.”

The Enterprise this ship is not. It’s not even the poor, scrappy little Intrepid-class Voyager: it’s dingier than either of those two gleaming spectacles of Federation ingenuity, lackluster in large part because of the clear mediocrity of its captain, whose abysmal failure Q was quite certain he could smell even from here.

“Not exactly as glamorous as a bridge posting, is this?”

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… Alright, cue suspicion. No pun intended. For someone who could change his ‘attire' with a finger snap, that sounded on the disingenuous side.

So what was he up to?

“Alright, then. Unless we’re going to be drinking again, because I’d rather leave that until later.”

“No, I wasn’t planning on drinking tonight. If I was, I would have chosen a Romulan, someone who could at least provide a little entertainment while we went!

“ … Oh.” If it had been anyone but Q, that wouldn’t have made the least bit of sense. In fact it still didn’t, unless you took him bluntly at his word, which went against most of the rules Starfleet had drawn up for dealing with the being.

She also decided very promptly not to ask too much about this ‘animated series’, lest he decided to show her by transforming the current reality to match. “Well … I suppose we should be flattered. You’ll be looking for the Captain, I expect?”

“Oh no, no.” Q crossed his arms and glanced down, first at his own attire and then at Thera’s. “No,” he said again, “I’m hardly attired for a meeting with le capitaine.”

“ … Oh god, here’s trouble.” And oh trouble, here’s god, but she wasn’t saying that part out loud. “Hello, Q. What made you remember us?”

“Oh, how adorably quaint! There’s no need to compare me to your quasi-mystical deities of the ancient past, you know. I far surpass them.”