The Great and Powerful Q (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fingersnapping) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2013-12-18 02:15 pm
fingersnapping) wrote in tampered2013-12-18 02:15 pm
Sleep in our eyes / her and me at the breakfast table
When; December 18th
Rating; G
Characters; Kathryn Janewaydirectives and Q fingersnapping
Summary; The morning after this thread
Log;
The light stayed on all night.
Losing the full range of his powers was difficult, but it was nothing compared to the loss of his omniscience. Don't let this handsome visage fool you! Q was no frail human, and his confinement to this fragile form was claustrophobic at best. For a creature with no need for a solid form, who existed in all places at once and none at all, the small bedroom with its four close walls was stifling. Having picked one of the corners on the very top floor, he'd found at least some small assemblage of calm; the view gave him a familiar feeling of overseeing everything, but that was all it was. A feeling. No longer were the answers to the universe in his head. No longer could he see as well with his eyes open as closed--or with the lights on as off.
So sleeping without the lights was completely unacceptable. The darkness made him feel completely detached from reality, struck intellectually dumb. There wasn't even an illusion of being completely aware of his surroundings. A Q that was afraid of the dark! Preposterous! And yet here he was.
He slept invariably badly, and tonight was no different. He rose, padded circles around his room looked out at the stars, squinting until his eyes hurt, then climbed back into bed again. In the other room, he told himself that he could hear Janeway breathing. He slept an hour or two more; rinse, repeat.
The stops and starts weren't altogether nonconstructive. At one point, sitting cross-legged on his bed, Q conspired to transform his apartment. The previous evening, Kathryn had done him a number of services, comforted him about his son, and even though he knew that she was effectively here to keep an eye on him (he'd let her insist it was he doing her the favor not the other way around, but he wasn't stupid) it became his prerogative to make sure that her stay here had the comforts of home. She'd tell him that it was cheating, but what better use of his powers than to bring emotional relief to those who brought him the same?
By morning, a sonic shower replaced the hot water and soap. Her bedsheets had been transformed from the already grim 21st century cotton into the 24th century cheese-grater variety that Starfleet captains liked best. Where once a microwave oven had sat like an ugly little home invader on one of the counter-tops, now a replicator waited to be used. When the sun rose, Q decided to abandon his attempts to sleep, and he was to be found at the kitchen table, staring a steady hole into the replicator while his hand pressed on and off against his lips, as though testing the sensation. It would be a while yet before he quite forgot that kiss. If ever.
Rating; G
Characters; Kathryn Janeway
directives and Q fingersnapping Summary; The morning after this thread
Log;
The light stayed on all night.
Losing the full range of his powers was difficult, but it was nothing compared to the loss of his omniscience. Don't let this handsome visage fool you! Q was no frail human, and his confinement to this fragile form was claustrophobic at best. For a creature with no need for a solid form, who existed in all places at once and none at all, the small bedroom with its four close walls was stifling. Having picked one of the corners on the very top floor, he'd found at least some small assemblage of calm; the view gave him a familiar feeling of overseeing everything, but that was all it was. A feeling. No longer were the answers to the universe in his head. No longer could he see as well with his eyes open as closed--or with the lights on as off.
So sleeping without the lights was completely unacceptable. The darkness made him feel completely detached from reality, struck intellectually dumb. There wasn't even an illusion of being completely aware of his surroundings. A Q that was afraid of the dark! Preposterous! And yet here he was.
He slept invariably badly, and tonight was no different. He rose, padded circles around his room looked out at the stars, squinting until his eyes hurt, then climbed back into bed again. In the other room, he told himself that he could hear Janeway breathing. He slept an hour or two more; rinse, repeat.
The stops and starts weren't altogether nonconstructive. At one point, sitting cross-legged on his bed, Q conspired to transform his apartment. The previous evening, Kathryn had done him a number of services, comforted him about his son, and even though he knew that she was effectively here to keep an eye on him (he'd let her insist it was he doing her the favor not the other way around, but he wasn't stupid) it became his prerogative to make sure that her stay here had the comforts of home. She'd tell him that it was cheating, but what better use of his powers than to bring emotional relief to those who brought him the same?
By morning, a sonic shower replaced the hot water and soap. Her bedsheets had been transformed from the already grim 21st century cotton into the 24th century cheese-grater variety that Starfleet captains liked best. Where once a microwave oven had sat like an ugly little home invader on one of the counter-tops, now a replicator waited to be used. When the sun rose, Q decided to abandon his attempts to sleep, and he was to be found at the kitchen table, staring a steady hole into the replicator while his hand pressed on and off against his lips, as though testing the sensation. It would be a while yet before he quite forgot that kiss. If ever.
no subject
She rolls her eyes, but that slight upturn at the corner of her mouth betrays the amusement she found in that thought. Of course, one of her own would likely gun her down before she got very far — not that she was even considering it.
Kathryn slaps a hand down on one of her knees in resolve. "Well, if I'm going to be copying down schematics, you're going to help me. Tell me your penmanship has more to offer than just chicken scratch."
no subject
Back to normal; back to not making disturbing noises, and Q waves his hand out across the floor, generating out of nowhere a dozen stacks of PADDs, all containing a wealth of useful information. One appears in his hand, too, and this he passes to Kathryn directly.
"The specs for the NX-1's transporter aparatus, mon capitaine."
no subject
There's a couple of notebooks and some pens on the desk in my room.
[ kathryn rises to her feet, but walks instead to the kitchen, indicating that she meant for him to retrieve them, not her. as for what she's doing? well, if she's going to be working— ] Coffee, black. [ might as well do it with proper ceremony.
coffee in hand, she returns to her spot, setting her coffee down to one side of her, and sorting PADDs to the other. ]
no subject
When he had gathered the necessary tools, he head back, finding a spot on the floor between several of the towers and trying to resist the enticing aroma of her hot coffee, foul temptress that it was.
He asked instead: ] Do you know where you want to start?