What on Earth?! Q thought to himself loudly. The thoughts were so very loud that he actually thought, for a brief yet terrifying moment, that he had spoken his thought out loud. Luckily though, he had not.
He glanced down at himself and saw that he was wearing something. Thank god for that, he said to himself gratefully. It was the red and black uniform of a Starfleet captain. He quickly came to the concerning and annoying realisation that he was lying down. He sat up and saw that he was lying on a couch. It was made of pristine, white leather. He looked around the room in which he had found himself in. It looked quite cosy and neat. There didn't seem to be a single thing out of place. Not one piece of straggling rubbish scattered here nor there or a crumb on the wooden floor. There was an odd looking box in one corner. It was black and thick and quite large. It had two wires protruding out of it which resembled, very clearly, antennae. In a way, that is what they were. It was a television set.
He was just about to stand up when he heard footsteps coming from somewhere. Already scared and confused basically out of his actually non-existent wits, he stayed where he was. He listened more intently and heard that the light footsteps were actually coming closer. Wanting to see who or, indeed, what it was that was making the annoying noise, he sat up on the couch.
Roxana Philippe stepped out of her bedroom and yawned loudly. She walked through the hallway and made her way into the living room. What she saw next was so very puzzling and frightening that she could find no words which she saw fit to describe it. She didn't scream, she didn't speak, she didn't yell in a state of confusion or terror, she just stood there.
"Who are you?" She managed to get out the three trembling words as she walked over to the intruder so that the two were a little bit closer.
Q stood up and said proudly and impertinently, "I am Q."
She stuttered, "Q? Q?"
He sighed annoyingly and said, "Yes, I've already said that."
"How did you get in here?" She asked him, sounding scared all of a sudden.
"I have no idea!" Q replied, sounding rather jovial and nonchalant about the whole confusing matter.
She gingerly and carefully took another step towards him. "What do you want? Are you a burglar, or are you going to kill me?" She asked him, being terrified.
He let out a short and confusing chuckle. "Why on Earth would I want to do that?"
She shrunk back a little.
"Moving on," Q said, changing the subject already. "You're not from France are you?"
She shook her head and replied quietly, "No."
Q smiled a smiled full of glee. "Oh, thank god for that!"
"Do you not like French people?" She asked him, puzzled by his response.
"Not especially. I had this friend once who was French and I could never put up with him. So close minded." Q tutted and shook his head disapprovingly.
Roxana asked him slyly, "Are you sure it wasn't him that couldn't put up with you?"
"How dare you?" Q started rudely. "Why would you say that?"
"Well, if appearing magically on someone's sofa is how you usually say hello, then you can't really blame them," she replied logically.
He nodded, saying, "True, true."
"You're not an alien are you?" She asked him worriedly.
"What makes you think that I am?" He asked her.
"You don't seem very human," she said simply, still examining him.
He shrugged and then replied, "Good, you humans aren't as stupid as you seem. Generally speaking."
"So, you are?" She asked.
He nodded and grinned. "I am, yes, not that you would understand. I am a god."
"A god?" She echoed, alarmed. "How are you a god? You don't really look like what a god should look like."
He scoffed, actually beginning to feel a little disheartened by what she had just said. "What were you expecting? A little old man with a grey beard and pointy hat?"
"Well, no…" she said quietly, realising her mistake and suddenly feeling quite ashamed of herself.
"If you don't believe I'm a god, watch this," he said, with a cunning smile. Q stepped back a little and then clicked his fingers. His clothes instantly changed from the Starfleet captain's uniform to a more natural outfit. He was wearing a t shirt and boot cut jeans. His hair was slicked back.
Roxana was lost for words. "How… How did you do that?" She asked him, amazed by his little stunt.
"Magic," Q replied simply.
"Magic isn't real," Roxana said, not believing him for one tiny moment.
"True, it doesn't. But, it might as well be for you," Q replied rudely. He changed the subject again, "What year is it?"
She laughed and asked him, "How much did you have to drink last night?"
"Nothing," he said innocently. He wasn't really sure what she had meant by that. He never drank alcohol. He never drank anything. He had no need to do so. He saw it as just a waste of time. A human pastime.
She laughed and, once she had controlled herself, replied, "It's 1989."
"Fun," he said half-heartedly. "The 80's."
"Tell me about it," Roxana said glumly. She sighed.
"I haven't been here in quite a while."
"What, you mean London?" She asked him quizzically.
"No, no," he said. "I mean this year."
She cocked a curious and unsure eyebrow.
Q continued, after realising that she wasn't going to say anymore, "It's been a long time. Four hundred years, to be precise."
"Four hundred years?" She repeated, stunned and confused.
He nodded, smiling. "Yes, four hundred."
"So, you mean to tell me that you're four hundred years old?" She asked, dumbfounded.
He laughed and replied, smiling, "Not at all."
"So, you were lying about that then?"
"I was not, no. That is just not my age," he responded nonchalantly.
"How old are you then? Thirty? Forty?" She quizzed him.
Q replied simply and to the point, "In your dreary human way of counting, I am over twenty—"
She cut him off, mid-sentence. "Sorry, but there is no way that you're twenty!"
Q continued, as if she had never interrupted him. "—thousand years old."
"What?!" She yelled.
He nodded and grinned. He scoffed, saying, "Humans."
All of a sudden, the pair became aware of a loud ringing sound. It was the phone.
"I think someone's calling you," Q said.
She closed her gormless mouth and walked over to the landline phone. She picked up the handset and said tiredly, "Yes, hello?"
"Oh, Roxana! Thank god you're all right!"
She realised that it was her mother's relived voice. "I am. Sorry for not calling you."
"Your father bought something for you and he said he wants you to have it now," her mother said.
Roxana tried to smile. "Tell him thanks."
"You can do that. We'll come over in a few minutes."
Roxana sighed and hit her head softly. "You don't have to do that," she said weakly.
"Nonsense, we want to see how your kitchen looks."
Roxana had recently repainted her kitchen. It used to be a rather hideous shade of bright, even fluorescent green. It was now a more neutral colour.
"We'll be round about twelve," her mother said happily.
"Great," Roxana said despairingly.
Her mother said goodbye and then hung up. Roxana put the phone back in its cradle. She sighed. She looked at the clock and saw that it was already a quarter to twelve noon. She cursed herself under her breath.
Q walked over to her and said, "Mother?"
She nodded, before asking him, "How did you know?"
He said nothing but simply tapped the side of his nose twice. He had heard every single word of their conversation on the phone. "And, may I say," he began again. "Nice kitchen."
She moaned. "You need to leave," she said bluntly.
"Why?" He asked her confusedly.
"Because my parents are coming over and they certainly will not want to be seeing you here!" She shouted at him.
Q raised an eyebrow curiously at that. He then clicked his fingers, but nothing happened. He was hoping that he would disappear in brilliant blaze of light like he usually did, but that didn't happen this time. Not even the slightest 'poof'. He frowned and then said, "I can't leave,"
"You can," she said angrily.
He shook his head. "No, really. I can't."
Roxana groaned. "Just, hide or something." She stormed out of the room and went into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later. Her hair was straightened and washed and her face seemed fresher. Q noticed the makeup she had on. She was also wearing different clothes; leggings and a top.
Moments later, the doorbell rang and Roxana walked over to the door. She opened it and her parents were, as she had expected, on the other side. Her father was a tall man with a moustache and a friendly tone. Her mother had pink rimmed glasses and she was quite short. Both of her parents had greying hair.
"Roxana! How are you?" Her father asked.
She smiled, "I'm fine. How are you?"
"We are both quite well," her mother replied for the both of them.
"Come, sit down," Roxana gestured to the couch upon which Q had been lying only less than an hour ago.
They sat down.
"Would you like anything to eat? Tea?" Roxana asked them
They nodded. "A cup of tea would be lovely," her mother replied.
Minutes later, the kettle had boiled and she handed over the two cups of tea to them. "Get anything exciting while you were shopping?" Her father asked her in between tentative sips of his tea.
Roxana was consumed by worry over this Q crisis. Therefore, she didn't answer straight away. "Sorry? Oh, no, there wasn't anything worth buying," she replied, sounding quite distant.
"You didn't go by yourself, did you?" Her mother asked, sounding worried all of a sudden.
Roxana shook her head, saying, "No, I went with…" she paused, not knowing what else to say.
Exactly at that moment, Q appeared. He walked into the room and sat down beside Roxana. "She went with me," he said, finishing off her broken sentence.
Roxana's mother was too stunned and confused to say anything, so her father intervened. "You went with him?"
Roxana looked at Q and replied quietly, "Yes…?" Her answer was more of a question than it was an actual statement.
"Well… that's certainly not what we expected," her mother finally spoke.
Q looked a little annoyed, and he was. "Why not?" He asked her, impertinently.
"For one," her mother said, "You're too old."
"Old?" He asked. Roxana gave him a look which let him know that he should probably be quiet, so that was what he did.
"Thank god for that," Roxana said after her parents had left. "I thought they'd never leave." She clapped her hands together and said suddenly, "Can you leave now?"
He clicked his fingers and, again, nothing happened. "No," he replied bluntly and to the point.
"Why don't you just call a cab, or get on a train? Stop clicking your fingers like that!"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Because, my simple woman, Q don't use public transport."
"You don't? Why not?" She asked him, wearily.
"The service is terrible."
She couldn't argue with that. Certainly not after last night's ordeal with the old broken down bus. She asked him something else. "You called me simple."
"I know I did."
"Why?"
"Because you are."
She scoffed. "I most certainly am not. And, if you are going to stay any longer, just… shut up!"
He said no more and Roxana walked into her study and began to type up her new novel.
Q walked into the room moments later. She had barely even finished her second chapter. "These things make such a dreadful racket, don't they?" He said, looking at the typewriter in disgust.
"Well, what do you suggest I use instead?" She asked him. "A computer?"
Why not?" He asked her, shrugging.
"For one, they take up way too much space. And, secondly, they cost as much as this apartment!"
He sighed. "Perhaps I'm thinking of the wrong era," he said simply.
She smiled sarcastically. "Perhaps."
"Anyway, what are you writing?" He asked.
"Can't you tell with your special powers?" She asked him sardonically.
He smirked. "I can, yes. And, the plot isn't very good."
"Oh, really?" She asked.
"Really," he replied. "It's a little too…" he thought for the correct word to say. "Predictable."
"You're really not helping, you know that?"
"I try," he said with a shrug.