Q

Okay, so someone talked me into taking one of these stupid personality tests, as if something designed for human beings could possibly capture the complexity of an entity such as moi. But hey. I was bored.

Well, I suppose my results are not entirely surprising -- I am apparently an ENTP or something like that, which they describe in their profile by saying "'Clever' is the word that perhaps describes ENTPs best," so I'll buy that. But the truly hilarious part is that someone already ran the test on me at some point... because I'm listed at the bottom as one of the examples of the type.

For justprompts, March 2010: Quotes: “Yet do I fear thy nature; it is too full o' the milk of human kindness.” - William Shakespeare

Sooner or later, something will kill you.

In the vision I gave you, everyone from your ship lives to grow old except for Troi. I admit, that could happen -- I didn't make it up, it's a potential future timeline, or was -- but I've never thought that that's actually how things are going to play out. No, you're going to die exactly the way I predicted when you told me you could handle anything the universe could throw at you. You're going to encounter some alien beings, or some of your own kind with nefarious intent, and you're going to offer them the hand of friendship. And they're going to smile, and take your hand, and pull you close... and stab you in the heart.

You won't be able to say I didn't warn you. I warned you with the Borg, all those years ago. That wasn't just a temper tantrum. Well, okay, I admit I wouldn't have done it that way if you hadn't royally torqued me off, but I did come to your ship to warn you of the Borg in the first place... I was just originally thinking you wouldn't be dumb enough to tell me to take a hike when I offered my services.

You see the best in everyone, Jean-Luc. Everyone's a potential ally. Everyone's a future friend. Think of it, despite your hatred and fear of the Borg, you wouldn't use a Borg as a pawn to annihilate his people when you had the chance (not that it would have worked...) You can be tortured to the breaking point by Cardassians, and then turn around and help to enforce a treaty with them, supporting their interests over those of your own kind for the sake of maintaining peace with them.

I told you once that compassion was a weakness in your race. I admit that it weakened my point to say it while I was depending on that compassion to survive, but that doesn't mean it's less true. You responded that compassion is a strength, and that's true too -- your compassion allows you to make friends out of enemies. That works out for you fairly well, most of the time. It's your species' top survival strategy, in fact, since you're weaker, shorter-lived, have fewer abilities and are generally dumber than most other humanoids, and yet you managed to achieve dominance over thousands of other races by exploiting your own compassion and empathy for others, your desire and willingness to bend over backwards to be friends with everyone.

But sometimes it doesn't work. Sometimes it's used against you. How often will you offer strangers the benefit of the doubt before one of them destroys you, exploiting the friendship you offered in order to earn your trust just long enough to get your guard down before killing you?

You're a fine fellow, Jean-Luc Picard. Ethical, stalwart, disciplined and compassionate. Positively overflowing with the milk of human kindness, for all your stern demeanor. Someday you're going to drown in it.

I just wish I didn't have to care when you do.

OOC: Crossposted from elitist_bitches today.

Put Your Character In A New Place - Put your muse in one of the following places, and write a fic about how they would handle it. Have fun with it!
7.A.11. Krypton

All this knowledge, all this power, and the best decoration scheme they could manage was white crystal everywhere? Q rolled his eyes as he materialized in the chamber and looked around. Seriously, these people needed to hire interior decorators from offworld. Preferably from a species that had heard of "colors." Yes, the red light filtering through the crystal was all very nice and shimmery, but seriously, would it have killed them to add a few accents? Maybe yellow or green? The sun wasn't so red that green was impossible. Though maybe a warm brown would be a better choice. Or purple. You could never go wrong with purple.

Of course, the point was moot because in a couple of months the planet was going to blow up, but imminent death was hardly a good excuse for boring design.

( A bit of friendly advice. )
Muse: Q
Fandom: Star Trek, crossed over with Superman
Words: 1807
Note: Not binding on any DCU muse; probably not canon-compliant with the latest revisions to the planet Krypton's backstory; sorta kinda based on movieverse Superman with a healthy dose of Elliott S! Maggin's work thrown in, but really, I'm just having fun.

OOC: Crossposted from theatrical_muse today.

Prompt 326: "Mourning is just extended self-pity."

The problem with having mortal friends, lovers or simply objects of interest when you're immortal is all the dying.

Mortals who make pets out of creatures with shorter life spans than they have know what I'm talking about. No matter how much you love your cat, there's a part of you deep down inside that's always getting ready to detach, because you *know* that unless a horrible tragedy happens to you, your cat will die in your life span. Which may be why mortal old ladies are willing to take on the burden of loving so many cats (or whatever... have you ever seen Vulcan matriarchs with twenty-seven chal'matyas running around their property? Sure, they *say* it's just logical because the quality of life of wild chal'matyas is so much lower than pet chal'matyas, and matriarchs whose great-grandchildren are adults can pass off all their duties to their families onto their own matriarchal daughters and spend their time rehabilitating wild chal'matyas... but come on. No one needs twenty-seven small, cute, fuzzy, venomous cat-lizard-things. But I digress.) Mortal oldsters know their own time might well run out before their pets' does.

This is not a situation I am ever in, for obvious reasons.

So I don't cry over dead mortals, because seriously, over billions of years that would be a whole lot of crying, and that would positively *ruin* my boyish complexion. Some have accused me of being utterly callous toward the death of other Q, however, because I don't seem to spend a whole lot of time mourning dead friends, either.

( Feel sorry for what you've lost all you want, but don't pretend it's nobler than that. )

OOC: Crossposted from theatrical_muse today.

Prompt 312: Redo a prior prompt.
Prompt 90: Have you ever experienced something you couldn't explain? Write down your brushes with the mysterious.

Okay, I admit it, I lied when I said I'd never encountered anything I couldn't explain. But it's not really my fault. When everyone around you is living in denial, it's hard to avoid drawing the conclusion that either the problem is you, or maybe there's a good reason you should keep your head down and not say anything.

I think... that there is a power that may possibly have created the multiverse, or at least, that has the kind of power over the multiverse that the Q have over individual planets or solar systems. And I think She is screwing with my head. On purpose. Because She thinks it's funny.

Yeah, yeah, okay, the irony has me rolling on the floor in hilarity too. Now will you stop laughing and let me tell this story?

( I disapprove of God's sense of humor, level of responsibility toward Her job, and just about everything I know about Her, which is next to nothing, including whether or not She exists or is some sort of elaborate prank someone played on me. )
Muse: Q
Fandom: Star Trek: TNG
Note: This prompt based on "I, Q", a Pocket Books novel by Peter David and John de Lancie.

OOC: crossposted from theatrical_muse from Oct 26.
Prompt 305: What have you outlived?

Everything.

Or damn near it, anyway.

( Billions of years covers a lot of outliving. )

OOC: Crossposted from muse_academy today.
Muse Inquiries #4 and 5: Vice and Trust

( Vice )

( Trust )

Prompt 299: Madness.

(I know everything that's happening here. That makes sense, if you think about it. I used to be God, after all. Of course I know everything that's going on in the city.)

Dixon Hill is walking to his office, because the cross-town bus has square wheels today and Dix can't afford a taxi. Giant flying dogs don't come cheap. On his way, he tosses a handful of minnows at the newspaper vendor. "What's going on in the world, Will?" he asks.

The bearded newspaper vendor grins at him. "Absolutely nothing, Dix. Absolutely nothing." He takes Dix's minnows (two of which are still wiggling, fresh-caught) and hands him a sheet of newsprint with nothing whatsoever printed on it. Dix takes it, scans it, and hands it back to Will, reassured that there's no news. No news is good news, after all.

On his way, he passes Geordi LaForge. LaForge has a large, stale loaf of Italian bread in his hands. He's swinging it against the side of a building, and tiny bits of it crumble, the breadcrumbs falling to the ground where they vanish, devoured by invisible pigeons. "Hello there, Geordi! How's it hanging?" Dixon Hill shouts.

"Ah, you know, Dix. Same old, same old." The bread cracks in half. LaForge picks up a new loaf. "It's not exciting, but it keeps the fish coming in."

"That it does, Geordi, that it does."

( The Dancing Doctor meets Spot the Cat and his/her muscle; Durango the gunslinger meets Worf the landlady; and Dixon Hill meets God. I mean me. I mean I am God. )

( OOC Note )
Muse: Q
Fandom: Star Trek TNG

OOC: Crossposted from theatrical_muse today.
Prompt 294: Passing.

If you want to know the truth, it's really not my favorite thing, passing. I've done it, of course. Any Q who wants to interact with mortals does it, fairly frequently. If you can't walk among them in the form of one of them and pretend you're one of their kind, you're not going to be able to pull off any other kind of direct interaction -- your ability to impersonate their gods or simply present yourself as a powerful alien being depends at least in part on your ability to pretend to be one of them. Otherwise you're going to end up like a Thasian or a Melkotian, appearing as a shadowy form or a big ball of light or a glowing disembodied face or whatever, and honestly? That's completely lame.

But I don't like pretending to be mortal. There are things I feel very, very comfortable about lying about, and there are things that I don't, and my status as an unimaginably powerful being of pure thought is one of the ones I'd rather be honest about. I really would rather interact with mortals in a way where they'll know what I am... which, since I'd also rather interact with mortals in a way that doesn't result in them *worshipping* me like besotted idiots, often results in me getting myself declared a demon, or at the least a very untrustworthy god. (They call me the God of Lies on Brax, which pleases me. If I'm going to be a god, let me be known as a trickster god, at least, not some sort of benevolent deity.)

( Going a little too far with the passing thing. )
Muse: Q
Fandom: Star Trek TNG/VOY