Picard eyed the box that lay on his desk. He'd set it aside when Beverly gave it to him, promising to open it on the appropriate day. Today was that day.
He moved it in front of him, briefly admiring the subtle black on black geometric shapes that decorated it before pulling off the lid. As he did, he was greeted by the sight of several layers of craft-colored tissue that hid its contents. He brushed them aside with one hand and picked up his tea with the other, taking a sip.
"Oh, my." He muttered to himself as he recognized the slender figurine within it. He set down his cup and carefully picked the sculpture up out of the box.
It was made of a smooth granite-like material carved by an early civilization that depicted their limited understanding of their solar system. What was so astonishing about this piece, and the many others like it, was just how accurate it was.
It was a wonderfully thoughtful gift. He briefly thought of the poker game Beverley invited him to that was to be held that evening. He probably should have agreed to go.
He set the gift down on his desk, making a mental not to later put it in his office.
For now, he picked up his tea and the book laying next to it and moved to his reading chair. Opening the book, he began to read aloud from where he last left off.
"I do now remember a saying:" he began, "the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."
"Oh, Jean-Luc..." Came the disappointed tone of a voice he knew all too well. "Must you really keep reading the same drab things over and over and *over* again?"
Picard turned his head to find Q leaning back on his couch, a bored expression on his face.
"Don't you humans ever write anything new?"
Picard was about to reply when another, unfamiliar voice sounded.
"Oh, come now." It said in a heavy Irish accent.
Picard blinked to find another man sitting beside Q where a second before there had been no one.
"It sounded pretty excitin' ta meh!" He exclaimed, the statement followed closely by a shrill laugh. "HA!"
Picard set down his tea and turned his attention to him, perplexed by what he saw.
The man sat upright, one leg crossed over the other, ankle resting on knee. He held a cane across the lap of his extravagant, gold and royal purple attire. It was an outfit oddly reminiscent of the fashion popular during Earth's mid 1500s.
Picard's eyes traveled upward, his gaze coming to rest on the face of a distinguished-looking gentleman - at first glance anyway.
He sported a beard and mustache that matched his hair in both its gray color and well-groomed fashion. But it was his eyes that held his attention, with their eerie shade of yellow broken only by the black cat-like slit of his pupils. The unusual visage was made more disturbing by the wide, mad grin that sat upon his face.
Picard looked from him to Q and back again.
"Who are you?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Who am I?" The man asked in what Picard hoped to be mock bewilderment. "Who am I??"
"Oh, wonderful." Q muttered, throwing his head back on the couch and feigning exasperation. "Here we go again."
"I am part of ye, little mortal." The strange man began, standing. His voice grew deeper as he continued. "I am a shadow in yer subconscious, a blemish on yer fragile little psyche. Ye kno..." He paused. "Wait." He interrupted himself, his voice suddenly higher in pitch. "I think I've said this before." He stroked his bearded chin for a few moments. "Yes! There was a part about bein' flayed alive... and somethin' about skippin' rope. I do love skippin' rope." He laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "No matter! Call me Sheogorath." He bowed. "Charmed."
