MisterQ

If there was one thing Q learned in his many years, it was that there were certain kinds of women who were drawn by money, power, a sharp suit, and a foreign accent. He liked to surround himself with such ladies. Of course, it might be a flaw of his own desires, his insatiable hedonism, but he liked to think he was always in control. Everyone who knew the French philanderer might liken him more to an addict, a pompous ass to caught up in his own web of grandiosity. Ego did run deep in his family. A great family with an even greater weakness.

Girlish giggles swelled in intensity as the door swung open, Q with his arm around a woman clad in black and blue satin lingerie. Her black lips planted a kiss upon his youthful cheek as he lead her away from the dining hall. His hand strayed from around her waist to settle upon the woman's shapely behind, whispering sweet nothings in fluid French into her longing ear. He opened the door before him, his companion locking lips with the time manipulator before the occupants of the ring room.

The cold state of the Lich Lord was enough to freeze blood as he folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. Q turned with a shameless smirk from his mistress. "Oh, my mistake. Another room perhaps?" He turned back to the scantily clad woman, whispering to her to meet him later, a palm smacking her ass, red eyes watching her depart with her given assignment. Jacque straightened his suit and adjusted his tie snuggle back up to his neck. "Ah, Xenon. What a pleasant surprise."

Before the conversation could continue, Rezurrection's illusory lip curled upward. "Still a bastard half-breed, Q. It's a wonder your darling wife didn't leave you sooner, you lecherous beast."

"Oui. A wonder indeed, brother, why she took up with you, one who feels nothing of passion or pleasure." The two sneered at each other for an uncomfortable length of time. They would have killed each other if their continued mutual existence didn't prove more advantageous.

@hound_of_war:

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, his usual sly smile drawing into a mischievous grin. "Ah, Monsieur, men who relate to me often have no heart to speak of. That is, in fact, the essence of the comparison. But that couldn't possibly be true of someone shrewd enough to work his way through such prestigious ranks, hm?" The ancient mutant examined his manicured nails. "At the least, I myself am a businessman. Founder of Timeless Beauty and Betterment Centres, branches around the globe. Entrepreneur, funding such chain establishments as Legacy Funeral Services (that prepared the funeral of even the Vice President at his demise), the YOUgenics Corporation of international use, the quaint establishment of The Menagerie in Los Angeles where many notable people go to unwind. I am a contributor and patron of the Museum of Ancient Cultures and the Occult in Scotland. In invest money, among other things, into ventures I see as..." he laughed with a twinkle in his mysterious orbs as if he saw everything connected, "as having a future." Q tilted his head. "Though to your particular interest, you might have it known that I am indeed Jacque Quentin, and oui. I am the father of the ever idealistic Jean Pierre."

His jovial demeanour vanished for one of severity as his own persona was questioned. Ever the enigmatic Frenchman, Q could often slide through many a societal grasp placed upon him, walking the fine line between obscurity and notoriety. His finger raised with a click of his tongue. "Non. A curtain would suggest a separation between myself and my mechanisations. Instead, I creep in like a vapour until my Frost takes hold like inevitable winter. I am everywhere..." his hands raised to shoulder length, his red eyes glancing to the side before casting a fiery gaze toward Alexander, Q's body snapping from the present existence with a tick only for his presence and whispered voice to be made aware behind the Unknown Knightfall, "and nowhere."

The move was much a test as a display of power. Q was never above the threatrical, but even his most flamboyant displays could serve a secondary purpose. He wasn't quite buying what the candidate was selling him, even if he was interested in what he might consider a business venture. He didn't need to know just yet, have the man reveal his true nature, but Q did want an idea of WHAT he was dealing with. There are some instincts, some reflexes that are honed by age and experience, that are difficult to change. In a world of metahumans, teleporters seeming rare in his experience, an entity of power might react. Or even not react. That was for the time-manipulator's interpretation.

Jacque burst out into raucous laughter. It really wasn’t that funny. But that wouldn’t stop the overblown Frenchman from having a good time, particularly if the sarcasm was pointed directly at himself. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism cultured over years of being ostracized whether from his mutation or being a bastard child. At the very least, Q used vacant joviality to mask his more serious motives. When he seemed the most loose-lipped and open, he was usually the most cautious.

As predictable as it was, he wasn’t about to wrinkle a good suit by sitting on the paved service where many feet had walked. Instead, he placed his walking cane before him and gingerly rested his hands upon it. His face returned to a more subtle smile, his red eyes focused on the presidential candidate. “Ah. No, actually I’m here to talk about you, Monsieur Donn. You can call me Q if you're so inclined. Jean means well, but he’s soft, inexperienced. The White House needs a strong leader, someone who isn’t afraid to do what needs to be done. It got be wondering if you might be that man. Then I thought to myself, just who is Alexander Donn? You seem like something of a dark horse candidate.” A hand was placed over his chest. “I myself am a mean of means and influence, but I have not heard much about you. Suspicious maybe. Useful for a campaign, no dirt to dig up. Someone of my years knows everyone has dirt, wouldn’t you say?” Q stroked his beard thoughtfully before returning his gaze to the unknown Nightfall, lids narrowing over his vermillion orbs as he leaned closer to whisper. “Who are you really, Monsieur Donn?”

@hound_of_war said:

"My friends my name is Kelly Coltaine and I have come here today to speak with you about the long and troubling issues that now confront us. Today I would like to begin with surveillance.

The NSA budget is classified; the American people are buying a service and cannot even see the bill. Most experts consider it to be around ten billion dollars a year. Of 227 cases of terrorism charges since 9/11 only 17 resulted from NSA surveillance. Only 1 of those 17 was convicted. A member of the White House review panel recently revealed that the NSA has not been instrumental in preventing a single act of terrorism.

This program costs us ten billion dollars a year in money but its cost in freedom cannot be counted. It is a right and honorable thing to defend ones nation. But the tighter the fist around the sands of liberty the more grains slip between the fingers.

And for what? A little protection against the dangers of the world, as fragile as an umbrella in a hurricane. Alexander Hamilton once said that a nation which prefers disgrace to danger is prepared for a master, and deserves one. Ladies and gentlemen a surveillance state is a disgrace to a great people.

Direct spending on the Iraq and Afghanistan wars by the Department of Defense is 757 billion. Experts tell us that the eventual cost in veteran care and equipment may reach 4 trillion. Detroit receives 108 million a year but Egypt 1.5 billion. Even Pakistan receives over 1 billion dollars a year annually.

But I suppose Detroit should consider itself lucky; Gothic City received 0 dollars and a kick in the behind on the way out the door.

Are we the kind of nation that takes from its citizens in the form of taxes and gives to dictators to prop up their corrupt regimes? This is a policy of taking from the needy and giving to the greedy.

How then is our national debt 17 trillion dollars, if we have so much to spare? It is because our politicians spend as if money grows on the money tree. It is, after all, easy to spend other peoples money. And what is government revenue if not other peoples money? It is taken from the people, should it not be spent on the people? And should responsible limits not be in place to decide how much money can be taken from the people in the first place?

The people of america are not a piggy-bank in which one can dip ones hand and take from whenever one wishes to give to a dictatorship or special interest group. People of America, your paycheck belongs to you, not a government bureaucrat.

On July the 4th, 1776 the Founding Fathers wrote the words which have guided me my entire life.

'We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it.'

We are the people. You and I. Government has become destructive of the rights of the people. It has become destructive to the rights of mutants; their right to life, their right to liberty and their right to the pursuit of happiness.

With the passage of the Registration Act these rights were endangered. In the beginning I was in favor of its passage and enforcement. But time has revealed the truth, to me and many others; that a government bureaucrat cannot legislate safety into existence. All the laws in the world did not protect Gothic City. A law only controls the law abiding. A criminal is not bound by the law and thus not effected. The only purpose of the Registration Act is to give government control over the law abiding.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to repeat myself. The government has become destructive to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It is the fundamental right of the people to alter it. Government is created by the people. It does not rule the people, it serves the people.

For these reasons I announce my candidacy for President of these United States under the Republican ticket.

If I am elected I will see what is taken from the people returned to the people. No government should spend more propping up dictators than it does on its own people. And if I am elected I will strengthen our armed forces to defend us against against terrorists like Satar and Brahma Bull. For too long have madmen be allowed to pillage at will inside our borders.

But strength is not an end unto itself. Strength exists only to protect the inalienable rights of the people. Terrorists threaten the right to life but organizations like the NSA and laws like the Registration Act threaten our right to liberty. Therefore I pledge to see the Registration Act repealed and the NSA defunded and abolished.

I am the candidate with the strength to do what we need and the principles to do what is right.

My fellow Americans, thank you for hearing what I have to say. Have a good night."

Lincoln Memorial

The old black and silver Sony radio echoed against the pillars and walls of the memorial, the static cut some of the words out. After the speech was over he switched to a classic rock station. "Sympathy for the Devil" was playing. Alexander sat and ate his ice cream as the people walked by. He was enjoying the last ice cream that he would ever have in public after this election was over.

I can't help but to find this amusing. "All men are created equal". Said he, who fucked his slave girl and disowned his bastards from their inheritance. Quoted by by the one who calls herself a "New Goddess". She's also a Republican, they don't believe that. it's safe to proclaim that the internet will crucify her for that fact alone. However, this could be a problem. Republicans take 50% of the votes in every election. It's best if I kill the issue while it is still in the crib.

Her first mistake was bringing up debt and surveillance while running as a Republican. I can use that to my advantage. A black cloud of reporters and bloggers is forming for her, ready to drag her reputation through Washington. I will just have to send the storm her way. The Registration Act was such a federal cluster fuck that I'm sure if I dig deep into the dirt I can find some shit on her.

@the_psyentist

Stepping from the shadows cast from the corner of the Lincoln memorial, the Q Patriarch smiled. Ah, America. Land of the free, home of the brave. Or at least the loud and fat. Still, the Frenchman knew that the United States was still a formidable world power. For him, the latest election would be an opportunity. He foresaw many outcomes, each different choice creating a new string of events that propagated various timelines, many of which he had traversed. One of his unknowing creations was engaging the candidate known as Samuel Washington. His own son was running for president and meeting with Tristyn Goldyne. That left two more current candidates to examine. And there was one in particular that caught his attention: Alexander Donn. Having conducted his own research, the man seemed something of a dark horse. That made him a variable Mr. Q just had to explore. Would he be a problem? Could he be an ally for the international elite?

His arrival was heralded by the rhythmic tapping of his cane. His ageless form was clad in a black suit, a black shirt illuminated by a red silk tie. Only the finest materials went into the European hedonist’s attire, and the intricate nature of his assemble only went to prove the fact. His head tilted as he caught sight of his man. “Bonjour, monsieur… Donn, isn’t it? I do hope I’m not interrupting anything crucial to your race.”

@xenon_: Jacque blinked, taken aback by the cold reaction. "Well! I certainly meant no disrespect toward you or anyone else. I merely came to give information in my own way. It seems I have been deemed untrustworthy before even being truly known, that the words I have spoke might be a deception unless I lay bare my mind before someone who has evidently already sought to judge me." His brows were knit over his red eyes aflame with the impropriety. But he exhaled a cool breath, purging himself of his discomfort before donning his characteristic smile. "Never the less, I understand that I am just as unknown to you as you are to me. Should you ever wish to be better acquainted until you feel you can trust what I say..." he reached a hand into his coat pocket to withdraw an embossed business card. Upon it was inscribed the Paris branch of his Timeless company and the number from which he could be reached. On the back of the card was another name and number, that of Dr. Jean Quentin. "There is still much for you to learn of Xandra. Until then, I will leave as my presence is evidently unwanted at the moment. Au revoir."

With an inclination of his hand in a small wave, a tilt of his ageless head, the anachronistic anomaly had vanished from view.

@xenon_: "Hm..." Q's usually flamboyant demeanor darkened into one of intensity as he gazed warily towards Xenon's extended hand. "Though I am sure you are an honest man and a potent telepath, my own mind is rather a challenge for even the most gifted psionics. Perhaps I should explain my mutation." Jacque clasped his hands before him before continuing. "I was born several centuries ago, but my mind is an entity that transcends time in the conventional sense. I am a time manipulator. I move back and fourth through various timelines, and thus my psyche is on another plane than most mortals. The sheer multitude of possibilities and pasts that I have experienced is enough to drive anyone mad. As such, I feel inclined to refuse your offer of such an intrusive method as much for your safety as well as my own privacy." The crafty Q had nothing but reservations concerning anyone in his head. There were too many secrets, too many lies and underhanded dealings at stake.

@xenon_: Jacque laughed. "Quite perceptive, mon ami. I can see why Xandra admires your keen mind. In fact, if mon petit knew I was here visiting you, I'm sure she'd be... cross. I'm actually quite meddlesome. She and I have a rocky past to say the least, as such, I tend to involve myself into her most intimate affairs to ensure her life runs smoothly." It was... more or less the truth. A hand was placed over his chest, the pale flesh resting itself upon his red silk tie. "I care for her deeply. But too often, I am incapable of engaging her directly. So, I've come to you to ensure the safety of her. Her tumultuous past has left her very vulnerable. I hope that your connection to her may bring out her potential. She can be very warm and loving even as she is to her daughter, Sophia." He looked off wistfully, hoping to strike a cord in Xenon's paternal instincts. "Le petit is even more powerful than her mother, but she lacks guidance. Perhaps one day you will meet her as well, see the endearing maternal side of dear Alexandra that she so seldom shares."

@xenon_: Mister Q turned with a devious smile. Well, perhaps it wasn't devious, but the Frenchman had a way of making even the most genuine and kind of expression seem sinister with subtext. "Ah, bonjour, Xenon." The red-eyed mutant flourished into a courteous bow, his ostentatious less fitting the situation but quite comfortable for his flair of the dramatic. "I'm sorry to disturb you with such a surprise meeting. My name is Q. Though, my epithet would be of less interest to you than my relation to another... Alexandra Steele. She is my daughter. A mutant myself, there is little held secret from my consciousness, and as such I was aware that she had made several visits to your country. She can be a trying and complex individual, I've come to see how you were faring, perhaps give you insight you might wish to have concerning her."

@xenon_:

Sometime after his daughter's return the states, the enigmatic Q appeared in Venezuela, within Xenon's very stronghold. His peculiar red eyes surveyed the gallery of paintings the Mutant Maestro had acquired and had hanging for his illustrious pleasure. A king would do as he wished, but a condescending smirk spread across his features as he thought Xenon was trying too hard perhaps to fit into his role as monarch. All this lavishness and prestige, it was evident to the time-traveler that it was not the Shadow Sorcerer's cup of tea. The intellect and powerhouse that was Xenon was far more simplistic, practical, though by no means without an edge or ambition.

With a mere blink, he teleported to the other side of the room, a hand adjusting the amethyst ring on his finger. Why was the anachronistic anomaly here? Why would any good businessman travel across the sea? To ensure his investment with an alternate party. He had seen a future wherein Xenon had rejected Alexandra, the famed psychiatrist brought to her knees in grief at the dissolution of their alliance because of her own impulsive folly. Her meddlesome father was here to continue to forge the relations between the mutant monarch and the House of Q. It was necessary for his plans to reach fruition.

And so he waited for his undeniable presence to be made known to Xenon, a king upon whom such an arrival would not go unnoticed. Jacque stroked his two-toned goatee with an arched brow as he surveyed an oil painting, his true attention engaged more on societal rather than artistic pursuits.