Q waited to respond until his cigarette had burned to the filter, where he simply leaned forward and dropped it on the floor. He almost didn't make an effort to snub it out with his boot.
"You think you're so
god damn funny," Q grumbled, a snarl on his face. He stood up. If he stayed here much longer he'd regret it. Either that or pass out on the floor. Which would probably be regretful, also.
Q stopped to the door, his back to Marino. "You'll get what's coming to you soon enough."
He opened the door with a grunt, his face not in the most comfortable of looks. This whole situation was
Marino's fault. As soon as he got better he'd have to...
No, Q shook his head as he walked back to his room. He was still feeling light headed. He'd have to smoke again before he thought about anything seriously. But when Q got to his room he laid on the sofa instead, against his better judgement.
He was dizzy, and exhausted. Maybe sleeping would calm him down? He knew it wasn't true. But he let himself drift away ontop of the sofa regardless. He hadn't bothered to close his door and his hands were still numb.
--- [edited this part] ---
No sooner had his eyes closed than they popped right back open. Q couldn't go to sleep, what was he thinking? The man slinked his upperbody down off the sofa so his head was on the floor and his legs above him. His glasses fell down(or up, one should say) his face. Q tossed them off, and looked upside down underneath the coffee table, where extra cigarette packs of varying brands and lighters were stashed. His left hand reached out for one, but he couldn't reach.
He put his right hand to his chest with a grimace as his sweatshirt rode up body, revealing his stomach. Q was healthy looking, but he didn't have what one could call 'chiseled' features. Regardless, he had a new pain to add to his collection; his heart hurt.
"Hey," he hoarsed, giving a sideways glance to some passerby who had decided to look into his room. The other man tried to ignore Q, and began to turn away. "No wait. You, yeah you. I need you to do something for me."
The stranger reluctantly took a step into Q's room, an unsure look about him. Q began to sweat slightly, and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes focused on anything. He briefly wondered if this is how it felt to die.
"I need you to go get the Doc for me," he forced a smile. "It's kinda urgent. Okay?"
Q had a condition similar to dilated cardiomyopathy. Most of his arteries were larger than they should've been, his heart and lungs in particular. A condition not uncommon for sighthounds. Q, in the past, had been much less... Human, to say the least. He had an incredibly long medical history he didn't like getting into, as his father had spent quite an astronomical amount of money to make him as human as was possible. At least, that was, in looks. Q hadn't seen his father since he was 18. He'd regressed quite a bit since then, but Q enjoyed reveling in what he was: not human.
However, because he wasn't human, his circulatory system just about keeled over itself. Q had taken medication to keep him away from his chronic low blood pressure and his risk of sudden heart attack, but the way he'd left his Father was not the best, and so Q no longer had access to those meds. Not that he knew what they were. And he had been too afraid to inquire, as he didn't like dealing with his French background.
Q knew the basics of his condition. Low blood pressure, dilated arteries. Smoking was his way of self medicating; smoking hieghtened blood pressure, and shrunk arteries. It was a short term fix, though. Q had to smoke about one cigarette an hour to be perfectly safe, though usually he'd be okay if he simply smoked more than one cigarette at a time. He'd try to smoke before cardiovascular activities, but if he couldn't, he'd try to smoke as soon as was possible afterward.
Q never really had a problem before he had met Marino. He'd smoke before, during, and after sex. Even when Q was being submissive, he more often than not was still smoking during the act, as apparently with the crowd he generally played with, they enjoyed him doing it.
Q had never been as captive before as he had been with Cassandra. If he wasn't being embarrassed or trapped, they had been actively wrestling eachother. The fact that he had to smoke had skipped his mind; he figured he could just do it afterward. But apparently he had not done so soon enough. Too little, too late, was the saying.
Q looked to the man before him, who seemed to be just standing there. "I wasn't kidding. It's urgent," he warned. Finally the stranger nodded and jogged off. Hopefully he'd go do what Q said. Otherwise, Q was afraid he would pass out and die in his sleep. Though admittingly, he didn't really understand the dynamics of what would happen. He wondered if his heart would just stop pumping or if it was something more complex than that.
After a few moments of trying to recover, Q tried again to reach for the cigarettes. It took a few minutes but he finally had, and managed, after a few tries, to light one and start to smoke it. He'd never smoked upside down, before. He would've laughed to himself if there wasn't a looming feeling of doom.
He'd never dreamed the symptoms would come on so fast. But then again, four hours of rigorous activity wasn't exactly normal for him.
