DISCLAIMER: OK, first the usual stuff. I don’t own the X-Men. I’m not making any money from this fic, and no copyright infringement is intended by the use of these characters. Now that that’s over with, I should probably say that this fic wasn’t on the long list of stories I have planned -- hopefully I will work on those at some point in my life. The inspiration came after I received one of *those* phone calls (you’ll understand when you start reading -- I hope). Feedback is very much appreciated, but flames will be ignored.
Cyclops looked down at his watch and sighed to himself. Two forty-seven. They had been here since 11 a.m., and from the looks of things, he and his teammates would not be leaving anytime soon.
The X-Men had encountered Magneto earlier that day and had managed to stall his attack on the local business district. Apparently, he mused, Magneto was suffering from either a lack of sleep or an overdose of caffeine (quite possibly both), because he definitely was not acting like himself. Sure, his world record-length speeches were known to reach epic proportions -- they had heard all of his many gripes before -- but the 42 minute tanget on rubber duckies and mudpies had come as somewhat of a shock.
Fortunately, the master of magnetism appeared to be steering himself back toward normal topics of conversation and drawing his speech to a close.
Cyclops wasn’t even listening anymore. “Damn, this guy’s long-winded,” he thought. The monotony of Magneto’s voice was broken with the sound of a single phone ringing across the street.
Magneto continued with his rant. “Do you fools truly believe that humans will ever be able to peacefully coexist with mutants? It will never happen. No matter how much you do to aid humanity, how many lives you save, how many disasters you avert, the world will still loathe you and curse your existence. . .”
BRRRIIINNNGGG! BRRRIIINNNGGG! BRRRIIINNNGGG!
“Join me, X-Men,” Magneto said, the wind swirling his purple cape behind him, giving him an added air of importance. “With our combined power we could . . . we could . . .” he paused as the pay phone continued to ring. “Will one of you get that damned phone already?!”
The X-Men turned and looked at each other. “Oh, alright, I’ll get it,” Iceman grumbled as he trudged over toward the row of telephones. He grabbed the receiver and lifted it to his ear.
“Hello,” Iceman cheerfully greeted the caller. He paused for a minute, listening. “Ummm . . . now’s really not a good time . . . yeah, well, I’m kinda helping my friends defeat a supervillian at the moment . . .” The other X-Men and Magneto looked on as Iceman spoke. “No, ma’am, I don’t think I’m being funny. Look, I really have to go now. Uh-huh. Yeah. Good-bye.” Iceman hung up the receiver and rejoined his teammates.
“What on Earth was that about?” Rogue asked him.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Iceman replied.
“May I continue now?” Magneto asked. No one objected. “As I was saying, join with me and we shall . . .”
BRRRIIINNNGGG! BRRRIIINNNGGG!
“Oh, Ah’ll get it!” Rogue shouted as she flew toward the source of the distraction. “Hello,” she said as she snatched up the phone. “No, ma’am, we’re very happy with our long-distance service. Thanks anyway.” She tried not to slam the receiver as she hung up.
“Rogue, what is going on?”
“Gimme a minute, Storm.” Rogue waited by the phones until she heard the offending ring once again. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the phone, yanked it off its base and flung it over the top of a nearby building. She brushed off her hands as she walked back to the group. “You were saying . . .” she prompted Magneto.
He sighed. “Thank you.” The X-Men waited for Magneto to resume his tirade. They looked at him, puzzled, as they awaited his words. “Now I lost my place,” he finally admitted to the group assembled before him.
Jean paused in thought for a moment. “Um, ‘loathe and curse your existence,’ something, something, ‘join with me and we shall . . .’”
BRRRIIINNNGGG!
Gambit flipped over to the phone in a heartbeat and yanked the receiver to his ear. “What’s goin’ on here? Listen, chere, will you stop . . . No I will not . . . Merde! Alright, chere, if I answer your questions will you stop callin’? OK . . .” He put his hand over the mouthpiece as he yelled over to his teammates. “Go on wit’tout me. Dis could take awhile.” He turned back to the phone. “Yeah, I’m here . . .”
Cyclops made a mental note to never again berate Gambit for not doing the dirty work for the team.
“As I was saying,” Magneto boomed, not wanting to waste these precious moments of silence, “join with me, X-Men, and together we shall dominate the world! Refuse, and you leave me no choice but to destroy you!”
No response from the X-Men. “That was it. I’m done.”
“Oh -- alright.” Cyclops snapped to attention and cleared his throat. “The X-Men will *never* join you, Magneto, so it looks as though we will have to --”
BRRRIIINNNGGG! BRRRIIINNNGGG! BRRRIIINNNGGG!
Magneto slapped his hand against the front of his helmet. “Look,” he said to Cyclops, “we obviously will be here all day unless we take care of this infernal racket. Will you at least join me in getting rid of these interruptions?”
Cyclops looked around at his teammates, who all shrugged or nodded in agreement with Magneto. “Alright, we will join you, Magneto, but just this once and only until we solve this problem.”
“Agreed.” Magneto turned and swished his long cape behind him, trying his best to appear superhuman as he stalked off to confront this new foe. The X-Men trudged after him. Cyclops picked up the first phone he encountered. He lifted the receiver to his ear and leaned with his back against the stand, trying not to float away into mental oblivion as the man on the other end of the line relayed the advantages of using his company's long-distance services.
* * * * *
Seven hours later, the X-Men and Magneto slumped against street signs and buildings in pure exhaustion. It had been the toughest battle any of them had ever faced -- a day of pure Hell, Cyclops mused. Unfortunately, the assorted mutants were forced to reschedule their fight with Magneto for sometime next week, after they had all recovered from the strain of dealing with the most persistant telemarketers on the face of the Earth.
Cyclops looked up toward the lone survivor of the group. Gambit crouched on his hands and knees, one hand still cradling the receiver as he panted into the phone. “No, chere, we don’ have any pets . . . oh, you got some you can sell us? Uuuggghhhh . . .”
The leader of the X-Men closed his eyes and made a mental inventory of every item and service they had purchased that day. The credit cards and long distance policies were too numerous to count, but there had been many additional sales pitches to endure. Cyclops himself had been coerced into becoming a member of the trout-of-the-month club, but he still felt that he had fared better than his teammates. He pondered their troubles as he looked at the shaken faces of his fallen comrades. Storm was now involved with a time-share in Florida. Wolverine had bought 100 CDs for a penny and was trying to decide between N'Sync and Britney Spears. Gambit had purchased a lifetime supply of Puppy Chow to feed the team's non-existent pets. Rogue would receive the entire collection of Star Trek commemorative plates in four to six weeks, and Magneto now had a five-year subscription to “Vanity Fair.”
“Cyclops,” Magneto wheezed. “It would seem that I have underestimated this rather formidable foe.”
Iceman lifted his head from where he lay sprawled across the curb. “Really? Y’think?”
Magneto raised a hand to crush the younger mutant, then decided he was too tired to maim or kill at the moment. “Therefore,” he addressed the X-Men leader, “I have decided to temporarily abandon my pursuit of mutant rights in order to crush this other adversary. It is a far greater evil that we have faced today.”
Cyclops nodded in agreement before passing out on the sidewalk.
* * * * *
A booming laughed echoed off the walls of the room. The people assembled inside turned toward the purple-and-blue giant standing in front of a large monitor. The screen revealed a number of brightly costumed individuals lying on a suburban street. Slowly the creature before them turned and spoke.
“Back to work, my servants!” he demanded. “It appears that my latest plan to destroy humanity is a success. Return to those phones and keep dialing. Soon, the world will know that Apocalypse and his army of dreaded telemarkers will lord their power over the entire Earth!” BWAHAHAHAHA!
THE END AUTHOR'S NOTE: I would just like to point out that I was interrupted with several phone calls from telemarketers as I sat here typing this fic. I guess it's true what they say about life imitating art. And no, I don't know why they just didn't take the phones off the hook, except that anyone who's ever tried it knows that it's no escape . . .