Title: Foreign People and Microwaves
Author: Viral
Disclaimer: I do not own Storm, Colossus, or the X-Men alike. This is fan fiction; a fan's version of expression in which he/she wishes to portray character(s) aside from the creator's original concepts and/or ideas.
Author's Note: Yes, this story does include Colossus. I am very aware that he is currently dead, but this fan fiction is going back way before that. The morning after the X-Men and the All New Different X-Men returned from the island of Krakoa. [See: Giant X-Men #1]
The challenge: Drop your favorite character into a technical problem, anything from a broken toaster to a hacked computer. They must deal with it but not necessarily resolve it. In all cases, have fun -- no length limits, do what you feel is necessary.
-=-=-=-
I woke up the next morning feeling a bit sore. It was not a usual happening for me to put a lot of physical effort into things as I had done while saving the original X-Men, yesterday. I must admit I did not expect anyone else to be awoke. My sleeping habits were still the same as they had been in Africa, so being up and walking around at 2:00am in Eastern Standard Time was quite weird.
It was still fairly dark outside and I was unsure if I would make too much noise if I went downstairs for a snack. I thought I remembered where the kitchen was: down the attic stairs, down the main stairs, and a left would lead me there. The food that Jean had prepared the night before had my attention, but I did not eat it. It was very odd the food they had and besides, I would normally be sleep by that time of day.
But now I was wide-awake with my stomach growling loudly. By this time of the day my worshippers would have been bringing me their harvest. Now I would have to make my own food? Luckily, I had asked a question about a shiny little box in the kitchen. I believe Jean called it a microwave and said if I wanted to eat the dinner she prepared later on, I could make it warm inside of the shiny box. She explained to me how to use it, but I do believe I was not listening carefully enough.
As I made my way out of the attic, I noticed that my steps continually made noises on the floor. This annoyed me and made me feel very rude to those who were asleep, so I allowed a light blanket of wind to carry me down the steps and through the hall.
When I reached the kitchen, I timidly looked to the shiny little box. Sounding out the new word on my lips, "Microwave," I tried to remember the instructions on how to use it. I walked over to the refrigerator, which I was used to from my early childhood in Egypt, and looked through it for the spectacular meal Jean had prepared.
When I finally found the plate she had prepared for me, I lifted off the shiny silver wrapping and looked at it. "It looks to me like colorless worms dipped in their own blood," I said to myself in contemplation. "But Jean has called it spa-get-tee and assured me this is not worms. I suppose I must trust her."
"Now the microwave," I said, as if I were on a secret mission, balancing the plate with a light wind and walking over to study the microwave. "I do remember this part," I said with a slight smile on my face as I pushed a button on the microwave and the door opened with a loud POP. I jumped back, nearly loosing my balance and almost dropping the plate of spa-get-tee.
Slowly I placed the plate in the microwave with a slight gusty wind, never wanting to get close to the machine now that it had popped open and nearly hit my face. When the plate was inside, I closed the door with another gust of wind and then walked back to the microwave. I bent down to read the numbers and labels on the buttons of the mechanism. "Yes, I do remember how to use it."
Just because I was living in an enclosed African tribe for the past few years did not mean I was not educated. I was very educated, especially in numbers. Counting money after stealing it in Cairo was one of my favorite things to do.
"1," I spoke the numbers as my index finger pressed them, "4. 5." I expected the numbers to come up on the display, but they did not. Pressing the start button was next on my list, so I did. Still, no response. Only the time which now read 2:30am? I continued to press 1, 4, and 5 until the time read 2:45, and for those 15 minutes I became rather infuriated.
"Blast you!" I yelled at the microwave in as best a whisper as I could, catching myself before I threw a lightning bolt to its face.
"Ororo," a strong Russian voice laughed as he came into the kitchen, "There is no need for this violence. In Russia, we do good with microwave." He walked over to the microwave, Piotr Rasputin, and then sent his massive, long arms behind it until he showed me a rubber-encased wire. "Here you are, Ororo," he said, rolling every 'r' on his tongue with a wide smile on his face.
"What do you seem to be making here?" he asked me, as I stood dumb-founded at my foolishness. How could I have not noticed the plug was not in the outlet and the back-up battery was what kept the clock on? When I finally looked back from the plug to Piotr, he was preparing to eat the spa-get-tee off my plate.
"Piotr, that is very rude. Please place my spa-get-tee back in the microwave," I said with my arms crossed. He gave a witty smile as he put the plate back in the microwave.
After he closed the microwave door, I took the plug in my hand and began to send static electricity into the copper. Only then did I realize I was doing it all wrong as the microwave continued to flicker on and off. Piotr managed to point me in the right direction by noting the outlet on the wall behind the microwave.
"I think you need a little more practice with the microwave," he said, giving me another one of those witty smiles as he placed the plug into the outlet and I stood overshadowed by his tall figure.
After the microwave had been running for 30 seconds, I and Piotr were still staring at it, wondering why it continued to make a ticking noise and why blue sparks of electricity were jumping inside of it. Only when the microwave blew up did we see that Piotr had left a fork in the microwave after trying to eat my spa-get-tee.
"What happened to my microwave?" Jean exclaimed with wide green eyes as she saw red stains over the wallpapered walls and dry noodles on the floor. The microwave was distorted and shattered all over the countertop and floor as well.
"It seems Piotr needs a little more practice with his brain," I said with my hands on my hips and a growling stomach.
-=-=-=-
Closing Notes: So did I complete the challenge? Just another quickie to get the juices flowing.
Author: Viral
Disclaimer: I do not own Storm, Colossus, or the X-Men alike. This is fan fiction; a fan's version of expression in which he/she wishes to portray character(s) aside from the creator's original concepts and/or ideas.
Author's Note: Yes, this story does include Colossus. I am very aware that he is currently dead, but this fan fiction is going back way before that. The morning after the X-Men and the All New Different X-Men returned from the island of Krakoa. [See: Giant X-Men #1]
The challenge: Drop your favorite character into a technical problem, anything from a broken toaster to a hacked computer. They must deal with it but not necessarily resolve it. In all cases, have fun -- no length limits, do what you feel is necessary.
-=-=-=-
I woke up the next morning feeling a bit sore. It was not a usual happening for me to put a lot of physical effort into things as I had done while saving the original X-Men, yesterday. I must admit I did not expect anyone else to be awoke. My sleeping habits were still the same as they had been in Africa, so being up and walking around at 2:00am in Eastern Standard Time was quite weird.
It was still fairly dark outside and I was unsure if I would make too much noise if I went downstairs for a snack. I thought I remembered where the kitchen was: down the attic stairs, down the main stairs, and a left would lead me there. The food that Jean had prepared the night before had my attention, but I did not eat it. It was very odd the food they had and besides, I would normally be sleep by that time of day.
But now I was wide-awake with my stomach growling loudly. By this time of the day my worshippers would have been bringing me their harvest. Now I would have to make my own food? Luckily, I had asked a question about a shiny little box in the kitchen. I believe Jean called it a microwave and said if I wanted to eat the dinner she prepared later on, I could make it warm inside of the shiny box. She explained to me how to use it, but I do believe I was not listening carefully enough.
As I made my way out of the attic, I noticed that my steps continually made noises on the floor. This annoyed me and made me feel very rude to those who were asleep, so I allowed a light blanket of wind to carry me down the steps and through the hall.
When I reached the kitchen, I timidly looked to the shiny little box. Sounding out the new word on my lips, "Microwave," I tried to remember the instructions on how to use it. I walked over to the refrigerator, which I was used to from my early childhood in Egypt, and looked through it for the spectacular meal Jean had prepared.
When I finally found the plate she had prepared for me, I lifted off the shiny silver wrapping and looked at it. "It looks to me like colorless worms dipped in their own blood," I said to myself in contemplation. "But Jean has called it spa-get-tee and assured me this is not worms. I suppose I must trust her."
"Now the microwave," I said, as if I were on a secret mission, balancing the plate with a light wind and walking over to study the microwave. "I do remember this part," I said with a slight smile on my face as I pushed a button on the microwave and the door opened with a loud POP. I jumped back, nearly loosing my balance and almost dropping the plate of spa-get-tee.
Slowly I placed the plate in the microwave with a slight gusty wind, never wanting to get close to the machine now that it had popped open and nearly hit my face. When the plate was inside, I closed the door with another gust of wind and then walked back to the microwave. I bent down to read the numbers and labels on the buttons of the mechanism. "Yes, I do remember how to use it."
Just because I was living in an enclosed African tribe for the past few years did not mean I was not educated. I was very educated, especially in numbers. Counting money after stealing it in Cairo was one of my favorite things to do.
"1," I spoke the numbers as my index finger pressed them, "4. 5." I expected the numbers to come up on the display, but they did not. Pressing the start button was next on my list, so I did. Still, no response. Only the time which now read 2:30am? I continued to press 1, 4, and 5 until the time read 2:45, and for those 15 minutes I became rather infuriated.
"Blast you!" I yelled at the microwave in as best a whisper as I could, catching myself before I threw a lightning bolt to its face.
"Ororo," a strong Russian voice laughed as he came into the kitchen, "There is no need for this violence. In Russia, we do good with microwave." He walked over to the microwave, Piotr Rasputin, and then sent his massive, long arms behind it until he showed me a rubber-encased wire. "Here you are, Ororo," he said, rolling every 'r' on his tongue with a wide smile on his face.
"What do you seem to be making here?" he asked me, as I stood dumb-founded at my foolishness. How could I have not noticed the plug was not in the outlet and the back-up battery was what kept the clock on? When I finally looked back from the plug to Piotr, he was preparing to eat the spa-get-tee off my plate.
"Piotr, that is very rude. Please place my spa-get-tee back in the microwave," I said with my arms crossed. He gave a witty smile as he put the plate back in the microwave.
After he closed the microwave door, I took the plug in my hand and began to send static electricity into the copper. Only then did I realize I was doing it all wrong as the microwave continued to flicker on and off. Piotr managed to point me in the right direction by noting the outlet on the wall behind the microwave.
"I think you need a little more practice with the microwave," he said, giving me another one of those witty smiles as he placed the plug into the outlet and I stood overshadowed by his tall figure.
After the microwave had been running for 30 seconds, I and Piotr were still staring at it, wondering why it continued to make a ticking noise and why blue sparks of electricity were jumping inside of it. Only when the microwave blew up did we see that Piotr had left a fork in the microwave after trying to eat my spa-get-tee.
"What happened to my microwave?" Jean exclaimed with wide green eyes as she saw red stains over the wallpapered walls and dry noodles on the floor. The microwave was distorted and shattered all over the countertop and floor as well.
"It seems Piotr needs a little more practice with his brain," I said with my hands on my hips and a growling stomach.
-=-=-=-
Closing Notes: So did I complete the challenge? Just another quickie to get the juices flowing.