Summary: Simply put, it's Magneto on a plane. I have to give credit to patientalien for all of the best parts of this; I just wrote them down. P.S.: American Airlines can get around to comping us – I mean, uh, Magneto – for their crappy service any day now. Rated PG.
Five Reasons Magneto Will Never Fly American Airlines Again
1.
Magneto, nee Erik Lehnsherr, remembers when flying used to be fast, sophisticated. He remembers leg room and complimentary drinks and winking stewardesses. It disappoints him immensely that airplane travel has mutated into this.
After he sets off the metal detector for the fourth time, a worn-looking airline associate purses her lips. "Sir, you're going to have to go through the scanners."
He growls. "I am the Master of Magnetism," he tells her defiantly, and watches as she boredly summons over extra security, which checks his ID for the thirty-ninth time.
"Of course, Sir. Now, if you'll step through here, please."
2.
The flight out of Chicago O'Hare gets delayed due to some "maintenance" issue, and then a Midwestern storm hits once everyone has boarded a new plane – four hours after the fact – and it sits on the tarmac for an hour. As they trek inside anew, Magneto is all-too-aware of the way the spandex in his suit bunches up, of the weight of his helmet, regardless of whether he keeps it on or tucks it under his arm. Also, the bottom of his cape is still damp from where it fell into a toilet.
The clerk, who is his lifeline to a complimentary hotel room doesn't seem to care about any of these things, however. "I can get you a room, but it's two towns over. Shuttle leaves in an hour. Also, luggage is locked up for the night."
Magneto stares at people unfolding cots in a corner of the airport and sighs.
3.
The hotel experience does not bear repeating, and Magneto breathes a sigh of relief the next afternoon when it appears that they will be in the sky with little fanfare in a matter of moments. He orders a vodka martini and tells the stewardess to keep them coming.
Instead of serving him alcohol, however, she starts badgering him about putting his helmet in the overhead storage compartment. "You can't hold it during take-off," she insists, and doesn't care that this has not been an issue on three other flights taken with the same airline in the same week. When the overhead bins directly above and across from him turn out to be full, she clucks her tongue unsympathetically. "You'll have to put it back there somewhere," she says, and takes it from him.
Magneto watches her shove it carelessly into a bin some eight rows back. "Don't worry," somebody calls to him jovially. "I'll bring it up when I unload my stuff, buddy." Magneto hisses quietly, and then balks when the same stewardess blocks him from shoving his copy of "Nazi Hunters Quarterly" in the magazine pouch in front of his seat since "it's only for approved airline materials."
"I could fly this thing myself," Magneto mutters, but the stewardess ignores him.
4.
When he's cut off after three vodka martinis, Magneto is pretty sure getting through this flight murder-free was never an option.
5.
When the plane must make an emergency landing due to lack of fuel – it's so in line with everything else that's happened on this trip that Magneto isn't even surprised anymore – he decides he's had enough. He hears others mutinously declaring their plans to drive the rest of the way to their destination, and decides to do the same. Unfortunately, there is only one person he can think of to call with a vehicle; besides the Brotherhood, of course, but he kind of hates them most of the time.
Charles drives an old-man car, and Magneto sneers when he sees it, but hunkers down in the passenger seat in silent gratitude, nonetheless. Then Charles ruins the start of his good mood by smirking at him smugly, taking in his disheveled form and the bags under his eyes. "Good trip?" Charles asks sunnily.
"Shut up and drive," Magneto bites out, and then shoves his helmet on backwards to block out the daylight and goes to sleep.