Disclaimer : As if I'd make any money out of this stupid shit.
Summary: I am aware that the characters aren't very much in character, but remember that this is just a bit of fun. Feedback appreciated. Be happy.
CHAPTER 1
Xavier woke up to the wonderful smells of spring. It was fragrant, it smelt of wild strawberries. It was the epitome of greenness but made for the nose. He sat up in his bed.
"Air freshener!" he beamed, eyes wide open.
"Air freshener!" he repeated. "Air freshener like this only comes in packets –" he held up a small rectangular box "—like this! And why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your living room. It's good for your kitchen. It's good for this –" he pointed at his teeth, which sparkled, " – and it's good for your toes."
"NO!" a man wearing a ski jacket and shorts yelled. He ran up to Xavier, who stared back at him, puzzled and genuinely concerned.
"Whatever's the matter?" he asked mildly, assuming his noble 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression.
"NO!" screamed the director, again. "No! No, NO!"
"Alright, alright," Xavier said, looking abashed. "Go away then."
The director, (who was, by pure coincidence, wearing a tag that said 'Peter Jackson') gritted his teeth. He took several deep breaths.
"The line," he said in an unsteady voice. He recollected himself, and started again. "The line is 'And it's good for your nose.' Okay?"
Xavier looked at him. "Ah, yes," he smiled vaguely. "And it's good for my nose."
"No, the line is 'And it's good for your nose'. Your nose, got it?"
"Your nose?"
"It's good for your nose, yes."
"My nose?" Xavier frowned, as the director bit his lip. "I'm really sorry, but we've been working on this commercial for seven days and I still don't understand what you want with my nose. Is there something you want to tell me, Mr Crowe?" He assumed his 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression once more.
"My name," began Russell Crowe with a painfully manic expression, "is not Russell Crowe. It is Russell Crowe secretly, but I can't let myself know about it. Right now I have to convince myself that I am Peter Jackson, so that I can direct this air freshener commercial properly, alright? Yeah? Yeah? Is everything alright?"
"Yes!" said Xavier, smiling happily. "Why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your kitchen, it's good for your teeth, and it's good for Peter Jackson's toes!"
The angst-ridden cry that followed was the sound of a helpless and innocent cameraman being strangled by Russell Crowe. Crowe turned purple, and then he turned on Xavier. He gritted his teeth, and stared at the old man in rage. Xavier waved.
"Get. Out," he said through his nostrils, which is quite a remarkable thing to achieve.
"But I can help you re-discover your childhood," Xavier said earnestly, his eyes watering with selfless concern.
"Get. Out."
"You haven't given me my wages—"
Crowe threw a thick packet of money and several complimentary air fresheners at Xavier. "Now get out, please!" He knelt down and sobbed.
Xavier clambered into the wheelchair that stood beside the bed, taking the money and air fresheners. He smiled pleasantly at the cameramen and exited the building.
Outside, Jean and Scott were waiting. He joined them, and they walked together down the street. Once safely out of earshot of any members of the air freshener crew, Scott broke the silence.
"Did you get it?" he whispered conspiratorially, lowering his head slightly. "The *ahem*, money, I mean?"
"Yes, the money is in the bag," replied the Professor with a faint smile. "No problems. And, Scott? You don't need to whisper anymore."
"But, I thought this was like in that gangster film, when –"
"No."
"Well done, Charles, but I'm afraid I still don't understand why we absolutely must do this," Jean sighed. "Surely there are more, uh, just ways of earning money?"
"This is just. This money is ours. It's not my fault that some rather mentally incompetent directors choose to pay their actors by the hour."
"You slowed what should have been a two hour acting job to seven days of faked mistakes!" exploded Jean.
"And in the process have paid for the school's electricity bill for last month," Xavier reminded her cheerfully. "Come along, dear. What would you rather do? Ask Kitty Pryde to rob a bank to pay for gas? Allow Rogue to hold innocent people's lives to ransom in exchange for free school supplies?"
"Well, no. But I still feel the students should help in some way."
Summary: I am aware that the characters aren't very much in character, but remember that this is just a bit of fun. Feedback appreciated. Be happy.
CHAPTER 1
Xavier woke up to the wonderful smells of spring. It was fragrant, it smelt of wild strawberries. It was the epitome of greenness but made for the nose. He sat up in his bed.
"Air freshener!" he beamed, eyes wide open.
"Air freshener!" he repeated. "Air freshener like this only comes in packets –" he held up a small rectangular box "—like this! And why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your living room. It's good for your kitchen. It's good for this –" he pointed at his teeth, which sparkled, " – and it's good for your toes."
"NO!" a man wearing a ski jacket and shorts yelled. He ran up to Xavier, who stared back at him, puzzled and genuinely concerned.
"Whatever's the matter?" he asked mildly, assuming his noble 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression.
"NO!" screamed the director, again. "No! No, NO!"
"Alright, alright," Xavier said, looking abashed. "Go away then."
The director, (who was, by pure coincidence, wearing a tag that said 'Peter Jackson') gritted his teeth. He took several deep breaths.
"The line," he said in an unsteady voice. He recollected himself, and started again. "The line is 'And it's good for your nose.' Okay?"
Xavier looked at him. "Ah, yes," he smiled vaguely. "And it's good for my nose."
"No, the line is 'And it's good for your nose'. Your nose, got it?"
"Your nose?"
"It's good for your nose, yes."
"My nose?" Xavier frowned, as the director bit his lip. "I'm really sorry, but we've been working on this commercial for seven days and I still don't understand what you want with my nose. Is there something you want to tell me, Mr Crowe?" He assumed his 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression once more.
"My name," began Russell Crowe with a painfully manic expression, "is not Russell Crowe. It is Russell Crowe secretly, but I can't let myself know about it. Right now I have to convince myself that I am Peter Jackson, so that I can direct this air freshener commercial properly, alright? Yeah? Yeah? Is everything alright?"
"Yes!" said Xavier, smiling happily. "Why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your kitchen, it's good for your teeth, and it's good for Peter Jackson's toes!"
The angst-ridden cry that followed was the sound of a helpless and innocent cameraman being strangled by Russell Crowe. Crowe turned purple, and then he turned on Xavier. He gritted his teeth, and stared at the old man in rage. Xavier waved.
"Get. Out," he said through his nostrils, which is quite a remarkable thing to achieve.
"But I can help you re-discover your childhood," Xavier said earnestly, his eyes watering with selfless concern.
"Get. Out."
"You haven't given me my wages—"
Crowe threw a thick packet of money and several complimentary air fresheners at Xavier. "Now get out, please!" He knelt down and sobbed.
Xavier clambered into the wheelchair that stood beside the bed, taking the money and air fresheners. He smiled pleasantly at the cameramen and exited the building.
Outside, Jean and Scott were waiting. He joined them, and they walked together down the street. Once safely out of earshot of any members of the air freshener crew, Scott broke the silence.
"Did you get it?" he whispered conspiratorially, lowering his head slightly. "The *ahem*, money, I mean?"
"Yes, the money is in the bag," replied the Professor with a faint smile. "No problems. And, Scott? You don't need to whisper anymore."
"But, I thought this was like in that gangster film, when –"
"No."
"Well done, Charles, but I'm afraid I still don't understand why we absolutely must do this," Jean sighed. "Surely there are more, uh, just ways of earning money?"
"This is just. This money is ours. It's not my fault that some rather mentally incompetent directors choose to pay their actors by the hour."
"You slowed what should have been a two hour acting job to seven days of faked mistakes!" exploded Jean.
"And in the process have paid for the school's electricity bill for last month," Xavier reminded her cheerfully. "Come along, dear. What would you rather do? Ask Kitty Pryde to rob a bank to pay for gas? Allow Rogue to hold innocent people's lives to ransom in exchange for free school supplies?"
"Well, no. But I still feel the students should help in some way."