NEW FIC: X-Men/Metalocalypse: "Totally Metal"
title Totally Metal
author patientalien
rating PG
word count 834
summary Charles Foster Offdenson is the best PR man in the world. Who better than to handle the affairs of the Master of Magnetism?
notes For citizenjess, who also came up with the title
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Charles Foster Offdenson did not leave the comfort of Mordhaus very often. However, with an ostensible team of managers and lawyers now, all hand-picked with loyalty and fidelity towards Dethklok in mind (with, of course, a little help from an implant slipped under their skin), Charles found himself with a little more free time than usual.
He hadn't intended for his new-found free time to consist of work for other entities. Mostly he thought he would take up golf, or at least be able to take a vacation to somewhere that wouldn't explode into riots the moment he arrived. Besides, his focus was Dethklok and always would be.
The phone call was innocuous enough. A deep voice on the other end said his name, asked if he was free to meet to discuss a business arrangement. Charles had been somewhat skeptical, but decided to agree to the meeting, if only because the boys were still sleeping and wouldn't need him for a while. He agreed, and soon found himself at a nearby Duncan Hills coffee shop, waiting. There were a couple of Klockoteers skulking around for security; Charles had learned not to take any chances.
He assumed the man in the cape and helmet was there for him. He stood, approaching with only some trepidation. "Charles Offdensen?" the man intoned.
Charles nodded. "Yes. And you are..." He could not abide rudeness, even if the person being rude was, well, wearing something that Nathan might describe as "totally metal".
"Magneto," the man replied, and Charles arched an eyebrow.
"Okay then," he said, deciding not to comment on how goofy he was finding the situation. After spending so many years with Dethklok, nothing much phased him. "How can I be of assistance?"
They went to one of the tables far from the door and settled into the cushy chairs. Magneto gathered his cape around him before sitting, but did not remove the helmet. "I am in need of a... public relations professional," the man informed him. "My image is that of an anti-human terrorist, and it has been suggested that I attempt to... rectify the misconception."
"Oh, you're that Magneto," Charles said. He'd heard of the increasing mutant "threat", but with his attention towards handling the world's most influential rock band, he found himself pushing human/mutant relations to the back of his mind.
"Yes," Magneto responded. "You came highly recommended as someone who dealt with, uh, difficult cases." He sounded somewhat chagrined.
Charles steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Well," he said, "What kind of image would you like to convey?"
Magneto considered. "One that does not instill terror, I suppose," he replied.
"Might I suggest starting by not terrorizing anyone?" Charles offered. "And you may want to reconsider your wardrobe for public appearances. The helmet/cape combination is all well and good if you're a two-bit super-villain, but if you're trying to steer away from that, it might be a good idea to try a light-colored suit, or a cardigan or something."
Magneto pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of white hair. "But how will people know I'm the Master of Magnetism?" he asked.
Charles cleared his throat. "Well, ah, again, it's a matter of perception. Do you want to be known as the Master of Magnetism?"
Shrugging, the other man said, "I certainly don't want anyone to think I am an X-Man."
"So you don't want to be seen as a terrorist, but you don't want to be seen as an X-Man," Charles summarized, not entirely sure what an X-Man was. Still, the job was interesting, and would be the kind of challenge Charles was looking for in terms of how to spend his down time. "I can help you," he said after a long moment. "I do want to warn you that my fee is prohibitive to most." Just because he wanted something to fill his time didn't mean he was going to do it for free.
"Money is no object," Magneto informed him, and Charles decided to stick to his tried-and-true Just don't ask philosophy.
"I'll have something drafted for you by close of business Friday." That would give him plenty of time to figure out what an X-Man was and why it was a bad thing, and would also give him a chance to work out an alternate wardrobe for someone who preferred bright reds and helmets.
Magneto nodded, and plucked said helmet up from the table. He stood, seating it back on his head. "That would be appreciated." He held out his hand; Charles shook it, unsurprised by the strength of the grip. "When I heard your name, I knew you would be trustworthy."
He had left the coffee shop before Charles could even formulate a response. Calling for the DethVan to come pick him up, he settled back into his chair and let the dulcet tones of an elevator-music version of "Black Fire Upon Us" wash over him until it was time to leave.
author patientalien
rating PG
word count 834
summary Charles Foster Offdenson is the best PR man in the world. Who better than to handle the affairs of the Master of Magnetism?
notes For citizenjess, who also came up with the title
-----
Charles Foster Offdenson did not leave the comfort of Mordhaus very often. However, with an ostensible team of managers and lawyers now, all hand-picked with loyalty and fidelity towards Dethklok in mind (with, of course, a little help from an implant slipped under their skin), Charles found himself with a little more free time than usual.
He hadn't intended for his new-found free time to consist of work for other entities. Mostly he thought he would take up golf, or at least be able to take a vacation to somewhere that wouldn't explode into riots the moment he arrived. Besides, his focus was Dethklok and always would be.
The phone call was innocuous enough. A deep voice on the other end said his name, asked if he was free to meet to discuss a business arrangement. Charles had been somewhat skeptical, but decided to agree to the meeting, if only because the boys were still sleeping and wouldn't need him for a while. He agreed, and soon found himself at a nearby Duncan Hills coffee shop, waiting. There were a couple of Klockoteers skulking around for security; Charles had learned not to take any chances.
He assumed the man in the cape and helmet was there for him. He stood, approaching with only some trepidation. "Charles Offdensen?" the man intoned.
Charles nodded. "Yes. And you are..." He could not abide rudeness, even if the person being rude was, well, wearing something that Nathan might describe as "totally metal".
"Magneto," the man replied, and Charles arched an eyebrow.
"Okay then," he said, deciding not to comment on how goofy he was finding the situation. After spending so many years with Dethklok, nothing much phased him. "How can I be of assistance?"
They went to one of the tables far from the door and settled into the cushy chairs. Magneto gathered his cape around him before sitting, but did not remove the helmet. "I am in need of a... public relations professional," the man informed him. "My image is that of an anti-human terrorist, and it has been suggested that I attempt to... rectify the misconception."
"Oh, you're that Magneto," Charles said. He'd heard of the increasing mutant "threat", but with his attention towards handling the world's most influential rock band, he found himself pushing human/mutant relations to the back of his mind.
"Yes," Magneto responded. "You came highly recommended as someone who dealt with, uh, difficult cases." He sounded somewhat chagrined.
Charles steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Well," he said, "What kind of image would you like to convey?"
Magneto considered. "One that does not instill terror, I suppose," he replied.
"Might I suggest starting by not terrorizing anyone?" Charles offered. "And you may want to reconsider your wardrobe for public appearances. The helmet/cape combination is all well and good if you're a two-bit super-villain, but if you're trying to steer away from that, it might be a good idea to try a light-colored suit, or a cardigan or something."
Magneto pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of white hair. "But how will people know I'm the Master of Magnetism?" he asked.
Charles cleared his throat. "Well, ah, again, it's a matter of perception. Do you want to be known as the Master of Magnetism?"
Shrugging, the other man said, "I certainly don't want anyone to think I am an X-Man."
"So you don't want to be seen as a terrorist, but you don't want to be seen as an X-Man," Charles summarized, not entirely sure what an X-Man was. Still, the job was interesting, and would be the kind of challenge Charles was looking for in terms of how to spend his down time. "I can help you," he said after a long moment. "I do want to warn you that my fee is prohibitive to most." Just because he wanted something to fill his time didn't mean he was going to do it for free.
"Money is no object," Magneto informed him, and Charles decided to stick to his tried-and-true Just don't ask philosophy.
"I'll have something drafted for you by close of business Friday." That would give him plenty of time to figure out what an X-Man was and why it was a bad thing, and would also give him a chance to work out an alternate wardrobe for someone who preferred bright reds and helmets.
Magneto nodded, and plucked said helmet up from the table. He stood, seating it back on his head. "That would be appreciated." He held out his hand; Charles shook it, unsurprised by the strength of the grip. "When I heard your name, I knew you would be trustworthy."
He had left the coffee shop before Charles could even formulate a response. Calling for the DethVan to come pick him up, he settled back into his chair and let the dulcet tones of an elevator-music version of "Black Fire Upon Us" wash over him until it was time to leave.