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xp_logsIn Which Farouk is Inconvenienced
Farouk resisted the urge to wipe down the receiver and instead carefully counted out the change from his pockets. It inevitably came down to exactly 21 cents. He glanced around and sighed; the idea of hitting up one of the villagers for the rest of the money necessary to make the call dying stillborn. In fact there was a fairly strong possibility that he could buy the entire settlement for about half of his ready cash. Burma (he resolutely refused to refer to the hellhole as Myanmar) wasn't exactly flush with discretionary income on any level.
Amahl crossed the border a day ago and he was already wondering whether that was a mistake. Indian jail would have been much, much more comfortable. It has been years since he had to engage in the actual field work. Even the occasional errands on the behalf of the X-Men that he had to engage in lately could usually be arranged in a certain amount of comfort.
Farouk was rapidly remembering why he never developed the taste for the colourful life of a field operative.
He sighed again, punching in the familiar sequence of numbers into the console. God, he hated the Third world.
"Hello and welcome to 1-800-Collect at Verizon!" An unbearably perky voice rang in his ears with an definite Bangladeshi accent. "Can I have the number you are calling and your full name, please?"
Fred had been sitting in his dorm room, playing through his old Space Quest games, when he'd heard his phone begin to ring. He raised an eyebrow at the myriad digits that flashed across his Call ID. Did they even make numbers that long anymore...? And who knew this number? He'd just gotten this phone from the school. Maybe it was for the person who'd had this number before him...?
Fred watched it flash and ring for several moments as he thought. Fred debated the pros and cons of answering and finally, fearing the person would hang up, snatched up his school issued cell phone and flipped it open.
He put his ear to the receiver and, when he heard no immediate response, muttered, "...hello?"
"Good morning. You have a collect call from A m a h l F a r o u k. Will you accept the charges?"
Fred made a face at the phone, forgetting for a moment is was an inanimate object and didn't understand why he was making a face. Did he know anyone named 'Amahl Farouk'? Seemed like a name that he would recognize...
"Sorry. Wrong number," Fred finally said, and swung the phone closed.
"Motherf---!" The rest of Farouk's remarks was lost in the explosive noise and the dust as the Hind helicopter suddenly cleared the treeline and began its descent on the hamlet, the climbing ropes unrolling down its sides.
Farouk resisted the urge to wipe down the receiver and instead carefully counted out the change from his pockets. It inevitably came down to exactly 21 cents. He glanced around and sighed; the idea of hitting up one of the villagers for the rest of the money necessary to make the call dying stillborn. In fact there was a fairly strong possibility that he could buy the entire settlement for about half of his ready cash. Burma (he resolutely refused to refer to the hellhole as Myanmar) wasn't exactly flush with discretionary income on any level.
Amahl crossed the border a day ago and he was already wondering whether that was a mistake. Indian jail would have been much, much more comfortable. It has been years since he had to engage in the actual field work. Even the occasional errands on the behalf of the X-Men that he had to engage in lately could usually be arranged in a certain amount of comfort.
Farouk was rapidly remembering why he never developed the taste for the colourful life of a field operative.
He sighed again, punching in the familiar sequence of numbers into the console. God, he hated the Third world.
"Hello and welcome to 1-800-Collect at Verizon!" An unbearably perky voice rang in his ears with an definite Bangladeshi accent. "Can I have the number you are calling and your full name, please?"
Fred had been sitting in his dorm room, playing through his old Space Quest games, when he'd heard his phone begin to ring. He raised an eyebrow at the myriad digits that flashed across his Call ID. Did they even make numbers that long anymore...? And who knew this number? He'd just gotten this phone from the school. Maybe it was for the person who'd had this number before him...?
Fred watched it flash and ring for several moments as he thought. Fred debated the pros and cons of answering and finally, fearing the person would hang up, snatched up his school issued cell phone and flipped it open.
He put his ear to the receiver and, when he heard no immediate response, muttered, "...hello?"
"Good morning. You have a collect call from A m a h l F a r o u k. Will you accept the charges?"
Fred made a face at the phone, forgetting for a moment is was an inanimate object and didn't understand why he was making a face. Did he know anyone named 'Amahl Farouk'? Seemed like a name that he would recognize...
"Sorry. Wrong number," Fred finally said, and swung the phone closed.
"Motherf---!" The rest of Farouk's remarks was lost in the explosive noise and the dust as the Hind helicopter suddenly cleared the treeline and began its descent on the hamlet, the climbing ropes unrolling down its sides.
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