I Think I Know Enough of Hate...

[Pietro Maximoff]

((OOC: This takes place several days to a week after "Pietro and Wanda's Dormitory" where Wanda loses her powers a second time.))

::Pietro was low, running on less than empty. He survived only on feelings of regret and anger, a great deal of it directed inwardly, although his tendency to rage against the injustice of the world kept him from taking complete fault away from Wideawake and the others who had inflicted additional pain on their lives. That did little to undermine how he felt as though he were a complete and utter disappointment; he was ashamed that he could do nothing but harm those he cared for, and those thoughts raced through his mind each microsecond of each day.

He had not slept since Wanda had woke him from his nap with her scream. He had not eaten since his supper with Rossignol the day before that. Instead he brooded. When that became too monotonous, or he needed to drown out the feelings, he worked. This day alone, he had reshingled the garage roof, cleaned the stables, ran his security sweeps, changed the oil in half the cars in the garage, and had shoveled the snow in the driveway. Were it not winter, there would be more to do.

With nothing else to occupy him, he had come outside to chop firewood. The entire mansion had central heating, but old habits died hard, and there was a fireplace in the parlor and one in the library; it would be put to use one way or another. As he brought the ax down into a log, his thoughts raced. Wanda wanted him to go to therapy. So did Uncle and Ororo. He knew he was falling apart, but he deserved it. He couldn't be mended, and even if it were possible, he shouldn't be. Not when he had so much to atone for.::

[Erik Lensherr]

The day was warmer than usual in winter, which was probably due to Ororo's influence. So Erik decided to go for a walk along the grounds, enjoying the fresh air. There wasn't much of a wind, so his fedora remained in place, and his steel grey coat wasn't ruffled. He caught sight of his son, hacking away at wood, despite the fact that the Institute had installed central heating long ago. Manual labor to keep him occupied, he supposed.

Charles' words rang in Erik's mind, not to taunt and tease his children. He would abide by those rules, at least somewhat. So he did not say anything as he approached, though the metal in the axe froze.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro had been in mid-blow, when the ax refused to move. All his strength and yet it remained where it was, halfway in the air. There was no question as to the cause, and he spun around, finding Magneto there, dressed for the weather. His eyes narrowed at the older man.:: "What do you want?"

[Erik Lensherr]

"Can't your father take a walk without being accused of something?" he asked mildly, raising an eyebrow.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's hands slipped away from the ax; it was useless to him now. His expression remained harsh.:: "That depends. Have you seen Django Maximoff anywhere?"

[Erik Lensherr]

The axe came down into the stump with a loud thump, and Magneto sneered. "Probably in that little mud hut in that poor excuse for a village, still."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's eyes flashed with rage. Magneto had no right to criticize the Maximoff's for anything; they had done the best they could in a society which had condemned them as outsiders. The only time Django Maximoff had laid a hand on him was to embrace him; the only words he spoke were those of encouragement. He was a good man, and he loved both twins as though they were his own flesh and blood; certainly he loved them more than the man before him ever had. Pietro had already lost what little patience he had, what control that could keep his tongue in check. He'd live with the mental images his words evoked, in exchange for wounding the other man's ego.:: "Not everyone can find a billionaire whose bed he can warm in exchange for his keep."

[Erik Lensherr]

Erik's expression soured considerably at his son's retort. Pietro knew nothing about his and Charles' relationship. "I suppose I was just lucky," he replied sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest. Though he chose not to think about that afternoon in Charles' office, how casually his advances had been denied.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::If there were anything left within Pietro that could feel pleasure, he would at how his words had cut through the other man. That paid him back for his barbs before the holidays. The other man's retort was sarcastic, and he was ready to respond in kind.:: "Yes, and now he's moved on to your harlot. He doesn't need you anymore."

[Erik Lensherr]

"She's nothing of mine," he spat, anger masking his hurt at Pietro's words, when they rang so true. His conversation with Charles was prominent in his mind, and it made him ache. "If they want to play at being bourgeois family, it's no business of mine."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's expression hardened, offensively, not defensively. He had found Magneto's weak spot, and he would remember.:: "None of this is your business."

[Erik Lensherr]

"I think that is for me to decide, not you," he replied, glaring. His arms uncrossed, though the metal around his wrists, worn every day now, shifted like snakes uncomfortable in the presence of a mongoose.

[Pietro Maximoff]

"No," ::Pietro stepped closer to the other man. He had that sense again, that Magneto wore the metal wires, intent to garote him given the opportunity, but that opportunity would not arise. Not this time. He gestured at the older man's wrists.:: "And if you try anything with either of those, you won't take another breath."

[Erik Lensherr]

"And I suppose you're going to be the one to do it?" he asked haughtily. "You're going to snap my neck when I don't have a reason yet to do anything?"

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro firmly stood his ground. Magneto's attitude angered him, but it always had.:: "If you try something, so will I. If you don't, I won't."