I Think I Know Enough of Hate...

[Erik Lensherr]

"You and your sister always think I'm up to something," he said, shaking his head and making a soft 'tsk tsk' sound. "I'm hardly the bogeyman, and you don't need to keep watch for me in the night like silly children."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro's expression remained hard, cold.:: "You're far worse than a bogeyman. You exist."

[Erik Lensherr]

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, because I come creeping up to your door at night," he said sarcastically. There was no reason they continued that ritual of standing sentry at the door, but many of the things they did had no reason behind it.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro was already weary of this conversation. He had such little volition to fight, but could not give up before this man of all people.:: "Why won't you just leave?"

[Erik Lensherr]

"I can stay here if I wish, boy," he said harshly. "Don't you have more manual labor to finish?" With a gesture, the axe lifted out of the stump, levitating in the air for a moment. He didn't need to make a dramatic hand gesture, but he had always had a flair for the dramatic.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::That act was the last straw for Pietro; he had warned the other man not to try anything. Not here, not now, not when he was only still moving out of a need to atone. Just as promised, he was on Magneto before the other man could blink, and knocked him to the ground.::

[Erik Lensherr]

Before he could blink, Pietro had jumped on him, knocking the breath from him as he hit the ground, hard. He wasn't the one to start this violence, but he certainly wouldn't let his son knock him around like a rag doll.

His hands grabbed onto Pietro's arms, and the metal coils around his wrists slid off like water, aiming to wrap around his wrists, and they would snap together like a pair of handcuffs. The only metal he sensed that was close by was the metal of the axe head, and he pulled it swiftly off the handle, reshaping it in midair, flowing like liquid.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::The metal formed around Pietro's wrists, confining him in ways that only served to anger him more. He had warned the other man that he was stronger than before; he was also swifter mentally that Magneto had ever given him credit. That would be to his advantage.His wrists lacked the sheer muscle of his upper arms, and it would take more than a mere flex to break through the thin bonds. Swiftly, awkwardly from the position in which his arms had been confined, he managed to slip two fingers between his wrist and the metal wire. He bent it back, pushing against Magneto's influence, and in the end, he might break his fingers, but he would be victorious. He wretched the metal from his wrist; the pain was intense, but he pushed it aside. He could nurse his wounds later. With one hand free, he could more easily remove the other cuff, and he hurled the metal away, as far as he could throw it. Let physics and velocity work against Magneto.

He was sped up now, fully embracing his other plane. Behind him, floating in mid-air, still as glass, was the metal from the axe; surely Magneto didn't think he could do much with that while Pietro was aware of everything this way. He turned back to the other man, eyes burning with rage, as he moved his hands to hold down Magneto's.:: "I'm worth more than manual labor."

[Erik Lensherr]

Erik found himself restrained, as Pietro pressed him to the ground, hands holding down his own as he threw away the metal cuffs. "You've yet to prove it," he spat, becoming increasingly angry. Pietro was younger, stronger, and surely faster, but his son was surely lacking when it came to giving other people credit.

His belt buckle became unclasped in the blink of an eye, and he used it to attempt to smack Pietro in the face, while urging the metal bands to fly back to him. The metal of the axe, more of it than the bands, began to wrap around his feet. He was nothing without his speed.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::The belt smacked Pietro across his lip, cutting it; the blood trickled down his chin. That would be the last blood Magneto would draw from him. The other man still thought he played games, yet he would demonstrate how serious he was.

Magneto had always belittled his speed, claiming it was worthless. He underestimated the power there, was unable to appreciate what it meant to move as swift as sound itself. Magneto's movements were slower that the undead in those wretched horror films they watched years ago, and Pietro could easily dodge. One powerful boot-clad foot kicked the metal away from him, and he brought that same foot down, hard, into Magneto's weaker, left side.

His hands wrapped around the other man's shoulders, drawing up his head and then slamming it down; the grass was too soft to do the desired damage, but it would make the point. All of this occurred before the sound of Pietro's speech could reach Magneto's ears.:: "I could have been anything."

[Erik Lensherr]

Before Magneto could do anything, he felt an intense pain on his left side; it was his weakest side, and Pietro exploited it. He coughed, and suddenly felt himself being shaken, and then his head hitting off the ground. He felt dizzy, and at the same time felt the metal being kicked away.

"Blame it all on me," he said, coughing slightly. He felt angry, that Pietro would blame him for his own failings.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro was fully furious now, thinking of Wanda, powerless again, and of the harm that Magneto had done to her the last time had had come to the mansion. He backhanded the other man.:: "All I wanted was a word of praise."

[Erik Lensherr]

Pietro backhanded him, and yet he could do nothing. Curse his bastard of a son. "You didn't earn it," he snarled.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::With the other man's words, Pietro felt his childhood memories rush back to him. How disinterested Magneto had been in everything he had done; how he had revered the man despite the horrid way he had been treated. How Magneto had thought him damaged time and again, had treated him as such, and how their relationship had become irreparable when Uncle lay half-dead in the hospital. Magneto had been such a horrid father that he and Wanda had shed their surname and vowed to never have children of their own. He held the other man down, but did not hit him again.:: "No one will mourn you, when you pass."

[Erik Lensherr]

His son's words struck his core, but he didn't dare let it show. For a moment he ached for Charles, then for Magda, and finally Mystique. He wouldn't dare utter it aloud, but Charles had been right; people had needs, and he had sacrificed his own in pursuit of his dream, and it made him ache terribly.

His visage grew angry, though he didn't struggle against his son's hold. "We'll see about that." He wasn't dead yet.