I Think I Know Enough of Hate...

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro could tell by the other man's pause that his words had struck deeply. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction, nearly wasted, as it had to travel so deeply within his own self-loathing that it was distilled nearly into nothingness. He remained as he was, atop the other man, pinning him down.:: "Don't tempt me."

[Erik Lensherr]

"Yes, kill me, right here, right now," he snapped. "Because that's all you're good for, manual labor and doing the dirty work." His son, the packmule in the ladder of mutation.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro was tempted; this man had taken more lives than could ever be measured, and had inflicted such pain on the world that the X-Men could never undo all of the damage. To take his life would be to do the world a favor. Yet his conscience tried to still his hands, that part of him that said, "Villain as he is, he still sired you." It was hardly a calming thought, since at that very moment, Pietro wished he had not been born; it would have spared Rossignol and Wanda their respective pains. What finally ate at his resolve was Magneto's own request, that he do it and demonstrate that he was only useful for these tasks. That irony he could accept. Becoming this man by taking life and taking pleasure...that he couldn't accept. He hated this man with every fibre of his being, and he wouldn't willingly follow in his footsteps. It wouldn't stop him from speaking harshly, even if the threats weren't followed through.:: "Or I could break open your skull, and you can spend the rest of your miserable life with the mind of a child."

[Erik Lensherr]

"I have no desire to think like you," he retorted, though the idea was positively ghastly.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro scoffed, a harsh sound to cover the pain the retort brought to his chest. Memories of how he'd been treated as though he had a learning disability, all because of his speed. He was far sharper than any realized, because he had little reason to demonstrate the full extent of his computer-like mind; in that way, the last laugh was his. It did nothing to erase those memories, or to ease that need he had to prove himself, or to mask that vulnerability with the sarcasm the other man used to well.:: "Your God forbid we have anything in common."

[Erik Lensherr]

"Indeed," he said, scoffing. "I have no desire to become the laboring packmule in the scale of mutation." He still did not attempt to force Pietro off of him; he was stronger, as that slap had definitely proven a moment ago.

[Pietro Maximoff]

"There's no shame in work," ::Pietro retorted; that had been a lesson from childhood he had found useful. He worked for his keep, he worked for his distraction, and it was a way to bridge the gap between he and the rest of the population. Most men worked to make a living.:: "Better that than prancing around in purple, burning all your bridges."

[Erik Lensherr]

He sneered. "Yes, play out here in the woods and hit the logs with your axe, getting firewood for a house that has central heating. Very productive of you."

[Pietro Maximoff]

::It spoke volumes of their relationship, that this was the deepest conversation they had shared in years, long before the twins had left for Europe. This, Pietro sitting atop the older man, after beating him to physical submission, and evading the other man's own attempt to fight back. There was nothing either could do to change the other, and so they spoke to wound. Were Pietro in a more rational state of mind, he might care. As it was, he was far too angry to try to end the cycle.:: "You are the model of productivity now? How many wars have you started and managed to win? None."

[Erik Lensherr]

"Whoever said the war is over, boy?" He demanded. There were those lobbying to bring back the registration act, ever since that mutant had attacked the whitehouse. The war wasn't over, certainly, while they still managed to find the cure here and there, in guns, of course.

[Pietro Maximoff]

"I say it's over," ::Pietro said with resolved. His hand moved to Magneto's neck, to demonstrate a point. He wouldn't have this madman around here, making them targets, inflicting misery, trying to turn the students into weapons. He'd had his fill.:: "And you have a day to leave."

[Erik Lensherr]

Magneto made no move, especially when Pietro's hand moved to his neck. Instead, he settled for glaring at his son. He had been planning to leave anyway; this place held nothing for him here, nothing but severe disappointment. He would leave to recruit again, and start back from the ashes.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Seconds passed as minutes, as both men glared at one another, identical eyes locked. The point had been made and Pietro rose from the other man's body.:: "Pass through those gates again, and you'll envy Uncle his mobility."

[Erik Lensherr]

As Pietro finally got off of him, Erik rose and brushed the dirt off of his coat, and picked up his fedora. "Yes, yes," he said, rolling his eyes at the threat. "Have fun playing with your wood," he said simply, walking off. The metal coils flew back to him, reshaping themselves over and over, living orbs of metal, swirling around him. What had once been the axe head was now a useless lump, lying on the ground next to Pietro.

[Pietro Maximoff]

::Pietro did not bend down to pick up the axe head until after Magneto had left his sight. Only then did he bend, taking the metallic lump in hand. It was useless now, as useless as he felt, and he dropped it back to the ground. He was behind it soon enough, slumping to the ground. He hated that man, hated him for the way he had corrupted both he and Wanda, hated him for how he had hurt the others, for the lives he had taken, and the people he had used. Most of all, he hated him because Pietro could have become him. He still could, he might still be destined to follow in his footsteps despite it all, and at that thought, he felt bile rise in his throat.

Wanda, Uncle, and Ororo were right; he couldn't keep at this pace, not with these intense emotions which threatened to consume him from the inside out. Not when what he desired most in the world was to fade into blackness. He needed to speak to someone, before he was driven mad.::