ᴇʀɪᴋ (metalize) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-04-11 20:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: erik lehnsherr |
WHO: Dadneto & Kidneto (Erik & Peter)
WHAT: Teaching Peter some hand-to-hand moves so he's READY for Fight Club
WHERE: Genosha
WHEN: Idk today?
WARNINGS: No, just familial bonding and associated feels
STATUS: Complete
There was a nice breeze along the coast of Genosha that Peter was chasing, albeit enjoying, his feet carrying him along the edge of the island. He loved the little world of it’s own. Lacking not all modern technology but he got why his dad wanted the safe space. It was really calm, quiet, and full of people like them usually. Then again, that’s what a refuge was for, right? If people did decide they didn’t want mutants anymore like he knew his father prepared for, he could see himself staying here with them. Now that he did have a family to go to. Peter had visited Genosha more often than regularly with the upcoming bonfire to clean the place up a bit. He still had to talk to Wanda about what would be a necessary meaningful gift. And help her with the decorations. But for now Peter had some time alone with his father. In whatever subject or circumstance, he’d take it. Grinning from ear to ear the speedster ran about the buildings and the sand, waiting impatiently for his first lesson from his dad. Ever. “C’mon pops! The weather is great!” They could be discussing politics and Peter would still sit and listen to Erik. Not that he needed to give away the idea that he was starved for parental guidance and attention, but now that he had it, well, it was very quite obvious. He squatted down to tie his shoelaces on his sneakers tighter, bouncing lightly on his feet. He’d already stretched at a normal speed. Several times, in his excitement. Erik really loved his children - that was no secret. He’d loved Nina the first time he held her in his arms, and losing her had been like something had ripped him open with sharp teeth and claws. Not only that, but he felt disconnected from the world - like there was a wall between him and everyone else; grief was such a lonely emotion. And in that loneliness, he’d been desperate enough to turn to Apocalypse and let himself be consumed by all the negative, the mud and the muck and the anger. Little did he know, he had family still with him - it had taken him up until the past few months to find Peter, to be reunited with him in a way that meant building their father-son relationship, but he was so incredibly grateful to be here. With him, with Anka Irene, with Wanda - though Peter was his only son. It was a little bit different. His only son was more than a little bit special to him. “Give me a moment, I’m old,” he teased as he walked along the beach, observing the blur that was Peter, vibrating like a tuning fork and running to and fro. The tree branches were sun-kissed and the lacy waves crashed gently upon the shore - he was always soothed by Genosha, glad to have a piece of home in this world. “Alright, we’ll get started then.” He paused in a good spot, breeze and fresh air and the beach open in front of them - he shook out his limbs, thinking of where would be a decent spot to jump in. It was important Peter learn to fight since it wasn’t always a guarantee he’d be able to use his powers - you just never knew what could happen, or when they’d be inaccessible. “There are specific spots that always make for a good hit - simple yet effective moves I’ll teach you.” Peter had a good idea what those spots were. Despite his posterior he did know enough about speed, force, and agility when it came to his power. And who didn’t know that a kick in the nuts or breaking someone’s nose was the quick and easy way to solve a problem? Peter resulted in poking, duct tape, and wedgies to be less harmful, but when not using his powers he needed to know everything. The others at fight club had their own styles and basics. But it went without saying this was far more important to Peter to learn from his dad. Magneto. Not to brag or anything but, kind of a big deal. Silver hair wild against the sun, Peter planted himself lightly on the balls of his feet in front of Erik, his eyes locked and listening with full concentration. Simple, yet effective. That could work for him. “Ready to go.” He clasped his hands together, biting down on his lower lip as if that would stop the ridiculously happy smile on his face. “Teach me all you know.” “Eye gouge is obvious,” Erik said, holding up his hand. “Two fingers under the eyes, to crush them inside someone’s skull.” Look, no one said this wasn’t brutal - but if Peter was ever caught in a life or death situation, he should go all out and not worry about fighting dirty. There were no rules about that sort of thing when your life was on the line. “And elbows - one of the greatest weapons you have.” Besides the super speed, that is. He demonstrated, without actually hitting Peter but showing him where to place his limbs - going through it carefully, probably too slow for his fasfastfast son, but he wanted to make sure it stuck. “Low to high, then horizontal - “ Beneath the chin, or for the second he aimed at the right side of the abdomen (where the liver was - to the left was the spleen, which also worked). “Or the base of the skull.” Hitting an opponent at the back of their head, right at the cerebellum, could knock someone out - or at the very least, daze them pretty hard. “Now you try. When I come at you, hit me - no powers, just use your elbow in one of those positions.” He could take it, really. Peter’s lips pulled together in a mock “ouch”, very, very dirty moves, father. But he wasn’t shell shocked. It was a good move and if people had it coming, they had it coming. Peter didn’t really have to fight dirty. He’d never killed anyone...but he knew if it came between them or his family, it would be easy. However “slow” it may have been and though surprising, the speedster was able to be calm, collected, and hung on his father’s every word like they were scripture. He held still as Erik demonstrated, only blinking instinctively, knowing he wasn’t about to be hit. Yet. “Yeah, it’s a very good “night night” appendage.” More often than not he used it to clothesline people but he’d seen the others in fight club jab elbows like they were stakes. Eyes widening momentarily, Pete blinked and nodded, moving to ready himself in a fighting stance. Like a slow dance, Peter waited for Erik to come at him, moving to mimic the momentum of his elbow just as it had been shown to him, slowly. Right under his father’s chin. He made a smooch sound with his lips for emphasis. Smirking and pulling away. “Alright but what if someone is coming at me with those? I caught one in the eye last month.” Good job, son, so proud - Erik took the hit to the face like a champ. “If someone comes at you, here’s what you do - “ He demonstrated as he talked, without missing a beat; it was definitely like a dance, but a lot of fighting styles were that way. “Keep your arms up so you can block instinctively, don’t let them hang - or counter by going for a side strike.” Which brought him to his next offensive tip: the bony things known as knees. “You have to pull them closer so you can thrust your leg up - grab them by the head,” he advised, demonstrating on Peter, though of course he stopped short before actually bashing his kid in the face. “Also, a good tip - if you hit someone hard enough in the throat, bits of bone may get stuck in the trachea.” Peter let Erik show him the rest of their fight dance, laughing as his face almost collided with his knee. It was hard not to laugh at letting him slowly bring his head to what should have been reconstructive surgery to his face. When Erik stopped, Peter moved to try the move right back on him— a little faster, but he was just having fun. He too did not make contact at all with his knee. Not always the best partner in the danger room. Peter usually saw the fun in everything because well, he had the time to. “Ok, two questions.” He let Erik go but rested an arm over his dad’s shoulders because the familial touch was nice but no one needed to dwell on it or ask about it.“What about slamming someone’s face into their knee reminded you about tracheal bones,” his hand gesturing beside his dads shoulder and beside him. “And how many times have you actually done it?” Erik laughed a little, his arm going around Peter in turn. “I was simply going in order of usefulness,” he said. “Knees, throat punch - it’s a natural progression, isn’t it?” he asked with a grin, one of those wide ones that flashed all his teeth for a second. Usually his smiles were a bit close-lipped, some kind of mysterious enigma that you could puzzle over for hours to figure out - but not right now, it was all on the table. “And I’ve done everything a few times. That happens when you’re as old as me,” he pointed out, then twisted around to catch Peter in a headlock from behind. “Now when someone does this, there are a couple ways you can get out of it. Maybe pull on their finger, in the opposite direction.” Usually when someone had you from behind they had at least one hand in front of you so it was possible - and no, pulling fingers wasn’t a fart joke in this case. “Or do a foot stomp. There are a lot of easily breakable bones in the foot.” Natural progression, right, so eloquent his father put it— but that’s what made him so charming? Peter wished he could have picked that trait up. But he had a matching bone structure and the toothy smile to match, gripping only against Erik’s arm out of instinct. As fun as this was, he did try to bite his lip and listen, putting this lesson to memory and enjoying this surprisingly fun bonding experience. Over the lesson of prospective bone breaking. And that the lax chokehold was about the longest “hug” from a parent he’d ever received. Was he that starved for physical affection? Apparently. “I don’t think I’ll be putting any chances on a foot stomp.” He gripped his father’s thumb and pulled ever so gracefully until he could twirl himself from the hold, letting go once he was free. “Those dudes in fight club look like they can take a kick in the nuts and giggle about it. The finger thing works fine.” Or a bite if he was desperate. The people in Fight Club were a bit intense - but Erik supposed you had to be, if you were signing up to get hit in the face on a monthly basis. He wanted to be supportive, however, so he fully planned to attend the matches and see how it went. And he’d also try not to shout helpful things at Peter from the audience - but those dad instincts ran hard. “A kick in the nuts sounds dirty anyway - for Fight Club,” he clarified. In the real world, you did what you had to do. “Here, one last thing - use your leg to take someone down.” He demonstrated on Peter (with the goal of him ending up on the ground), showing the proper method for kicking an opponent’s leg out from under them, then dragging them down to the collapsed side - a fairly simple move, all things considered, but it had to be timed perfectly and with good muscle control otherwise they could reverse the position on you. Most of the time, Erik also relied on his powers or used them in conjunction with the fighting skills he’d learned over the years - but he was well aware of the fact that there may come a time where he couldn’t so that, so he made sure to pick up a few things about your standard hand-to-hand. “Hopefully that helped some?” he clapped Peter on the shoulder (and felt bruises blossoming on himself, potentially, from their session - but that’s how you knew it was good practice). “We can keep practicing here on Genosha too.” Practice made...somewhat close to perfect. Erik would be right about that. Despite how brutal the hobby may have been, the people in fight club weren’t jerks at all. They just loved the art of combat and sharing it. Peter enjoyed the competition, growing his skills, and the exhilaration it gave him. Even if he lost. If there was no warning for the takedown, Peter may have made an inhuman sound but he let himself be slack and trusted his father. He did huff when his back hit the sand. He grumbled a little bit and stood back up, a quick zip over there and back that left no room for the sand to stay on him. Getting taken out by the leg was something he was familiar with, the only scar he had, on his knee from getting flipped around but Peter tried not to beat himself up about losing to a God. It’s whatever. Pete clapped his dad right back on the shoulder, grinning devilishly, “Getting a little tired, pops?” He knew Erik could take a real beating but that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt his father. The time they were sharing just seemed...to move more quickly, for once. The only amount of time Peter didn’t want to speed through. He fumbled with the fabric on Eric’s shirt, eyes falling while the wave of emotion crashed over him. Cool, but, not wanting to be a little bitch he patted Erik again and let his arm fall. “It’ll definitely help. And hell yeah we can keep practicing….if you think it won’t wear you down. I don’t want wanna throw your back out.” Tommy liked to joke about Erik throwing his back out too - he supposed that was fair, since he was born in 1930 and in the year 2021 was technically ancient. It had been 1992 when he found himself in Vallo, which - still made him pretty old. Some days he felt it - in his bones, beneath his skin, in the exhaustion that overwhelmed him when he thought back on all he had been through. But then other times, like now, he was kept on his toes and felt light as a feather. “I’ll let you know if I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” he promised, and because he hadn’t actually done it yet - he slid his arms around Peter and hugged him, without getting him in a headlock or backflipping him to the ground. Patting his son’s back, he added, “Want to head to the house for a drink? Something refreshing.” He had plenty of tea and fruit juices, thanks to the abundance of what grew on the island, and his own private domicile was obviously open to family. Always. Peter sighed and returned the hug to Erik thankfully, giving his dad a light thank you with a thud of his forehead to his shoulder. The most physical affection he’d gotten was from his younger sisters. Parental affection was pretty nice. Especially when you didn’t know you needed it until your eyes were wet and you didn’t want to let go. But he didn’t cry, not this time. He smiled warmly and returned the manly pat, lifting his head. “Yes please. I wouldn’t hate it if you had anything to eat either.” Thankfully Erik wasn’t as old or decaying as Peter teased. He needed him around a whole lot longer now that he had him. And he didn’t intend to take anymore time for granted. |