(no subject)
Ow. Magneto kicked my ass. It was much more of a fight than it has been in the past, though.
Confirms that I can't kick his ass without resorting to drastic measures and preparations, but that was hardly a surprise.
<> The Cliffs
The cliffs leading up to the main headquarters of the Brotherhood are far too steep, jagged, and slick with seafoam and salt for a normal human to climb. At least, not without some serious rock-climbing equipment and a lot of durability. Winds off the ocean buffet the rocks here even on a calm day, and the waves crash white on the rocks below.
The trouble with building a dock out of solid steel is that slabs of the stuff are exceedingly inconvenient to get from one point to another when you wish to extend or alter the aformentioned structure. For this reason, Erik himself has been forced into the task of hauling a massive slab and part of the support structure across the courtyard towards the cliffs. 'Hauling' of course, being less of a physical action and more of a...drift placidly along in the Master of Magnetism's wake...action. Dressed typically in a militaryesque black garb and boots, Erik himself is already looking a little wind-touseled - blue eyes squinted against the breeze. Bloody changing of the seasons.
Derek comes down the path from the shooting range, his shotgun (unloaded) slung casually over his shoulder. He is likewise dressed in his own characteristic style, his leather trenchcoat open to billow around his ankle just a bit, hinting at a cape's flair without admitting to the ostentation. He slows as he sees Magneto serving as the island's version of heavy machinery. "Afternoon," he greets Magneto, sounding a shade more surly than usual, but hardly outright disrespectful.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson." Erik replies in much the same tone, progress coming to a temporary standstill as he turns to take in the telekine through narrowed eyes. Over Derek's shoulder, the shotgun safety...checks itself, flicking out and then back into place - the weapon itself found to be empty. "You really should carry that with the muzzle down, loaded or not. All things fired upwards must eventually come down, you know. Safety first."
Derek glances around at the shotgun as the weapon goes through some unanticipated convulsions up next to his ear. They don't add up to much, since he is careful enough not to blow his own head off, but his eyebrows drift together briefly. He swings the muzzle down, though it is rather pointing in the vicinity of Magneto's feet as Derek tucks it up under his arm. "Naturally, sir." He pauses for a moment. "I would ask if you needed help, but that seems more than a little silly under the circumstances."
"Mmm." Approximately the size and shape of a small, hard-edged mattress, the solid block of metal behind Erik continues to hover blankly three feet above the ground - a spectacle that may or may not distract from the fact that he's sizing Derek up, and putting very little effort into hiding it.
The shotgun slowly settles further down, away from Magneto's feet. One of his eyebrows lifts into an expressive arch as he considers the way Magneto is sizing him up. "Fixing the docks?" he inquires, even as his head tilts slightly up and down as Derek likewise sizes up Magneto from behind his sunglasses. Then he glances around the scenery for both metal and loose objects.
"In a manner of speaking." The instant he perceives Derek's attention to have shifted elsewhere in the immediate vicinity, Erik takes a step back. Spent bullet casings, bits of rusted metal from projects past and failed...none of it actually shifts against the rocky terrain just yet. It's the rifle, really, that Derek should be concerned with, as it's lowered muzzle swings to strike upward at the face of its weilder.
Derek's head jerks back and to the side, his power diverting the blow from hitting him in the face to rolling over his shoulder. He pushes the weapon away with his opposite hand, attempting to get a little distance, as Magneto will suddenly feel a hard (and very distracting) yank on his boots, pulling them back behind the Brotherhood leader.
Face, meet ground. Or, at least, very nearly - a hoarse chuckle breaking off into a muted wince as Erik moves to pick himself back up after having his feet quite literally dragged out from beneath him. Righted once more, head rolled and neck popped, he already seems much more firmly grounded than he was before. Much more balanced. The overall effect, although subtle, implies heavily that he's not just simply /standing/ there any longer. "Learn something new?"
Derek has abandoned the shotgun thoroughly, as a metal weapon against Magneto cannot help but be a liability. "Learn new things all the time. You're an excellent teacher." There's a hint of arch in his tone, but also an unavoidable sincerity. "Though they say a good student should be able to keep a teacher on his toes." He removes his sunglasses and tucks them into a pocket inside his trenchcoat as he moves, slowly, away from the larger concentrations of incidental metal around his feet.
Magneto acknowledges the truth to Derek's words with a hazy smile - the likes of which fades into a steadying breath as his focus shifts from one large object to controlling a number of much smaller ones. That which isn't rusted beyond immediate recognition glistens dully in whatever light penetrates the cloud cover overhead, various pieces ranging from an inch in length to nearly a foot. Shattered pieces of boats, abandoned tools...many broken and jagged-edged...it all gets pulled into a sizeable, scattered cloud that hangs in the air around Erik like some sort of nightmare junkyard mobile to give the impression that this arrangement can't possibly be entirely coincidental. And all the while, Magneto keeps a careful eye on Derek, leonine head turning slowly to follow the larger man's progress. "Is that what they say?"
"One of many things," Derek replies, eyes narrowing on the swirling mass of tetanus carrying pointy edges around Magneto. He glances down at the ground and suddenly a considerable amount of loose stones fly off the ground in a whirling mass of their own. The amount is considerably less than Magneto is commanding, and Derek does not try to make them swirl around his own person. "But I think old adages should be tested." And the couple of dozen small stones, none larger than five pounds, launch themselves at Magneto, aimed at his torso and legs.
The most immediate effect is noise - quite a lot of it, as many of the rocks are deflected or engulfed and forced down to the ground. Still others simply stop, apparently out of their own volition, upon entering the field Erik has going around himself - chunks of the same ferrous substance that the caves have been carved out of over time. Of course, it only takes one, and in this case, there are two that manage to force their way through. The first is dodged - the second catches him square in the chest. Shoulder jerking back, breath catching painfully, it's with a marked decrease in mercy that Erik parts with a fair portion of his defensive cloud, so that it may graduate to offensive cloud status in the process of tearing nastily after Derek. The rest remains.
"Shit." Derek really knew this was inevitable, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs help. A bush dislodges from the ground and gets thoroughly shredded by the cloud, though several pieces embed themselves in the woodier parts and carry the bush onwards. That, at least, will blunt some of shards. As it flies toward him, Derek waits, then at the last minute, drags his bush to the outer edge of the cloud with his telekinesis. At the same time, he dives to the side, electing to get nailed in the legs by the bush, rather than the hail of shrapnel. There is no earthly way he can avoid everything, however. The bush sends him into a spinning, awkward roll, while several pieces of metal leave light grazes along Derek's legs. One, however, lodges squarely in Derek's left thigh. Hopefully it wasn't too rusty. As Derek hits the ground, his eyes narrow down at Magneto and a large patch of the dirt between them erupts into a concealing cloud, even as Derek hisses curses between clenched teeth.
Magneto's glare hardens upon the osbscuring cloud even as his left hand lifts to press its heel into his sternum - testing the damage done there. As nothing seems to be broken or punctured, even if breathing has become somewhat difficult, Erik proceeds with a silence and stillness that might be rather worrisome, if Derek takes the time to think about it. Even if he does, he won't have more than a few seconds before that massive hunk of dock-bound steel explodes through the dirt to crash to the ground with enough force to make it shake a spare foot or two from the place in which Derek has come to rest. And what's worse - it's still moving, bulldozing along on its own momentum.
Derek didn't need long to haul his way to his feet, though his hand was wrapped around the piece of metal actually sticking in his leg, preparing to pull it out. This time, the expletive is thought rather than spoken as the giant block comes through at him. He pulls the shard out and discards it with considerably less care than he would have prefered to use, then uses his good leg to push off into the air. Riding high on telekinetic power, he soars above the metal block and above the slowly settling cloud of dust so he can look down at Magneto. Abruptly, the front of the Erik's shirt gets jerked up over his face, the top button popped off by the pressure of its sudden motion. The grip Derek manages on the shirt, however, is not strong, given the necessity of his concentration on his own flight. Erik's physical strength can probably overpower Derek's psychic grip, but it might be hard to sort out.
Magneto staggers back a step - the thinned cloud of shrapnel still glittering in the air around him faltering an inch or two until he can jerk the black of his dress shirt roughly back down into place and glare sharply up at the shadow of Derek above him. With eye contact comes a sudden enescable weight as gravity seems to take an extraordinairy hold upon every molecule of metal in and immediately on Derek's person. The drag isn't particularly slow or subtle - Magneto having every intention of slamming the younger mutant hard into the ground at the guidance of his raised right hand.
It is a good thing Derek is not flying any higher than he is. He is not up to resisting the full power of Magneto and so down he goes. His own power softens his impact, but not enough to prevent the wind being thoroughly knocked out of him on impact, and not enough to keep him from winding up flat on his stomach on the ground. He is partially obscured behind a bush and after a moment, he drags himself forward to look beyond it. Magneto will find a sudden and powerful pressure exerted on both arms, dragging them backwards, attempting to pin them behind his back, as if the omega mutant were trying desperately to scratch between his shoulder blades with both hands. Of course, given Magneto's firm hold on the ground, this may to prove to be completely ineffective.
Magneto's chin jerks sharply upward - jaw clenching and eyes blazing as his arms are yanked behind his own back despite the fact that his boots do remain firmly rooted. Unfortunately, this predicament is a temporary one. His own magnetic field flexing - polarizing - shifting...by apparent force of will, his tensed, curled hands return slowly to his sides. Around the same time, Derek will find himself swacked in the back of his head by his own metal-imbedded bush if he isn't careful.
Well, it worked for a moment. Derek abandons the effort as he manages to get as far as hands and knees before he finds himself bludgeoned by a shrubbery. He has just enough warning to push himself off his hands and into a kneeling position and throw his arms up to protect his head from worst of the bush's impact. After a moment's thrash, he achieves a degree of detente with the bush by dint of getting a hand in amidst the woody core, giving him a stiff-armed edge against it actually beating him. Then his flashing eyes are back on Magneto. This time, when the dirt explodes, it is from right at Magneto's feet and goes straight up into his face.
Magneto throws an arm up over his face reflexively at the explosion at his feet - a swifter blur of movement within the mess carrying gleaming briefly in and out of view - the sound of boots over rock briefly audible. And when the dust and dirt clears? Magneto appears to have vanished, his defensive cloud of metal having gone with him. All that remains is the edge of the cliff, and the violent spray of an occasional wave flinging itself up over it.
Derek looks left, right and up to be sure that Magneto didn't just fly directly away. Erik's absence does give Derek the chance to get to his feet (a little shakily on that bleeding leg) and get better possession of himself. A brief vision flashes through his mind of the leader of the Brotherhood lying broken and bleeding on the rocks down below the cliff's edge, but Derek dismisses the possibility. There was no scream, and Erik can fly. Instead, he grabs hold of two scrubby trees and, with a combination of main force and telekinesis, rips them out of the ground. Hauling them near the edge, he takes a moment to heave a breath, then heaves both trees over the edge. Then he looks over the cliff, to try and spot the fearless leader as he takes hold of the two small saplings with his mind and sends them swinging through the space just out of sight from the cliff face.
Magneto is a good fifteen feet down, back pressed back against the black of the rock wall. He's soaking wet, silver hair plastered back out of his eyes - but at this point, his attention is focused elsewhere - cool blue glare focused intently up at the barrier between sky and cliff edge. And the instant Derek's head pokes out and over, a speedboat engine rockets straight up for it - rusted, barnicle encrusted...God only knows how long it's been rotting beneath the surface.
Two small trees are not enough to prevent the rush of a huge, heavy engine propelled like an extra heavy bullet up at Derek. He spares enough thought to toss one of the trees in Magneto's actual direction, then abandons it to gravity. The other tree, he drives directly into the engine, only to see it smashed to pieces as he flings up his arms and withdraws his head. The fact that he doesn't have his head removed is about as much of a victory as he can claim as he is lifted into the air by the impact and thrown back a good ten feet from the cliff's edge. His left arm breaks under the initial impact, along with a couple ribs, and the force of his landing on the ground nearly robs him of consciousness. He pulls the arm in to his chest, cradling it. "Shit," he pants out. Then he raises his voice to be heard above the waves, even close crashing as they are to Magneto. "You win, sir! I yield!" Then he goes back to groaning.
Magneto does a very good impression of the wall itself - that first tree plummeting far, far too close for comfort. Taking a moment to catch his (shallow) breath, and to allow the next wave to rinse away the worst of the bark and dirt (a magnetic cushion keeping him from being crushed back against the sharp rocks in the process) Erik reappears soon enough - one boot setting itself down gently...then the other. Soaked to the bone in cold sea water, rattled, and sore, Erik stands rigid and tall nonetheless. The pull at his chest is a little too much to allow for a smile, but his approval is evident in his glare, if nowhere else, as he paces to a slow, dripping halt at Derek's side. "And to think...a pair of petty weights were all you could handle initially." Pausing to allow for another careful breath, he suppresses a shiver and arches a brow. "Can you make it to the infirmary, or shall I bring the infirmary to you?"
Derek grimaces and forces himself to look up at Magneto from basically at his leader's feet. "Can manage it," he replies, though his breathing is clearly shallow. "Legs work fine. Though...could you poss...ibly do me a favor...and bring my gun back...when you get a chance?" he asks. His eyes close for a moment as he focuses and he rises from the ground, cushioned on his own telekinesis. Once he gets most of the way up, he puts himself back onto his feet and lets his eyes open. Concentrating with broken ribs is hard, but it hurts a lot less than trying to stand up.
Magneto nods slowly - a single sniff to clear his sinuses proceeding a turn as he squints out over the rather torn-up landscape for the rifle in question. "Go ahead. I'll have it taken to the infirmary."
"Thank you, sir," Derek replies as he turns to go, moving slowly to keep himself from falling again.
Confirms that I can't kick his ass without resorting to drastic measures and preparations, but that was hardly a surprise.
<> The Cliffs
The cliffs leading up to the main headquarters of the Brotherhood are far too steep, jagged, and slick with seafoam and salt for a normal human to climb. At least, not without some serious rock-climbing equipment and a lot of durability. Winds off the ocean buffet the rocks here even on a calm day, and the waves crash white on the rocks below.
The trouble with building a dock out of solid steel is that slabs of the stuff are exceedingly inconvenient to get from one point to another when you wish to extend or alter the aformentioned structure. For this reason, Erik himself has been forced into the task of hauling a massive slab and part of the support structure across the courtyard towards the cliffs. 'Hauling' of course, being less of a physical action and more of a...drift placidly along in the Master of Magnetism's wake...action. Dressed typically in a militaryesque black garb and boots, Erik himself is already looking a little wind-touseled - blue eyes squinted against the breeze. Bloody changing of the seasons.
Derek comes down the path from the shooting range, his shotgun (unloaded) slung casually over his shoulder. He is likewise dressed in his own characteristic style, his leather trenchcoat open to billow around his ankle just a bit, hinting at a cape's flair without admitting to the ostentation. He slows as he sees Magneto serving as the island's version of heavy machinery. "Afternoon," he greets Magneto, sounding a shade more surly than usual, but hardly outright disrespectful.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson." Erik replies in much the same tone, progress coming to a temporary standstill as he turns to take in the telekine through narrowed eyes. Over Derek's shoulder, the shotgun safety...checks itself, flicking out and then back into place - the weapon itself found to be empty. "You really should carry that with the muzzle down, loaded or not. All things fired upwards must eventually come down, you know. Safety first."
Derek glances around at the shotgun as the weapon goes through some unanticipated convulsions up next to his ear. They don't add up to much, since he is careful enough not to blow his own head off, but his eyebrows drift together briefly. He swings the muzzle down, though it is rather pointing in the vicinity of Magneto's feet as Derek tucks it up under his arm. "Naturally, sir." He pauses for a moment. "I would ask if you needed help, but that seems more than a little silly under the circumstances."
"Mmm." Approximately the size and shape of a small, hard-edged mattress, the solid block of metal behind Erik continues to hover blankly three feet above the ground - a spectacle that may or may not distract from the fact that he's sizing Derek up, and putting very little effort into hiding it.
The shotgun slowly settles further down, away from Magneto's feet. One of his eyebrows lifts into an expressive arch as he considers the way Magneto is sizing him up. "Fixing the docks?" he inquires, even as his head tilts slightly up and down as Derek likewise sizes up Magneto from behind his sunglasses. Then he glances around the scenery for both metal and loose objects.
"In a manner of speaking." The instant he perceives Derek's attention to have shifted elsewhere in the immediate vicinity, Erik takes a step back. Spent bullet casings, bits of rusted metal from projects past and failed...none of it actually shifts against the rocky terrain just yet. It's the rifle, really, that Derek should be concerned with, as it's lowered muzzle swings to strike upward at the face of its weilder.
Derek's head jerks back and to the side, his power diverting the blow from hitting him in the face to rolling over his shoulder. He pushes the weapon away with his opposite hand, attempting to get a little distance, as Magneto will suddenly feel a hard (and very distracting) yank on his boots, pulling them back behind the Brotherhood leader.
Face, meet ground. Or, at least, very nearly - a hoarse chuckle breaking off into a muted wince as Erik moves to pick himself back up after having his feet quite literally dragged out from beneath him. Righted once more, head rolled and neck popped, he already seems much more firmly grounded than he was before. Much more balanced. The overall effect, although subtle, implies heavily that he's not just simply /standing/ there any longer. "Learn something new?"
Derek has abandoned the shotgun thoroughly, as a metal weapon against Magneto cannot help but be a liability. "Learn new things all the time. You're an excellent teacher." There's a hint of arch in his tone, but also an unavoidable sincerity. "Though they say a good student should be able to keep a teacher on his toes." He removes his sunglasses and tucks them into a pocket inside his trenchcoat as he moves, slowly, away from the larger concentrations of incidental metal around his feet.
Magneto acknowledges the truth to Derek's words with a hazy smile - the likes of which fades into a steadying breath as his focus shifts from one large object to controlling a number of much smaller ones. That which isn't rusted beyond immediate recognition glistens dully in whatever light penetrates the cloud cover overhead, various pieces ranging from an inch in length to nearly a foot. Shattered pieces of boats, abandoned tools...many broken and jagged-edged...it all gets pulled into a sizeable, scattered cloud that hangs in the air around Erik like some sort of nightmare junkyard mobile to give the impression that this arrangement can't possibly be entirely coincidental. And all the while, Magneto keeps a careful eye on Derek, leonine head turning slowly to follow the larger man's progress. "Is that what they say?"
"One of many things," Derek replies, eyes narrowing on the swirling mass of tetanus carrying pointy edges around Magneto. He glances down at the ground and suddenly a considerable amount of loose stones fly off the ground in a whirling mass of their own. The amount is considerably less than Magneto is commanding, and Derek does not try to make them swirl around his own person. "But I think old adages should be tested." And the couple of dozen small stones, none larger than five pounds, launch themselves at Magneto, aimed at his torso and legs.
The most immediate effect is noise - quite a lot of it, as many of the rocks are deflected or engulfed and forced down to the ground. Still others simply stop, apparently out of their own volition, upon entering the field Erik has going around himself - chunks of the same ferrous substance that the caves have been carved out of over time. Of course, it only takes one, and in this case, there are two that manage to force their way through. The first is dodged - the second catches him square in the chest. Shoulder jerking back, breath catching painfully, it's with a marked decrease in mercy that Erik parts with a fair portion of his defensive cloud, so that it may graduate to offensive cloud status in the process of tearing nastily after Derek. The rest remains.
"Shit." Derek really knew this was inevitable, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs help. A bush dislodges from the ground and gets thoroughly shredded by the cloud, though several pieces embed themselves in the woodier parts and carry the bush onwards. That, at least, will blunt some of shards. As it flies toward him, Derek waits, then at the last minute, drags his bush to the outer edge of the cloud with his telekinesis. At the same time, he dives to the side, electing to get nailed in the legs by the bush, rather than the hail of shrapnel. There is no earthly way he can avoid everything, however. The bush sends him into a spinning, awkward roll, while several pieces of metal leave light grazes along Derek's legs. One, however, lodges squarely in Derek's left thigh. Hopefully it wasn't too rusty. As Derek hits the ground, his eyes narrow down at Magneto and a large patch of the dirt between them erupts into a concealing cloud, even as Derek hisses curses between clenched teeth.
Magneto's glare hardens upon the osbscuring cloud even as his left hand lifts to press its heel into his sternum - testing the damage done there. As nothing seems to be broken or punctured, even if breathing has become somewhat difficult, Erik proceeds with a silence and stillness that might be rather worrisome, if Derek takes the time to think about it. Even if he does, he won't have more than a few seconds before that massive hunk of dock-bound steel explodes through the dirt to crash to the ground with enough force to make it shake a spare foot or two from the place in which Derek has come to rest. And what's worse - it's still moving, bulldozing along on its own momentum.
Derek didn't need long to haul his way to his feet, though his hand was wrapped around the piece of metal actually sticking in his leg, preparing to pull it out. This time, the expletive is thought rather than spoken as the giant block comes through at him. He pulls the shard out and discards it with considerably less care than he would have prefered to use, then uses his good leg to push off into the air. Riding high on telekinetic power, he soars above the metal block and above the slowly settling cloud of dust so he can look down at Magneto. Abruptly, the front of the Erik's shirt gets jerked up over his face, the top button popped off by the pressure of its sudden motion. The grip Derek manages on the shirt, however, is not strong, given the necessity of his concentration on his own flight. Erik's physical strength can probably overpower Derek's psychic grip, but it might be hard to sort out.
Magneto staggers back a step - the thinned cloud of shrapnel still glittering in the air around him faltering an inch or two until he can jerk the black of his dress shirt roughly back down into place and glare sharply up at the shadow of Derek above him. With eye contact comes a sudden enescable weight as gravity seems to take an extraordinairy hold upon every molecule of metal in and immediately on Derek's person. The drag isn't particularly slow or subtle - Magneto having every intention of slamming the younger mutant hard into the ground at the guidance of his raised right hand.
It is a good thing Derek is not flying any higher than he is. He is not up to resisting the full power of Magneto and so down he goes. His own power softens his impact, but not enough to prevent the wind being thoroughly knocked out of him on impact, and not enough to keep him from winding up flat on his stomach on the ground. He is partially obscured behind a bush and after a moment, he drags himself forward to look beyond it. Magneto will find a sudden and powerful pressure exerted on both arms, dragging them backwards, attempting to pin them behind his back, as if the omega mutant were trying desperately to scratch between his shoulder blades with both hands. Of course, given Magneto's firm hold on the ground, this may to prove to be completely ineffective.
Magneto's chin jerks sharply upward - jaw clenching and eyes blazing as his arms are yanked behind his own back despite the fact that his boots do remain firmly rooted. Unfortunately, this predicament is a temporary one. His own magnetic field flexing - polarizing - shifting...by apparent force of will, his tensed, curled hands return slowly to his sides. Around the same time, Derek will find himself swacked in the back of his head by his own metal-imbedded bush if he isn't careful.
Well, it worked for a moment. Derek abandons the effort as he manages to get as far as hands and knees before he finds himself bludgeoned by a shrubbery. He has just enough warning to push himself off his hands and into a kneeling position and throw his arms up to protect his head from worst of the bush's impact. After a moment's thrash, he achieves a degree of detente with the bush by dint of getting a hand in amidst the woody core, giving him a stiff-armed edge against it actually beating him. Then his flashing eyes are back on Magneto. This time, when the dirt explodes, it is from right at Magneto's feet and goes straight up into his face.
Magneto throws an arm up over his face reflexively at the explosion at his feet - a swifter blur of movement within the mess carrying gleaming briefly in and out of view - the sound of boots over rock briefly audible. And when the dust and dirt clears? Magneto appears to have vanished, his defensive cloud of metal having gone with him. All that remains is the edge of the cliff, and the violent spray of an occasional wave flinging itself up over it.
Derek looks left, right and up to be sure that Magneto didn't just fly directly away. Erik's absence does give Derek the chance to get to his feet (a little shakily on that bleeding leg) and get better possession of himself. A brief vision flashes through his mind of the leader of the Brotherhood lying broken and bleeding on the rocks down below the cliff's edge, but Derek dismisses the possibility. There was no scream, and Erik can fly. Instead, he grabs hold of two scrubby trees and, with a combination of main force and telekinesis, rips them out of the ground. Hauling them near the edge, he takes a moment to heave a breath, then heaves both trees over the edge. Then he looks over the cliff, to try and spot the fearless leader as he takes hold of the two small saplings with his mind and sends them swinging through the space just out of sight from the cliff face.
Magneto is a good fifteen feet down, back pressed back against the black of the rock wall. He's soaking wet, silver hair plastered back out of his eyes - but at this point, his attention is focused elsewhere - cool blue glare focused intently up at the barrier between sky and cliff edge. And the instant Derek's head pokes out and over, a speedboat engine rockets straight up for it - rusted, barnicle encrusted...God only knows how long it's been rotting beneath the surface.
Two small trees are not enough to prevent the rush of a huge, heavy engine propelled like an extra heavy bullet up at Derek. He spares enough thought to toss one of the trees in Magneto's actual direction, then abandons it to gravity. The other tree, he drives directly into the engine, only to see it smashed to pieces as he flings up his arms and withdraws his head. The fact that he doesn't have his head removed is about as much of a victory as he can claim as he is lifted into the air by the impact and thrown back a good ten feet from the cliff's edge. His left arm breaks under the initial impact, along with a couple ribs, and the force of his landing on the ground nearly robs him of consciousness. He pulls the arm in to his chest, cradling it. "Shit," he pants out. Then he raises his voice to be heard above the waves, even close crashing as they are to Magneto. "You win, sir! I yield!" Then he goes back to groaning.
Magneto does a very good impression of the wall itself - that first tree plummeting far, far too close for comfort. Taking a moment to catch his (shallow) breath, and to allow the next wave to rinse away the worst of the bark and dirt (a magnetic cushion keeping him from being crushed back against the sharp rocks in the process) Erik reappears soon enough - one boot setting itself down gently...then the other. Soaked to the bone in cold sea water, rattled, and sore, Erik stands rigid and tall nonetheless. The pull at his chest is a little too much to allow for a smile, but his approval is evident in his glare, if nowhere else, as he paces to a slow, dripping halt at Derek's side. "And to think...a pair of petty weights were all you could handle initially." Pausing to allow for another careful breath, he suppresses a shiver and arches a brow. "Can you make it to the infirmary, or shall I bring the infirmary to you?"
Derek grimaces and forces himself to look up at Magneto from basically at his leader's feet. "Can manage it," he replies, though his breathing is clearly shallow. "Legs work fine. Though...could you poss...ibly do me a favor...and bring my gun back...when you get a chance?" he asks. His eyes close for a moment as he focuses and he rises from the ground, cushioned on his own telekinesis. Once he gets most of the way up, he puts himself back onto his feet and lets his eyes open. Concentrating with broken ribs is hard, but it hurts a lot less than trying to stand up.
Magneto nods slowly - a single sniff to clear his sinuses proceeding a turn as he squints out over the rather torn-up landscape for the rifle in question. "Go ahead. I'll have it taken to the infirmary."
"Thank you, sir," Derek replies as he turns to go, moving slowly to keep himself from falling again.