Chaos-Two didn't storm up to Vargas. Nor did he build himself up to what they would think was death's row. No. They were calm, eyes forward, the end of their spear hitting the ground with every other step.
They'd sought out Vargas and had prepared what they wanted to say long before this. It was days in the making, definitely. Word's they'd planned out by talking to birds in the trees or things they'd thought over in their dreams. This wasn't something they were winging.
They stood tall, their breathing even and their heart beating only slightly faster. Their grip was tight but they refused to show fear on their face. They weren't scared. They weren't scared.
Vargas had been busy. He was designing the next creation for Dhracia: the next monster for her to take away. She'd made no specific requests of him, seeming generally pleased with his work--or at least satisfied. While he approved of the general draconic nature of Chaos-Four, he'd decided he wanted something a little different, this time. Not wholly different, but something hard and bony and rough instead of soft; he would abandon stealth for power. Something armored, and ferocious; something-
The clicking of the spear was audible behind him, and he turned, setting down the hunk of gleaming Oilstone. For a moment, he assumed it was the Sentinel with its halberd, but it was Chaos-Two approaching him. 'Greetings, Master Vargas.'
It hadn't reported to him in the allotted time limit, but he would hear what it had to say before he decided what he would do with it. His eyes narrowed just a touch.
@V-Chaos-Two
Relief, then, that Vargas not only let him speak, but also didn't just straight up start yelling at them. So far so good.
Chaos-Two remembered the agony of damp nights, of laying curled up and struggling not to cry as the pain threatened to overwhelm them, their malformed bones and joints swollen and stiff, so painful they couldn't move. Sometimes it took days for it to pass before they were alright again.
They rubbed their face and gripped their staff tighter with their other hand, trying not to become emotional.
And Chaos-Two quieted for a moment, lowering his eyes,
They looked up again at Vargas, determined to make him understand.
They were faltering and they struggled to maintain the rhythm they'd kept, taking a moment to breathe and try to calm their racing heart.
Chaos-Two dipped their head in some semblance of a bow, hoping their words appealed to Vargas, that he would understand and maybe even acknowledge their fear. But that was just hope.
Chaos-Two spoke.
...And spoke.
...And spoke.
Vargas listened, and made his mental notes. For the most part, he was not touched by its words: he simply gauged its intent, its honesty, noted where it was right or wrong, remembered what to comment on once it was done. But there were sparks of faint pity and annoyance, here and there, as this remark or that touched on his sympathies or his sense of disgust.
None of those feelings were particularly strong.
Logically, its words were good; well thought-out, reasonable, unlike its tantrum the last time he'd truly seen it. But the fact it had waited this long to come to him tempered his respect greatly, so that rather than respectful in turn, he felt indifferent toward it.
When it was done, he began with a short and simple note:
Vargas studied Chaos-Two, and then began to speak; he sat quite still as he addressed them.
Fairness, survival of the fittest, toughness--all that was thrown out the window with a mewling spawn still wet from its stone egg. This had not often factored in, in Vargas's era--sometimes, but rarely. But it was not fair to judge, to kill, a new thing just tumbled from its rock; not fair to kill a half-formed creation that hadn't had the chance to prove itself.
This point made, (he hoped) clearly, Vargas studied Chaos-Two a moment longer. It wasn't clear at first why he was making such a solemn point on this. But it seemed to be his starting point, and after a moment, he moved to build on it.
Vargas studied Chaos-Two. This part was only important to it peripherally, but it was an important section of this conversation--a bridge between the previous, and the next.
Vargas studied Chaos-Two imperiously, indifferently.
@V-Chaos-Two
They felt numb. They'd so foolishly come to Vargas hoping for what, acceptance? Understanding? Vargas hadn't given them a chance because of anything worthwhile, but because of his own flawed sense of mercy.
They just wanted to feel a comforting hand on their head, to hear the words, 'I'm proud of you.' But they would never come.
"Your value to me was in that will. What do you think strength is-?"
They didn't know anymore. Chaos-Two had once thought that strength was Khavur when they'd been smaller than their sibling's hand. When they'd looked up at Khavur and saw them holding such a delicate little creature, a butterfly, and seen how they'd been so gentle, they'd seen that as strength. The strength to know when to stay your hand. Was that not what Vargas meant?
Their stare became sullen, hopeless, their gaze slowly moving downward until they were staring at the floor, their grip loosening. They weren't strong enough to earn Vargas's pride.
I will never earn your pride.'
Was Chaos-Two even seen as a person to Vargas? Did they deserve to be a person, to be worth of anything more than a number and a disappointed glance? Definitely not, not to Vargas.
But how could they succeed in another trial if they'd failed the first? They would only fail Vargas again and then they'd be punished properly. Perhaps violently, perhaps by isolation, or worked to the bone.
Their ears dropped and their quills fell flat, their silhouette slimming into a small, weak little shape. Smaller than Vargas, than Khavur, than most in the Forge. They were weak. Lesser.
Unlike before, when they'd approached Vargas, they barely spoke at all. They just thought and listened, their demeanor growing more and more drawn in, pulling away from Vargas despite their feet remaining firmly planted where they'd been put since they stepped in front of the Master.
Vargas was watching Chaos-Two closely as he spoke.
As he'd half-expected, it misunderstood his words completely; he could see that in the shrink of its quills and the aversion of its gaze. While he made no move to clarify his meaning, he did make a verbal note before answering Chaos-Two's request.
Or not to.
@V-Chaos-Two
Chaos-Two didn't want to argue but then again, they didn't want Vargas to misunderstand that they, well, didn't understand. Because they did, and like they said, it was their turmoil, their problem.
However, watching Vargas loom over them made them think that perhaps they ought to have added a few more nice words in with the mix.
Vargas interrupted--voice harsh--after Chaos-Two's first address.
If it was going to be outright argumentative with him, then he was done dealing with it. There were certain lines that would not be crossed--be he boss, parent, or Master--and it had tested his patience long enough.
@V-Chaos-Two
They were furious, raging, but they refused to let Vargas rile them up. No, they were not Vargas' equal but they would not let him bully them either.
Chaos-Two was calm, eerily calm, their anger simmering behind toxic eyes. But they would not cower, not this time. Perhaps a lesson learned too late and at the wrong moment, but whatever.
His patience was thinning.
He was being too soft on them. That much now was clear.
@V-Chaos-Two