ORIGIN - the trampled garden

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What could Master Vargas do to help? To make the pain dull, to give her a minute's rest to recover from this emotionally taxing day. If there was an answer, she didn't know it. She only felt that if she stopped, she might not never start again, and that terrified her.

"I... I don't know," she admitted quietly, claws digging into the soil to try and keep herself standing upright. There was only one thing she truly, desperately, wanted: and that was an impossiblity.

Zoey wanted her mom, obviously.

That person didn't exist. No two ways about it: there was the Orthoclase, a piece of her heart, but they were not a mother. They could not be.

So what then? The thought came, prompting her. What's the next best thing?

Zoey stared down at the trampled plant that she had tucked into a new hole. Would it recover from its damage...? It would surely try, as all things did. The struggle to continue to survive in a world of adversity.

"... can you," her voice, quiet and crackling with uncertainty, "check on Overseer Orthoclase-Alpha?" Their long, dull title rolled mechanically off of her tongue, and her mandible clicked shut at the end of the question. A deep inhale through nostrils, and a prying open of jaws to get the words out of her head. "... I don't want them to get hurt again..." There was no request to bring them back, no hope that she would even see them again.

She just wanted to make sure they were safe. That they would be okay. If... Master Vargas could tell her that they were alright, that would be enough.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas glanced back, offering a stern but solemn single nod. "I will," he assured her, with a rumble of promise in his voice. Authority lay there. A pledge that, one way or another, it would be sorted out. That Vargas would handle it.

There was no handling it, of course: he could check on Alpha daily but fixing it was another matter entirely.

His mind drifted over that thought, touched on it, swept back to Zoisite. He glanced back to her again, and exhaled. "I asked it to speak with you," he said, though he was fairly sure he'd told her that already. That he'd said, even, that he would send it to her. "I hope it was not a matter of its... not being ready. We will see," he went on, "but I did not mean for there to be conflict. I suppose it was inevitable. Orthoclase-Alpha is very difficult for me to gauge. I admit I cannot understand its mind."

He paused, hesitated. He shouldn't be opening up like this to the Zoisite, really--not only did she have her own worries but he was a Master, she was no Overseer, this was a breach (of sorts) of protocol. But hell, he was a Master: he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

So he did.

"I mean that I did not intend for there to be... trouble, here. I was hoping it would be a pleasant visit. But Orthoclase-Alpha never speaks its mind. And I cannot read minds." It occurred to him, then, to find someone who could. To send them out to eavesdrop.

Yes, it would be an invasion of privacy but in all honesty, the good that might be done far outweighed his concerns on that front.

He shook his head, for now; that was a consideration for another time. "I will stay here until you have rested," he added, firm. However long that ends up taking. "I myself do not require sleep."

He hadn't offered an outright apology... not really. He'd meant to. He'd intended it as such but had it come out that way? He didn't know. It didn't occur to him to wonder.

For now, he would simply... place another plant into a hole, and hope that he was doing it right. It was, in fact, upside-down, and he paused, studying it: but he couldn't quite figure out which parts were roots and which were branches, on this bush, and so he stood there for a long moment, perplexed.

@V-Zoisite-One

Master Vargas's promise lifted some of the heavy bleakness from Zoey's heart and mind, though it was like dropping a light bulb into a vast, stormy ocean. The light brought a speck of focus in an otherwise infinite black, but only so long as Zoey did not lose sight of it.

That was going to prove difficult, in the long run.

She nodded idly, acknowledging that Master Vargas had sent Alpha to talk to her. Despite being half-aware of the truth, she had still held out hope that they had come to talk to her of their own volition. It stung. She let the shutter wriggle through her quills, shifting her weight under the hard plates of carapace.

It occured to her as Master Vargas continued after a brief pause, to-- admit that he had made a bad assumption-- that he was opening up to her again. Showing a chink in the armor, one that... maybe if she was less exhausted, she could have peered deeper into. Just then, it simply felt like looking into a reflection: they were both defeated, and quietly disappointed. It was not quite an apology, but the note was felt all the same. It was another drop of sadness that seeped through her bones.

Vargas hadn't wanted this to happen. (Not even Alpha wanted this, did they?)

There was the nauseating frustration, suffocating and yet intoxicating, wanting to pull her under. Zoey's eyes closed tight, breathing mechanically in through barely parted mandibles, out through nostrils.

She wanted to find a solution. Wanted to fix it. To be the one to fix it.

It's okay. Another breath. It-- it will be okay.

The sudden firmness (wait, no, it wasn't really sudden... she only noticed it now, that was all,) in Master Vargas's tone demanded her attention once more. No longer was it a suggestion that she should rest, instead pushing her out. Not in a cruel way, but a pragmatic way. If she was supposed to feel relief, then that was unfortunate, because all she felt was a growing sense of terror. The kind that made her want to scurry away and hide from her own self.

Alright. A brief flicker of permission granted to their self, and Zoey-- the vulnerable, shuttering heart-- withdrew, retreating back into the void. That was... Fine. The carapace remained: the Zoisite still stood there, pincers on both ends opening and shuttering closed with quiet clicks.

Rest. It did not need to think. All it needed to do was go lay down somewhere and let sleep consume it. It could manage that. (Somehow. The thoughts still swirled, a riptide, difficult to even stand in.) Before it went to move, it realized it had stood in timid silence for quite a period of time, though surely Master Vargas would understand that they were quite upset.

It stared at Master Vargas, doing a terrible job of gardening. There would be a lot of work to undo, but for right now... it was grateful that its Master was putting in that much effort.

He would definitely keep them safe.

"I might find it hard to rest," it spoke finally, "but... I appreciate it." At long last, it raised its talons from the dirt, and started to walk down the rows toward the edge of the garden.

It paused before it got halfway, however. "... Would it be alright," it raised its voice in a bid to catch Master Vargas's attention over his messy work, "if I slept nearby?" Near the garden. Near Vargas.

Going back to Draco seemed like a herculean task, and for all that effort would only serve to make rest more difficult. Besides, the Zoisite felt their exhaustion thoroughly now, each step a bit more heavy than the last. It probably could just collapse in the garden bed and pass out right then and there.

... Still, it waited. Expectant for the Master's reply, in case Master Vargas wanted it to return to Draco.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Zoisite, quiet, informed him that it might not be able to rest right away.

Vargas shook his head. "Whenever it might be. I do not plan to rush you." But half his attention was on this plant: one he was pulling back out, puzzling over, trying to figure out which way was up.

At their next question, he glanced back with faint amusement. "Here-? Yes, that is what I meant--I was not about to ask you to journey back to Draco for a nap!" There was humor in his words.

He'd meant, 'rest awhile.' He'd meant, 'things may feel better after a nap.' And he'd meant, 'I will watch over you.'

Of course, his words implied nearly nothing of any of that.

"While you do, I will keep working, although... I don't think I am much good at this." He held the upside-down bush out before him, and pondered.

@V-Zoisite-One

The humor that lilted the Leviathan's words did not go unnoticed. How jovial and light-hearted Master Vargas could be, as though he simply couldn't see the storm on the horizon. No... That wasn't it. He was prepared to weather it, and offering a shelter for them when it came.

It was the subtle things that brought a calm through the seasick plagued carapace. The Zoisite nodded, the levity giving it the strength to continue its slow march to the edge of the garden.

"I would agree," the Zoisite said. If there was humor to be found in its own tone, its words were too weighed down by weariness to show it. Nevertheless, it offered its genuine gratitude again, "but... Thank you, regardless."

Finally, the rows of vegetables and plant matter was behind the Zoisite, and with a great heave, the carapace slumped into the dirt. It rolled on to its side, exposing a blanket of rough crimson hair and quills that glistened in the warm light of the farm. It closed its eyes and let loose a deep, heavy sigh. The kind that came with setting down an immense weight.

As expected, rest did not come easy to the Zoisite, even though as soon as it hit the dirt, it had no remaining energy or will to move. Beneath closed eyes, their thoughts continued to churn, nebulous and unfocused. They flitted between why's and what-if's, reaching up out of the ocean to try and tear it to pieces. The Zoisite did its best to ignore them, focusing on its own breathing: in and out, out and in. Rest was what was important, now.

Minutes passed. Its position was... Uncomfortable, somehow. But it didn't feel like moving, only stretching out its middle limbs with a quiet grunt to push away the dirt that seemed to push up against its side. Then it was still again. More minutes passed.

Perhaps an hour of idly listening to Master Vargas move plants, focusing on breathing, and stuffing down the thoughts that tried to crawl over it like hundreds of ants, and finally the signs that it had fallen asleep started to show. Limbs and quills relaxed, the ribcage slowed with a steady, shallow breathing, and its mandibles slacked.

Thankfully, this nap did not dissolve into nightmare or even too-hopeful dream; only blackness swallowed the Zoisite's consciousness. When it awoke after a short rest, it was with a jolt, surprised that it had managed to fall asleep in the first place. Blearily, six golden eyes blinked, the garden slowly coming into focus.

"... Master Vargas...?" Its mandibles clacked, stifling a yawn. It felt even more tired than before, but equally as though its mind had been wiped clean, the storm having swept past them and now only the gentle breeze refreshed their lungs. What did he do to the garden? The disparaging thought sprung up out of the blue, and somehow they found humor in the situation. Well, it'll keep me busy.

The Zoisite inched its way to its feet again, stretching with a pop! along its carapace, joints and armor settling into place. It shook the dirt from its body, and swung its head once more toward Master Vargas, taking a few steps back into the garden.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas took the Zoisite's comments as humor, though some part at the back of his mind warned him that perhaps it was simply being matter-of-fact. That part came too late to stop the guffaw of short, genuine laughter that escaped him, but he offered it a tip of his head and a rumble of assent as it thanked him.

Then, he went back to work.

"Work" was a questionable word, in context; the Zoisite, humor or not, wasn't wrong. Neither was he, for that matter. He tried; he really didn't want to make more work for his grandspawn. He really did try.

But two of the bushes wound up planted upside-down. A sapling stood tilted at an angle, Vargas unable to stabilize it in the dirt. A row of vines--melons, he thought, but he couldn't be sure--had been planted down the wrong row, interspersed with what in retrospect was probably some sort of root vegetable.

Or grass.

Vargas wasn't good at plants.

The only thing he'd truly managed to accomplish was to grind soil into his pebbled hide up to the elbows: proof of his efforts, at the very least, if not of his results.

That said, it wasn't all a travesty: even Vargas would have a hard time messing up "put the dirt back in those gouged holes" or "move that torn-up rock out of the garden."

The end result, though? It definitely would keep the poor Zoisite busy. And Vargas, unfortunately, seemed entirely unaware; he ambled to Zoisite with the cheerful weariness of someone who thought they'd just finished a job well done.

"Zoisite. I trust you've rested well-?" he asked, hoping that the sleep had dulled the sharp pain of Orthoclase-Alpha's encounter from its mind, as sleep could sometimes do. But he didn't say as much. Instead he glanced around again. "I have done what I can. I replanted these," he went on, gesturing to the vines, two of which were planted (somehow) sideways. "But I am unsure, ahh." He paused, finding the right words. "...what they are. I really should ask you to teach me," he added, but he'd leave it to Zoisite to find the 'when' for that. If they offered now, he'd accept, but he didn't want to impose on them just after they'd awoken. He had, despite his many years as a monster, a little social sense.

"How are you feeling?" he ventured, at last, half-worried at what he might receive in answer. And a little annoyed at himself for being so.

@V-Zoisite-One

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