ORIGIN

It had stopped.

Impatience rose like a bitter tide, and Vargas struggled to tamp it down. He was used to having his way. To pushing forward and obtaining what he wanted with brutal force. That... would not work, here. Maybe nothing would, but that would only lurch them both backwards along any progress they had made and--was there progress? He studied Orthoclase-Alpha. It is speaking, at least, he reasoned wearily.

Well. Time to begin again, then; as every round of conversation seemed to go. A sentence or ten from him, and then backtracking, confusion, half-incoherent misery from Alpha. Better than silence. He took a breath and buckled to the task, beginning by correcting what he assumed was a misunderstanding on Alpha's part. "The fact that you phrase it so makes me think that you imagined that I wanted you to leave and not return. Which is not what I told you; and I do not make a habit of beating around a point, Orthoclase-Alpha. I told you to go and relax and find what you enjoy." He wasn't aware that Alpha had basically never heard his words. That the frantic buzzing in its mind had replaced his phrasing with its own anxieties. "I want that clear, at least, so you do not somehow think I was simply trying to get rid of you."

Not like with 'Maximus.' That one, he could've killed, after all the chances he gave it--and really, what was the difference here? The answer, though, came as soon as he asked it, strong and certain. Selfishness. Orthoclase-Alpha didn't view the world as revolving around itself, not on purpose. It misunderstood him, but not with a deliberate self-pity intended to frame itself forever as victim, to wallow in its own tears. Alpha's suffering was self-inflicted, to an extent, yes--but it was honest. It didn't set out to feel miserable and persecuted. So why does it? he wondered. To that, though, he had no real answer.

"As for being unable to do any of that--then don't," he said bluntly. "I suggest them only as something else that might help you. But I don't know why you think they are not, 'meant for you?'" he asked, peering at it. "I've spoken to you before of strength and freedom. How we define our own paths! Why do you think some are closed to you?" Or--perhaps it meant it wouldn't enjoy it, after all..?

Ahh, this was-...

Difficult. Frustrating. Tragic.

Vargas briefly considered, after weighing all the stumbling, emotion-laden words his spawn had spoken, replying with the same measured logic he had been providing. But perhaps that would do more harm than good. Maybe it needed something else. But it is speaking, he told himself again, visibly hesitating as he second-guessed his own thoughts. If he changed tactics now, he might well ruin something.

Though, from the sounds of it, Orthoclase-Alpha was at the very end of its rope.

He exhaled softly. "And I do not have all the answers," he admitted, at last, more quietly. "But so far, you have not allowed me to try and help. You have isolated yourself. Do you not want that-? Want, at least, to try?" Puzzlement, here. It was baffling--for one so strongly tethered to survival at all costs--to conceive of another simply giving up so easily. It was something the Leviathan had real trouble understanding. He'd seen it, yes--the submission, the miserable surrender at last, the tilting-back of jaw and throat and final soft closing of eyes--in those he'd cornered, millennia past. But for that-... for that, he'd had to work.

Imagine if all I'd needed to do was leave the rebels to their own devices, and allow them all to self-destruct like this. He shook his head, and looked away--not away from Alpha, but toward Leo. "I will make you a promise, Orthoclase-Alpha. Let me try and help you. Let me take you to Leo, to test the waters there as I wish. And let me take you to others who might be able to find out-..." Why you are different--but that isn't right. "Why you feel different." That made far more sense.

"And if, in the end, we still cannot fix things-?" His vast head swung back toward Alpha, and he made a promise the very thought of fulfilling wrapped cold fingers through his chest. "Then I will do as you ask." Firm. No-nonsense.

Tragic.

He hesitated, again, the wind cascading through the long grass as he stood there, and added: "...But I would not like to."

Vargas studied Orthoclase-Alpha for the longest of moments, gathering himself.

He was trying to do two very opposite things at once: to wall himself off from all the weight of doubt and emotion (ugh) and to not simply abandon Orthoclase-Alpha from a sort-of-parental standpoint.

To somehow both remain aloof, yet bond with his child.

He didn't actually consider whether this was possible, as he wasn't really aware that he was doing it. He just knew that he could not let himself get overwhelmed; yet he had to remain attuned to this one's needs. He turned, at length, moving away--"Tell me to stop if you need a rest," he instructed.

Then he set a pace, one not too pressing yet not languid, either. It was purposeful, but slowed enough that a sickly creature who still did not fit its shell could keep up with him.

First, we rule out molting. Then-... Well. Then he'd need to find someone versed in mind-magic. His mind went to the stag Pride, but he hesitated to bring it outside the Forge. Or maybe that is best. Best, that the others do not know. A source of embarrassment, he reasoned--for Alpha, if not for the Forge itself. Maybe Zoisite, too, would have some input--though a failure on his part... It might destroy it, he thought grimly.

He did not want that.

We'll see how it goes. One damned thing at a time.