ORIGIN

Vargas's head had already swivelled, predator's senses honing in at once on the distant call with clear perfection. Eyes locked toward it, hearing sharp.

He was striding toward the Aperture when the thunderclap closely followed, a shuddering roar that vibrated the rock underfoot and had him briefly flinching as his reflexes warned of sudden attack. Attack it was not; only emphasis, punctuation for the call, and with an internal frown (of concern, rather than disapproval) he straightened and quickened his pace.

Ahh--he knew this one. Recognized her, as he came in sight, his towering form sweeping toward her. He could see, too, the Sentinel already close by: lingering, lurking as was his wont, halberd high and eyes on their visitor from the shadows. He was not hiding. Maw would have seen him, most likely. But it was good to know that, were this an attack, it would not have gone without retaliation.

But--it was not. Still, the almost frantic nature of her voice (or was it hostility-?)... no, the urgency of it, combined with the storm roar, had Vargas stalk straight for her, responding even before he'd come to a halt. "Yes? What is it?"

An attack? he wondered. Another incursion of Order-? Or something other? Chartreuse eyes searched her, looking for any sign.

Vargas stared down, and at the sound of that name from these tiny lips, felt as though the thunderclap had not come alone. Felt, indeed, as if the cold winds of a storm swept in from behind Maw, buffeting him powerfully.

It was surprise, to hear that name spoken. Concern--for indeed, the secrets tied so closely to her were legion. And, potentially, deadly. But he turned his mind from this, and next came the confusion.

Why did I make her here..?

He thought, at first, that Maw must have missed a word. Perhaps she'd meant to ask, 'why did you make her come here,' but even that, Vargas could parse little sense of.

Hume was not within these caves. Not to his knowledge, anyway.

He stifled an irritated sigh, glaring down with glowing eyes. "What," he asked bluntly, "are you talking about?"

Thus far, no one else had turned up. No need, then, for secrecy--nor did merely the name truly demand it. But his bafflement at what Maw could possibly mean definitely kept him guarded.

Vargas stared, for a moment, his bafflement only rising. "Where did you hear of this?" he asked, but it was more puzzled than demanding. He wanted a response, of course. But it was hardly a secret, and he pushed on, nonetheless. "Our Lord Dhracia--Valkhand of these caves--requests special creatures, frome time to time. I do not know how you learned of this 'Hume'--you will tell me-" (matter-of-fact, authoritarian, yet tit-for tat; it was only fair) "but the creature she wished designed was not... that."

Truly, he had no idea what any connection could be, aside from one specific, vague link. But he knew what he had created, and it was most certainly not a god. In fact, though he could not peel back his rigid lips, his jaws parted in a way that suggested a grin; and humor laced his words. "Though it is kind of you to assume I am powerful enough to create a god."

Moving on, he explained: "Perhaps there is some confusion. Why do you wish to know-? I think I might know what it is. But tell me, first: how did you come to know this name? And this--connection?" ...Tenuous as it was.

It was, at best, the vaguest metaphor. But he could explain that after he had Maw's answer.

Ahh.

This was-... well, it was still uncertain territory. He did not know who had told Maw these things. If it might be, even, some form of test, and he also did not know from whom, be it Hume or a Valkhand or someone else entirely. Vargas had begun, since Maw had started speaking, to shift from confident and overbearing Leviathan to "walking on eggshells"-... well, it didn't do to think too hard about the what, nor why.

He took a moment, eyes tracking the finger drawing a circle--no. Circles. Coils-?--in the air. His eyes, when she finished speaking, cut to her; and there was a danger in them, if she could read it. He was on eggshells.

So was she. Thin ice, as it were. Realistically: he should kill her now. Her life was of no importance. But this was, too, not her fault; and there was doubt, too. If Hume has reached out to her-...

A slow exhale, his rank breath soft in the air. Then he spoke, low and thrumming, his words full of a power he rarely bothered with using. "Be still, and listen." His voice was so soft that it would have been easy to misconstrue it as gentle. But it was not gentle. It was warning. A warning that Maw stood on the precipice, that her next step could plummet her into the abyss. And the words, too, were imbued with that command: a power that tugged at her gemstone, that took control, that forced obedience--at least for the moment.

"The child was not Hume." A fact, still uttered softly, his words measured. He did not want anyone overhearing. "Perhaps the link is that she was human. A species rarely seen, here. Lord Dhracia wanted a Valkhound in human form, to infiltrate. The purpose of this nest is to create and nurture the monsters of our Creator's army; she often makes specific requests for certain tasks." That out of the way, he leaned in.

One overly long arm extended, and he attempted to keep that paralysis locking Maw in place. He had to be clear, because he was trying--trying--to spare Maw's life. To save it. He tipped his hand palm-up, and tried to press one claw lightly to the underside of her jaw. His voice dropped lower, empty of inflection but rumbling deep. "I strongly suggest," he growled, "that if you want to stay alive, you never mention these... cycles... to anyone else, ever again. That is all I will say of those."

His heart thudded, pumping that toxic blood throughout his body, and he felt the danger pressing in all around them. She had no way of knowing--and he could not tell her--how much that knowledge could threaten them all. He was unsure, of course. Perhaps nothing would have come of it. But it was a risk that, in his mind, was a horrific one.

And Maw's life, at the very least, was likely to be forfeit.

Vargas withdrew the claw. He withdrew, too, the command, sliding his magic back into himself. No real harm done, but he hoped that his emphasis had been strong enough. Whether she took it as warning or threat did not matter... so long as she understood.

Stiff, towering, he went on. "Of the other topics... you are free to ask any other questions you may have."