Vargas thought this over only briefly before speaking.
Vargas was matter-of-fact but in the back of his mind, he could not help but be troubled. Part was the lingering, unfamiliar fear drifting through his subconscious from the brief link. Part was... he didn't know this one.
Onyx-Two had always been quiet and severe. Anxiety was completely unexpected. It reminded him, strongly and dismayingly, of Orthoclase-Alpha: fear from nowhere, enough to overwhelm, despite a complete external stoicism.
He turned his mind back to the present, and to the task at hand.
V-Onyx-Two nodded. In this, at least, he was certain. In a way he was glad the Merchant had taken as long as he had; he'd asked for permission to visit the library (improving his ability to read) and looked up words and names for almost a whole day in search of a new name.
It was, in some old language of another world, some form of leader. It flowed off the tongue well enough--AR-kon--and he'd turned it over in his mind for a couple of days. He had looked at quite a few names, but this one had kept coming back to him. It felt more like him than the others.
For some unexplicable reason, he feared that Vargas would not accept. That he would laugh, or otherwise deny him--though he had no reason to believe so.
Vargas nodded.
In his mind he was ticking off notes: Hound rank. Name: Archon. It wasn't a lot to remember, at least.
Relief washed through him, and satisfaction.
He stood a little straighter, wings flaring just a bit. A report: the Master wanted a report, and that, at least, was easy. Mindless narrative, a retelling of occurrences; no need for fear or uncertainty, here.
He paused, going over everything in his mind before continuing. It had been a couple cycles, after all--in fact, almost half a year.
Vargas listened, all thought of judging and gauging Onyx--
Centaurus had been malleable, molded cyclically, and the fact that it was awakening was meaningful. It meant that the caves were, like some great Chaos machine, slowly spinning up again: new gears turning as each cave awakened.
It meant that, soon enough, it might truly be a factory again.
He grunted and looked to Archon, granting him a curt nod.
It would be useful to have someone to keep tabs on the state of Centaurus. It might even be useful to arrange, in advance, any testing he'd have to do, or to put in requests as to its next state, though he did not know if the Merchant took such requests. Vargas had never been a Master in an age with an awakened Centaurus.
But by and large, it struck him as odd that he would request an emissary at all. In fact, he strongly suspected that the Merchant had, at least in part, made up an unnecessary job to fulfill Archon's request for a reward.
...And perhaps Archon knew that..?
He studied him, for a moment.
Let him actually accomplish something, and he'd know it. And maybe he'd get some grasp of what he was good at, or poor at, or what he was actually worth.
He flushed, his glowing red blood coming to the surface of his skin like dark fire.
He struggled to maintain that eye contact, but he couldn't, his gaze slid away, finding the floor off to one side of Vargas. That was a failure, of sorts, wasn't it-? That he'd left it to the Merchant. That he'd not come to Vargas first. He'd waited, and done nothing; it showed no initiative and no responsibility.
He'd sort of expected that, from the conversation so far.
How much of his questioning, of his hopeful ambition, had struck to the core of his would-be work? Vargas could already rather tell that he had no idea what Centaurus entailed, but... polite to ask, to be sure. Polite, and practical, so he didn't repeat anything Archon already knew.
He was bolstered briefly by the Master's reassurance, only to be crushed again by the next question and his total lack of answer to it. Less panicked than he could have been, given Vargas's even tone and calm acknowledgment of how he'd been rather neglected in terms of being granted information, but still.
He exhaled, sitting down on massive haunches. It was, admittedly, a bit irritating that this was increasing his workload rather than relieving it, for the moment. And it was something Archon should have asked about before, to the Merchant if not to Vargas himself.
He ran his mind over what he remembered, and set himself to explaining.
He considered, wondering how to apply any of this to an 'emissary,' but he'd already determined to at the very least drown Archon with busywork.
Master Vargas doubted that any of these things were strictly necessary. But that being said, keeping a line open to the Shapers was, at least, a good idea.
His throat was dry, the anxiety back, but... at least now he had something real to focus on. Tasks to inventory in his mind, to arrange.
At the Leviathan's questions, he hastily shook his head.
He felt... important, somehow. And that was good. He'd actually have something to do. A way to prove himself. Responsibilities. Part of him wanted to quickly repeat it all back, to prove he'd been listening, but... it wasn't necessary. It'd be simpering, really, and he was far too aware of the effect any word he said might have.