ORIGIN

Vargas was returning. He was lost in thought, as he so often was, in his future plans.

Hybridize cat with scout. Cat with combat-oriented, large--self? Winter trial preparation. Check-in with Nemean.

He'd already heard a roar, echoing through the cave. Nemean hadn't called for him, but he felt it best to wait in Canis in case she came for him. He had a suspicion about the hot wind that had rushed through the tunnels, the bellowing that had shaken the rock, and he wanted no part of that whatsoever. If it was what he thought it was, best to keep his head down until they called for him.

Meanwhile, he had a job to do, and he wasn't about to-

Vargas stopped. Vargas blinked.

What... is that?

He slipped forward, breath caught in his throat, his attention sharpened to a knife-point.

She was huge--far larger than many of the others he'd seen around--and bore nothing of the small, soft appearance of the modern creations. She seemed, in fact, distinctly similar to Master Jupiter in some ways, but harder, tougher. She bore the same shape, and she carried something--weapons? But he could not see much more than that through the mist, no true details.

Quietly, he stalked closer.

"Who and what are you?" he asked, blunt but not particularly demanding. Perhaps she was another Overseer, one he'd never met.

Perhaps she was something even higher-ranking. Whatever she was, she seemed (he thought, looking her over again now that he was closer) distinctly useful.

Vargas stopped cold, his head jerking back and his body going from easy, predatory slinking to frozen-tense. He stared for a beat at the spear, and when Elyon withdrew it, he relaxed, some.

He had not seen proper weapons in quite some time. He admired tool use, in a sense--he'd even toyed with the idea of modular creations, ones with limbs that could bear different weapons depending on the situation. He himself bore his own weaponry, but it wasn't as adaptable as some--he could not, for example, reach opponents in the sky the way that a bow and arrow could. Such modular design, however, would still need to incorporate natural weaponry, or risk the combatant being defenseless should they lose their tools...

Vargas blinked six eyes.

Well, Elyon didn't have a designation nor, apparently, a title. Close-up, he could still see no sign of the soft creatures of the modern caves on her. She looked, quite distinctly, like-... She looked familiar.

"I did not mean to startle!" he boomed, and then burst out laughing. It did not last long, and when its questionable echo faded, he peered more closely at her. "I am Overseer Vargas. Do you have an assigned task?" he asked, curiously.

...Wait.

His eyes narrowed, all six of them, as recognition turned into memory. She was a different color; she lacked the noble pose, the pure color, the thick beard, but--the build was much the same. Was it--could it be?

"ORTHOCLASE?!" the Overseer boomed--abrupt, and surprised, and very likely seeming completely out of the blue.

The Orthoclase... Vargas struggled to remember, six eyes again squinting. He thought it had been a noble beast, a creature that had held its pride despite the treatment often inflicted on the creations. One that had seemed almost regal--kingly. It had done well: strong, swift, and most of all tough, though he thought he remembered a bad end. Trying to help others, wasn't it-? Deemed poor at judging his own abilities. Charged into too much. Took too much responsibility. That, he reflected, and terrible heat regulation.

Or was Vargas thinking of Jadeite Four-Two-Six-... He MIGHT have been the one taken to serve Master-...

The thought trailed off as he squinted, trying to remember. There'd been a few designs along Orthoclase's lines. But all of them--size-wise, and with the exoskeleton--had been strong, and tough, and he was curious as to how Elyon would hold up.

"I remember others of your design. Possibly one of your ancestors," he added, paying no heed whatsoever (quite rudely, really, all things considered) to Elyon's first statement. He seemed excited, though, as he drew a little closer, eyeing her up and down.

"Will you fight me? Do not hold back. I wish to see what you can do!" He said it with enthusiasm. "If you are anything like those I remember, I may have a use for you other than 'nothing,' if you wish it!"

Vargas was not, in fact, about to stand completely still while the centaur ran entirely around to his back.

That would be insane. Vargas was... usually not... considered to be...

Anyway, he turned, as she ran, shuffling tensed and ready (and grinning eagerly), and when she swung her spear, he attempted to just... leap back, raising a forearm to take the brunt of the strike in a far more glancing manner. He wasn't sure if she might get her weapon stuck between his arm spines; he wasn't aiming for that, in any case, simply deflecting the bulk of the hit.

He could have, perhaps, wholly dodged... but he wanted to see her strength.

The blow stung. It stung.

"Good--you are strong!" he declared, with approval. Perhaps she could be of some use to them.

Vargas spun, this way and that, still letting Elyon take the offensive. It wasn't that he was letting her keep the upper hand, exactly; he just wanted to see how she fought before leaving himself open to attack.

She used her weaponry--but he wasn't sure how experienced she was with it. Feinting, leaping back and forth--he stood stoic, knowing it took far less energy simply to pivot and face her, wondering if she would wear herself down.

But--ah! There it was, a strike, and Vargas flinched as the hit struck across his forelimbs. He had enough weight on his hind legs that he didn't entirely faceplant, at least, but he stumbled heavily forward, with a grunt.

He took swift advantage of their sudden, closer proximity, catching himself and lashing out with one hand, trying to grab Elyon's spear and yank it. He wasn't sure if he could wrest it from her grasp entirely, but his intention was to do so. He didn't have the leverage he might have, though, because he was careful to keep its tip pointed away.