ORIGIN

He was surprised, to say the least, at Vargas' ready and shameless admission of fear. But the more he spoke, the more convinced Pride became that he knew exactly what the Overseer was talking about. As Vargas spoke, he himself turned his attention to his magic, half-focusing on conjuring up an image.

Work, this time, he urged it, knowing full well how often this particular type faltered or lashed back at him. His thoughts, directed to his own magic, were quiet and urgent. It's important.

But backlash it did, and what came were brief, faltering shadows, jittering and unsteady--a showcase of failed magicka. Pride gritted his teeth against it, and looked to Vargas.

"I think I know precisely what you mean," he cut in, interrupting him mid-sentence.

The little beast had the gall to interrupt him--him! The Overseer!--and to pretend that it knew what he was talking about. To dare presume that it understood the gravity of the threat that could grasp it and rend it into pieces at any instant. "Oh, DO you?!" he cried, shoving up and pushing forward, shamelessly standing directly over Pride.

He sneered down, quills bristling.

"Tell me, then. Prove yourself; what dangers do you imagine you are avoiding-?"

Everything is a test. This oft-repeated thought flitted through his mind, and he loomed, half-grinning, half-snarling, over Pride.

"Show me your vast wisdom, little deer. And then tell me what you can possibly offer me that could outweigh that."

Silver eyes narrowed, some, at Vargas' challenge, at its sudden looming physical presence. Pride's white hackles rose beneath his armor and he stood, as tall as he could, staring almost directly up and into Vargas' (terrifying) eyes. Patience bled away; or rather, the stag felt that now was the time for a good dose of theatricality.

And a good dose of cold, hard reality.

No more lights, then. No show. What he sent, ripping directly into Vargas' mind, was a terrifying scream of reality.

Dhracia, standing before the Spire. A jitter, black--arms outstretched. Raheerah. A hand to his snout. A screaming, agonized, writhing. Terror. The great Dragon, reduced to so much Oil, dissolving, thrashing-... Jupiter, falling, dying. Her-... pacing away. Pisces. Tenzin, in agony-... The scenes flicked one to the other, rapidly, and Pride shoved as much horror into it as he could. Oh, yes; he focused on the bad. Let Vargas see, he thought. If the Overseer thought him that ignorant--let him see for himself.

"Or am I terribly off-course?" he asked, arrogantly sweet.

The invasion of his mind was unwelcome, and for a moment he snarled and tensed, ready to rip into the stag below for daring. But what he actually saw stopped him cold.

Had the stag seen this..? Vargas went very still, feeling ice thread through him. He'd known she was here-... He'd sensed it, as had they all, but to actually see it.

His jaw tensed briefly as Pride's voice cut through it, and Vargas slowly lowered himself back to his haunches, more sombre now. "You have seen, then; and you still doubt-? Do you know what will happen if we are not prepared, here, little deer-? That will be all our fates. Perhaps over, and over, and over again. There is no escape from that, and no worse fate. A little death here and there is a mercy by comparison," he added. It was not a tone of argument; he didn't feel the need to convince the stag. But it was dry, dark. It was mocking. "I have no intention of tampering with the rest of you--you are nothing--so long as you obey when needed. I will demand stones from time to time and I will enforce that. The dragons are not exempt. The moment they prove themselves out of control they put us all in danger. But," he added, and extended a clawed hand, as if in offering; "if you have some other way to get them in line, I am listening. I would rather have them under control than dead," he added, bluntly.

He wasn't about to tell the stag that he'd already sent in a spy, no; he wouldn't give Desert Rose away, that would be absolutely foolish. But he did want to know if Pride actually had something in mind.

Well, he's listening now, at least, Pride thought wryly, though it was clear that Vargas would only listen so long as he felt like listening.

He took a breath, and inclined his head, still standing.

"So you simply want them to give you their stones, if asked-? And you do this because you believe we have no other choice, and that our fate if we do not obey--all of us--will be terrible." Okay, awful phrasing there, but in fairness the white stag was under a bit of duress at the moment. Still, he tried to think, mind flicking through options.

And then, despite his assurance that he wouldn't, he decided to immediately bring up Orthoclase-Alpha. "You can try to force your ways on the rest, and they will rebel. You may succeed, or you may not--it is a pointless risk, I think. But you certainly could rule through fear, violence, and domination, until you're killed. Have you asked the Masters why they aren't doing so already-?" he asked, looking back up at Vargas, and it was a genuinely curious question. Astraea seemed to step in with horrific power in extreme circumstances, but otherwise he very much appeared to be sort of letting them live their lives as they saw fit. Except-... except sometimes. As with Khloros, for example. "Orthoclase-Alpha is an example of this, Overseer Vargas."

Pride contemplated, for a moment, before continuing.

"It did not wish me to speak to you of it. It is an admirable creature, yes; but it is not of your era, as much as you try. It is... conflicted. I do not doubt its loyalty to you, but it is miserable--and perhaps, as you say, that's a price we have to pay. But I see no reason we cannot aim for happiness and survival. Or perhaps we can all rebel, together, though I imagine you find that quite out of the question."

Dangerous ground, that--but it had to be asked.

"My point is that, if faced with the choice of giving up their freedom, their individuality--Orthoclase believes it cannot be allowed to hold its own opinions, emotions, attachments. Did you tell it this-? Because others, who have lived in freedom--they will refuse to live that way. Yes, you can kill them all. But I'd like to find another way."

Vargas listened, only half-focused. He was calmer, now; the stag wasn't quite as foolish as it'd initially seemed. His first impression had been that Pride was very full of himself, and perhaps that was true, but it wasn't as shallow a face as he'd at first presented.

Which was good, because if that'd been the case, Vargas would have probably eaten him by now, probably with some snarky remark reminding the stag that he hunted his own food.

At length, after Pride had finished speaking, the Overseer grunted.

"I'd avoid speaking of treason, if I were you, of rebellion," Vargas advised, very drily, and then--with a pointed stare--added, "Part of my responsibilities--the most enjoyable, in fact--include hunting down and killing rebels." Pride's words were tucked away for future reference. Just in case.

"In any case, what you say is practical enough. I don't care if they're quavering in fear, or dead, or what, as long as they're obeying. I want obedience and I want stones, and if you have an easier way to get them than slaughtering half of you--suggest it. I'm listening."

As for the Masters--it was Vargas' professional opinion that the bastards were just lazy. But he wasn't about to tell Pride that. "As for the Masters, the Overseers Oversee--shocking, I know--on their behalf. That means that instead of getting his hands dirty, they send me. Clearer?" he added, with a grin.

Pride snorted, gently, and leaned forward to drink, for a moment, the rainwater from the massive diamond goblet-thing. It was as much to give himself a polite interval to think as to wet his throat for talking. When he'd finished, he began to speak again, distantly thoughtful but with sharp insight.

"We needn't have freedom so much as the illusion of it. Which, I suppose, is all we have to begin with," he added, as dry as Vargas had been, and a little bitterly. "I can try to speak to the dragons on your behalf. Dread is not one to listen to reason, but the others may," he explained, "and if I can convince them, perhaps they can convince him, in turn. However. Dread works for gemstones--for gold. If you can get a pile of gold, and assure him that it is mutual cooperation; that you will not harm them if they do not rebel against you, I think they will listen."

"You know, I might suggest-... a meeting. I know it sounds strange," he added, looking up at Vargas thoughtfully, "but I imagine they'd be much more likely to accept your rules, your demands, if they knew the truth of things. Why do you not simply tell them-? Instead of demanding that they remain beneath you, pose yourself as being here to protect them. Insist on a baseline level of cooperation for our mutual survival. Or, at least, test the waters."

He shifted position, a little, thoughtfully. "In a best-case scenario, you will have immediate and universal cooperation, and the ability to say that you've swung the caves entirely under your control. In the worst case, you're no worse off than you were," Pride pointed out, "bar a little wasted time. I would only ask that you promise not to start killing everyone then and there," he added, wry. "But if any of this is acceptable to you, I can attempt to arrange a meeting. I'd rather everyone alive. But I warn you," and here Pride fired Vargas a very sharp glance, "if you come across too domineering, too demanding--as you are used to, from your old age--they will refuse this. It must seem a request for cooperation, not a domination, a command."

Pride's words were truthful enough, but his mind was going two ways with this. First, everything he was saying was technically true; but at the same time, he saw it as a preservation of the status quo. Realistically, if this proposal went through, and succeeded, nothing would really change. Everyone would, for now, remain at peace and free to live as they chose.

He just hoped that Vargas saw it another way, the way he'd framed it: that the Overseer would have control. At least, until he didn't.

Vargas waved one hand dismissively.

"Make your meeting, if you wish," he boomed, "but I warn you that betrayal will be met with death." A pause, to let this sink in, and Vargas began to elaborate. "I'll let you do the talking. Present it as you have, but I won't shy from exercising authority if I need to and I WILL make that clear. Whether they choose to accept it--that, well. We'll see."

He paused, for a very long moment. And then, as if he'd been holding this thought, mulling over it for far too long, he asked, "Now, you mentioned that Orthoclase-Alpha is 'miserable.' Explain." He was half concerned, but also half wondering why the hell Pride knew this. What had Alpha been telling others..?

Pride listened, inclining his head solemnly. He barely dared hope--but there it was, a faint flicker of that distant, warm emotion. Perhaps they could sort something out without deadly war, after all.

"Perhaps if you give them further warning tales of how it used to be, what our fates might be if we fail to cooperate--in a mutually-beneficial light, I mean--they will listen. They may find it interesting, at the very least."

Ahh-... For a moment, Pride had assumed that Vargas hadn't cared, or had forgotten or overlooked, the mention of Orthoclase-Alpha. He shook his head, a little, as if to indicate that it wasn't all that serious, in the end. But-... it was.

"I spoke to it, at some length," he explained. "It did not outright say anything, but certain trains of conversation perplexed and upset it. Do not punish it-... I ask you that," he added, making a request for this first time in this conversation, his tone a tad pleading. "But it is clear that it has certain yearnings, and does not believe that it's allowed them. Perhaps it isn't," he added. "But I think it wishes for attachment to others, emotional or otherwise, that it thinks it cannot have."

Vargas pushed up from where he'd settled on his haunches, and grunted.

"It isn't!" he confirmed, and his meaning--that Alpha wasn't allowed connection--was clear. But he added, "But I will speak to it." His words held a tone not of menace, but of promise, if half-indifferently made.

"Make your meeting, then, little deer," Vargas said flatly--and looked at the Throne, wondering in idle amusement if the stag would, blind to the irony, again choose that for his meeting-place. "And, for my part..." A long pause, and green eyes switched to watch Pride, for a moment.

Vargas did not want to admit it, but his own thoughts had been--different, of late. The caves were different. It wasn't his old era, anymore, and getting things up and running would be difficult enough, anyway, without rebellion. "I will think of rewards to tempt them with." Eager volunteers would be better than sullen slaves, both in terms of workflow and performance. (Vargas was, in the end, just a violent middle manager type.) "Find me in Tunnel P--that's the one that leads from Canis to Hydra--when you're ready."

And with that, he turned and paced away, not awaiting an answer; and his long strides took him quickly into the shadows, and far from that wretched Throne.