ORIGIN

Orthoclase-Alpha's departure had left some things lost in the mix--swept into the cracks and missed, over and over again. Every few days, Vargas would remember something that was now primarily his responsibility, again; something he hadn't thought about, worried about, kept in the back of his mind.

He was in the middle of eating a tunnel runner--mouth full of meat--when he remembered Vjira. "SHFFT," he blurted, then immediately coughed out the chunk he'd nearly inhaled.

Vjira--he'd looked after her initially--his own half-creation--and then nearly forgotten about her. Some back-of-his-mind instinct had assured him that his Overseer would take over, and handle, her training. But he didn't have an Overseer. Not anymore.

The Leviathan wolfed down the rest of his meal--a couple quick, tearing bites and greedy swallows--and then pushed up and paced into Draco proper. He offered a brief nod to the Sentinel, who simply stared at him, turning only his head--and only slightly--to watch him pass. Vargas's mind was elsewhere.

Vjira was... difficult. A puzzle. Not deliberately; she was cooperative enough, that much was certain. But her communications skills were questionable at best--nearly nonexistent. He still wasn't sure how much she understood.

He'd have to look for her, try to gauge if she'd progressed at all, and think about where to go from here. If she still couldn't grasp all that much, maybe he could lead by doing, and initiate training, or a spar, physically. It'd be difficult to get her to understand that it was only practice, perhaps, but likely doable; and he often found that starting something was the best way to get better at it.

Maybe if he began to train her, she'd... just start to learn. Pick up one piece, and build on it; and so on, down the line.

He could only hope.

"VJIRA?" he bellowed, voice echoing around the area near the Aperture. If she wasn't here, he might have some searching to do--hopefully, she hadn't gone far.

Ahh, here she was--and again demonstrating that, at least, she knew her name. (And this was not a derogatory thought--she did not speak, but he was guessing, hoping, that she could comprehend; she generally seemed to at least get the gist of his words.)

"Ahh, there you are." He paced over, nodding once, and then rolled his shoulders as he stood before her. "I would like to teach you how to fight. Do you understand-?" he asked, tilting his head. "You can nod yes, if you do, or shake your head no, if you do not." He demonstrated, meanwhile.

He wondered if the strange anatomy she bore could be perhaps used for soundless communication--but that would take time to work on and teach, if it weren't already instinctive, and he had another lesson in mind for today.

"I will teach you how to stand, and how to read your enemy; where to strike, what to expect--yes?"

He hoped that she understood--this would be very difficult indeed without comprehension.

Vargas stared, blankly.

When she did not respond--not that he'd expected speech, but something--he grunted. Slowly, he lowered himself to his haunches, thinking.

He had to admit to himself that she just wasn't picking up language. He really wasn't sure why--he didn't mind muteness, but could she not even understand-? It had been more than long enough. It may be best to give this one to Dhracia, then... or teach her to fission; at least the spawn wouldn't be expected to hold conversations, he thought, and pondered that for a moment. It had its drawbacks, and its benefits, but it was clear that Vjira wasn't really going to serve another purpose in the Forge.

It was a shame that the Arcane master was gone... or dead--Vargas still wasn't sure where they were on that front but given Raheerah's removal, he had to assume that she was wholly out of the equation. Which left him with trying to hunt down a simple Gembound that held such magic, instead.

Almost at once he realized something else that he was missing; a messenger. Someone he could send to scout or bring a message throughout the caves, by wing (obviously), quickly. Delta was an assassin--he wasn't about to relegate it to mere mailman. The Agate he could've never trusted with such a task. Khavur, for all his size, was too damn bulky. No--he needed a bird, really. He'd have to hunt for one--or make one--once the Ursa situation was dealt with; hell, maybe he'd run into someone there. Find a bird or a bat as a scout and messenger; send it out to find a Gembound with mind-magic to teach Vjira words, at least for comprehension, he noted to himself.

Vargas studied her a moment longer, then pushed up. "I need to teach you to fight. But I cannot do that if you cannot understand a single word. Can you give me any indication?" he asked, but his dissappointment was rising.

Yes, he could simply spar with her, and that would teach her a little by experience. But the foundations were necessary. He could not teach her to avoid teeth and go for the inner thigh without actually severing arteries; he could not teach her of which tendons to tear for crippling without doing so. It was rather a tough situation, and he was unsure as to what to do.

He stared, and took another breath. Well, what could he do..?

At length he stepped over, and aimed a light swat at Vjira's forelimb. It was barely a touch, if even it 'hit,' and he spoke meanwhile. "Spar, yes? Spar, do you understand? A pretend fight?" He did it again, and then a light dodge and weave: a primal invitation to play-fight.

Would she understand-? He hoped so. His experience with non-verbal creatures was slim, at best.

"Good," he said, but it was a calm tone, not a booming one--relief, more than enthusiasm.

He turned, giving a short hop back from one of the swats--a further invitation, a gesture that might easily be misinterpreted as playful if anyone were to ever think of Vargas in the same sentence as "play." He began a short series of dodges interspersed with hops toward Vjira, mock-lunges that did not truly attempt to connect.

It wasn't truly a spar--not yet; but it was reinforcement of what he wanted. A fight, but a play-fight. Wrestling, fighting, but not out of malice or rage.

Would she understand?