Vargas glanced back, offering a stern but solemn single nod. "I will," he assured her, with a rumble of promise in his voice. Authority lay there. A pledge that, one way or another, it would be sorted out. That Vargas would handle it.

There was no handling it, of course: he could check on Alpha daily but fixing it was another matter entirely.

His mind drifted over that thought, touched on it, swept back to Zoisite. He glanced back to her again, and exhaled. "I asked it to speak with you," he said, though he was fairly sure he'd told her that already. That he'd said, even, that he would send it to her. "I hope it was not a matter of its... not being ready. We will see," he went on, "but I did not mean for there to be conflict. I suppose it was inevitable. Orthoclase-Alpha is very difficult for me to gauge. I admit I cannot understand its mind."

He paused, hesitated. He shouldn't be opening up like this to the Zoisite, really--not only did she have her own worries but he was a Master, she was no Overseer, this was a breach (of sorts) of protocol. But hell, he was a Master: he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

So he did.

"I mean that I did not intend for there to be... trouble, here. I was hoping it would be a pleasant visit. But Orthoclase-Alpha never speaks its mind. And I cannot read minds." It occurred to him, then, to find someone who could. To send them out to eavesdrop.

Yes, it would be an invasion of privacy but in all honesty, the good that might be done far outweighed his concerns on that front.

He shook his head, for now; that was a consideration for another time. "I will stay here until you have rested," he added, firm. However long that ends up taking. "I myself do not require sleep."

He hadn't offered an outright apology... not really. He'd meant to. He'd intended it as such but had it come out that way? He didn't know. It didn't occur to him to wonder.

For now, he would simply... place another plant into a hole, and hope that he was doing it right. It was, in fact, upside-down, and he paused, studying it: but he couldn't quite figure out which parts were roots and which were branches, on this bush, and so he stood there for a long moment, perplexed.

Zoisite, quiet, informed him that it might not be able to rest right away.

Vargas shook his head. "Whenever it might be. I do not plan to rush you." But half his attention was on this plant: one he was pulling back out, puzzling over, trying to figure out which way was up.

At their next question, he glanced back with faint amusement. "Here-? Yes, that is what I meant--I was not about to ask you to journey back to Draco for a nap!" There was humor in his words.

He'd meant, 'rest awhile.' He'd meant, 'things may feel better after a nap.' And he'd meant, 'I will watch over you.'

Of course, his words implied nearly nothing of any of that.

"While you do, I will keep working, although... I don't think I am much good at this." He held the upside-down bush out before him, and pondered.

Vargas took the Zoisite's comments as humor, though some part at the back of his mind warned him that perhaps it was simply being matter-of-fact. That part came too late to stop the guffaw of short, genuine laughter that escaped him, but he offered it a tip of his head and a rumble of assent as it thanked him.

Then, he went back to work.

"Work" was a questionable word, in context; the Zoisite, humor or not, wasn't wrong. Neither was he, for that matter. He tried; he really didn't want to make more work for his grandspawn. He really did try.

But two of the bushes wound up planted upside-down. A sapling stood tilted at an angle, Vargas unable to stabilize it in the dirt. A row of vines--melons, he thought, but he couldn't be sure--had been planted down the wrong row, interspersed with what in retrospect was probably some sort of root vegetable.

Or grass.

Vargas wasn't good at plants.

The only thing he'd truly managed to accomplish was to grind soil into his pebbled hide up to the elbows: proof of his efforts, at the very least, if not of his results.

That said, it wasn't all a travesty: even Vargas would have a hard time messing up "put the dirt back in those gouged holes" or "move that torn-up rock out of the garden."

The end result, though? It definitely would keep the poor Zoisite busy. And Vargas, unfortunately, seemed entirely unaware; he ambled to Zoisite with the cheerful weariness of someone who thought they'd just finished a job well done.

"Zoisite. I trust you've rested well-?" he asked, hoping that the sleep had dulled the sharp pain of Orthoclase-Alpha's encounter from its mind, as sleep could sometimes do. But he didn't say as much. Instead he glanced around again. "I have done what I can. I replanted these," he went on, gesturing to the vines, two of which were planted (somehow) sideways. "But I am unsure, ahh." He paused, finding the right words. "...what they are. I really should ask you to teach me," he added, but he'd leave it to Zoisite to find the 'when' for that. If they offered now, he'd accept, but he didn't want to impose on them just after they'd awoken. He had, despite his many years as a monster, a little social sense.

"How are you feeling?" he ventured, at last, half-worried at what he might receive in answer. And a little annoyed at himself for being so.