He'd been watching over this one himself--what with the Sentinel's absence after Deathmatch. He had split his time, in recent days, planning, working, and worrying. It had started subtly, at first: would this one end up weak-willed and simpering, as its lifegiver had been? Would he even know, until it was too late--a twist of personality at adulthood, as before? From quietly stubborn and determined, to a sobbing, bitter-minded wreck?

In the end, Vargas had grimly determined to treat it as unrelated to its failure of a creator. He would take it as it came: treat it as a wholly new being, and judge it for whatever, and whoever, it became on its own. Still, the cracking of its Oilstone was an unexpected sound--he'd thought it had a day or two more. Lost track of time, he supposed, as he rushed down the tunnel to greet the newest spawn. It happened; these things were rarely precise.

Ahh, it was-... small.

The Leviathan slowed as he approached, so as to get a good look before addressing it. He had a brief, fleeting memory of Chaos-Two, at its hatching, clinging to his tail--back when it had been a fumbling, young thing. And not a braying idiot.

This one had hatched wholly on its own: picked itself from its gemstone, plucked the residue from its face, and sat--awaiting orders? Dull-minded? Empty? Vargas found it hard to tell: it was without expression that he could see, with strange mandibles and stalk-like eyes. He hadn't expected a sort of exoskeleton, in places (and part of him, again, worried about moulting)--or was that just a structure beneath its skin? Acid eyes ranged over its form again. Vargas took in its coloration, the beginnings of quills just emerging, and the too-large chunk of gemstone at one shoulder. For a moment, he regretted allowing Maximus to plant the damn thing here: the fool had undoubtedly been too soft to allow its own spawn to be corrupted (yet had abandoned it without a second thought)--ahh, but enough about them.

Vargas pushed the wayward annoyance from his mind. This was a new chapter. A new being. He would stop comparing them now. He would focus on this one: on its brilliant purple color, its strange crab-like eyes, and the training yet to come.

He halted before it. Undoubtedly Desert Rose would not be far behind, and so he began to speak while he had time with this one, alone. "I am Master Vargas. You are V-Chaos-Six." He paused only briefly; each word was carefully enunciated, his own gaze attempting to pick over this new spawn's body language, to see whether it could understand him. "You are a creation of the Chaos Forge, and you will learn-" Hm, learn what? Normally, he would have told it, learn to fight, to kill. To survive. But things had changed, hadn't they-? He let them pick their own paths, now, for the most part. Training was more... generalized, and far less bloody, for better or for worse. "-all that you need," he settled on, "and find a role to aid this nest. Do you understand me?" he asked, and his tone was placid, patient, rather than a demand.

Desert Rose's arrival was greeted with a brief nod, and with Vargas moving to one side to make room for him. Vargas then looked back to the child, focusing on what it had said, and was still saying.

'Vargas...?' was met by a "Master Vargas," but not in a tone of correction; rather, it sounded like elaboration and agreement, approval, intertwined. It was close enough, at this age--and it was a damn good sign that the child could both understand, and repeat back so clearly, at hatching. It boded well for it. Even 'Six understand' was good, and 'Six' alone was likewise-... close enough.

But the final question--its point at Desert Rose, its question--almost elicited a snorting laughter in the Master. It didn't--he stopped it at a half a sharp exhale--but it almost did. Yes, the child was endearing; he didn't feel much toward it, but he was pleased at least at its demeanor.

"No, that-" and he glanced with amusement at the draconic hybrid before him, "is Desert Rose Thirty-Five. Desert Rose will be helping to raise, and train, you." He paused, looking at it, and gave them a moment to acclimate--having already cleared the space between them. And then, more quietly--to Desert Rose himself--Vargas asked, "What do you think of it?"

It was a genuine question; he wanted Vander's opinion. His own, at least his first impression, was that it could be capable: that it was attentive, controlled, and fearless--all good traits. The eyes were... strange, but the rest of it, though somewhat lopsided, looked capable enough. And anyway, it might outgrow the gangly proportions--who knew? He saw nothing worrying about it, yet; but he wondered what Desert Rose might see.