the trampled garden - Printable Version

It was getting late, and realistically, the Zoisite was completely worn through. The sensible thing to do (and it procrastinated, for now) would be to return to the Forge, to rest in Draco. That would mean walking past a broken carcass of orthoclase stone, however, and Zoey was much too frightened of what that sight could do to them for now.

Instead, the Zoisite worked. The farmland was utterly destroyed in huge swaths of land: from the massive uprooting in a fourteen-by-fourteen foot chunk on one side, to the massive trenches of slashed land from the tank that had steamrolled through. The Zoisite was pushing dirt back into place, filling the holes, and delicately transplanting each uprooted plant back into the earth.

There were some that seemed unsalvageable, who's main stems had been snapped in half. The Zoisite tried to coax them with magic, an effort that strained its limited energy to its limit, with little to no signs of success. Still, back in the earth the roots went, gently patted into place.

It would take a lot of work to fix. It would be easier, it rationalized, with the help of the others. But that struck a cord of fear, and for now it was left be to fester. The Zoisite would do what it could on its own, so the others wouldn't worry. So Zoey didn't have to worry. Exhaustion made each movement slow, progress taking its sweet time. At least, at least, at the very least, it kept the Zoisite busy. Moving. Breathing. Living.

It did not hear the approach of another. Simply continued to work down the row, one plant at a time, righting the wrong done to the innocent earth.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

When Vargas had sent Orthoclase-Alpha to speak with the Zoisite--to bond with her, to relax--he hadn't thought much more of it.

That, in and of itself, had been a deliberate choice. Fear, fretting--there was no point in it; he rescheduled that for later in the day. When he wasn't busy. When worrying might actually be worth something.

The hours slid past, and suddenly the clock's minute hand ticked to a halt on concern.

Orthoclase-Alpha isn't back yet.

That meant one of two things. No--three. Either Alpha hadn't gone to the Zoisite, or Alpha was there and struggling to still form those clumsy bonds, or... three, it had wrecked its chances and something terrible had happened. Granted, knowing the Orthoclase, "terrible" was more likely to be "clammed up and ran away." But Vargas honestly wasn't sure if that mute fear was reserved for him alone. Or whether panic in the face of someone Alpha saw as lesser might lead to other things--like violence.

It wasn't worry for Alpha that drove him to stride out along the tunnel, leaving Draco's incessant heave and grind behind him. Not fear for its eternally fragile state, its unending vacillation between choosing life or death.

It was concern for the Zoisite, for what it might have done to her.

His gait, already a relentless stride, only quickened as he entered Pegasus--as he tilted his head toward the farm and sensed only a single gemstone there. The Zoisite's.

Is it still alive-? he wondered, but he couldn't tell, from here. His Master's powers didn't extend quite that far, not yet at least, and he hastened toward it.

He slowed as he approached, almost fearing what he might find, looming at the edges of the clearing and slipping from the shadows like a predator on the prowl. But he wasn't hunting; he was only wary, and he stood, a sharp exhale leaving his nostrils, as he looked around and surveyed the damage.

What happened here-? he wondered, and the thought was almost a despairing one. Maybe they just... sparred.

Wishful thinking, taken to an extreme, but if his rush of breath hadn't been enough to alert Zoisite of his arrival, his words--as he drew himself up more formally--were. "V-Zoisite-One-? What happened here?" he asked, and his voice was careful. Not condemning. Not judging. Only... confused, a little wondering. "Did Orthoclase-Alpha come to visit..?"

Or did it not arrive yet? Is this damage--unrelated? Maybe the... the uprooted ground is something to do with farming.

Vargas, for one, didn't know a damn thing about the topic.

But his eyes strayed back to Zoisite, picking her over--flaying carapace, rending quills--searching for any sign of damage. He found her mud-slicked, dirt-covered, and he hoped there were no wounds beneath it.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, and there was a growl in the thought that never reached his voice.

The concerned call registered, belatedly, in their thoughts. The Zoisite blinked, raising their head to the call, acknowledging with a single rattle of dirt-caked quills.

Master Vargas, Zoey thought warmly, as the behemoth stood a safe distance back, observing the mess before him with reserved... concern. That was concern, wasn't it? For her, for what had happened.

The Zoisite blinked, and steeled itself against the question of harm. Physically, no. Mentally, it would be okay. It needed time to heal. Zoey withdrew from the question, not wanting Master Vargas to see how badly shaken she was. Outwardly, however, the carapace did not move an inch but for the parting of jaws.

"I'm not hurt." The garden was in much more pain than it was, at this point. The deep ache in its chest had subsided, worn out into nothing but a vast emptiness. "I am..." It compromised, offering Master Vargas the half-truth, "tired." That much was obvious in its sluggish movements, the way its voice was hoarse and rough from the scars of misuse.

Carefully, the Zoisite lowered its head and took a deep breath, gathering its remaining strength. It drew to its feet, staring downward to watch its own steps, and picked its way from the damaged rows to the edge of the garden, where it could stop in front of Master Vargas. So he could inspect, if he desired, to ensure that they were safe and still intact. What had Master Vargas told them? That... What Orthoclase-Alpha did, or said, or refused, was not a reflection of their own self-worth. Zoey found it so hard to believe, but it carried that thought pragmatically.

"The Overseer came," it explained, "we--" a pause, a rephrase: "I told it the truth." Feet shuffled, lining up into neat rows, standing a bit straighter. "... They left." There was a lot more to explain about the in-between moments, but so much of it was personal... private, even.

Would he want to prod out the details? Did they want to share? No-- not, not all of it.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Tired.

That word lingered in his mind, for a moment. His conscious brain was focused on Zoisite: eyes picking over her carapace as she drew closer. He circled her, briefly, studying, and the logical part of him looked for wounds.

But another part--a part Lord Dhracia had asked of, demanded from him, a part he hadn't had at the time--that was focused on that single word.

Tired.

Because it was how he'd felt, wasn't it-? A rare sense of empathy, from the monster in magenta hide: an understanding. When any of his spawn faltered, yet again. Stumbled or sobbed. Professed weakness that wasn't there. It had become a weary refrain. At first, Vargas had done his best to identify the problems: to look for solutions, creative or blunt. Nothing had worked, of course. Maximus had still self-destructed. Alpha had left and--well, much the same. Chaos-One refused any form of learning. And by now, rather than rising to each challenge and seeking a new solution, Vargas greeted every incidence much the same way:

He was tired.

So he knew, in totality and truth, what it was that the Zoisite meant. His grunt, a simple sound, held a tone of full understanding. It wasn't that Zoisite wasn't physically weary: he could see that it was. And didn't it drag him down, too? Didn't he want nothing more, after dealing with another tantrum or breakdown, than to wander off and rest? Yes, the Zoisite was tired. It was just that he knew there was more to it than that.

So while one part of his brain--the thinking part, the conscious part--was inspecting Zoisite for wounds (and, thankfully, finding none) the other part, the feeling part, was resonating with that single word.

He stopped at one full circle, coming back to where he'd started, looking at Zoisite-One. Looking out over the farm. And of course he wouldn't just let it go at that; he wanted to know what it was that had pushed Alpha to 'leave.' He wanted to know where it had gone. He wanted to know what it had done.

And there was more than that, but-... that would come momentarily.

"What was it that you told it? What truth?" he asked, almost gently. Acid eyes tilted up, taking in the torn earth for a third time. "Did it do this-?" He couldn't imagine Orthoclase-Alpha lashing out in anger. Desperation, maybe, but did it even have the strength to bear fury?

Vargas didn't think so.

"And, do you know where it has gone? -Tell me more fully what happened." And then, settling himself to the more pragmatic task at hand--"Is there something I can do to help while you report?"

He was large, strong, and fresh--not weary with exertion. Perhaps there was... digging, or planting, that he could do to help. He wasn't above such things; he was even aware it might make a good impression.

But that wasn't why he offered.

Master Vargas paced around them, and although it was out of concern and care for their safety, the entire process of standing still while he checked every angle made them feel-- in some small way-- like a piece of meat. More object than person. Perhaps that was more due to the way they were worn thin than anything on the Master's part. Hard to say... Hard to parse, every numbed out feeling that sloughed off of its insides.

The truth. That I love them, Zoey's thoughts murmured. That I care about them, even when it hurts. It breathed in through its nostrils, a heavy inhale that rocked it back on its heels from the effort. "The truth... I missed them." The Zoisite craned its neck, peering up at Master Vargas's hulking form that hovered almost too close.

(When Alpha had stood so close, it brought them to tears. Anyone else-- it just put them on edge.)

"They didn't... couldn't understand," Zoisite went on, watching Master Vargas's expression and searching for answers. Surely, Vargas could relate-- maybe shed some understanding, something to ease the gaping wound in their chest.

But there were more questions to address. "We did this," Zoisite corrected. "... We both were... emotional. Not thinking clearly. I forgot about the plants until after they left." There was a quiet rattle down their chest, one that spoke of unease where their expression remained still and stiff.

"I don't know. I did not follow them." Couldn't stop them. Oh, it had tried, but...

The Zoisite shook its head, turning away from Master Vargas and instead pacing down toward the mess of trenches and holes that scarred the garden. "The dirt needs to be put back, and the uprooted plants put back into place. Some of them will be too damaged..." But it would save what it could.

Master Vargas wanted more of a report. Wanted an explanation. The Zoisite stared into the haze of the past few hours, and felt itself shutter from the freshness of the invisible injury. Zoey retreated further, shutting down and blocking out the feelings that would surely drown them if they allowed them to.

It's alright, it thought. Master Vargas will make it easier. Apparently, it still had hope. Funny, that.

But before it continued, before it offered further explanation-- of which it still knew there were some things it shouldn't speak of-- its paused to make a request. "Please don't speak of this with the others," it spoke with a quiet firmness, one that pushed the statement near to the edge of a demand. It could not stop Master Vargas from doing whatever he wished, but it drew a line in the dirt: this was a show of trust, one that would be broken with so much as a small misstep.

The Zoisite had to protect itself, after all.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He listened. Heard. Peered down, as Zoisite peered up, in silence.

Missed them.

Certain words were committed to memory. Echoed in his mind.

They couldn't understand.

These phrases were examined. Studied. Considered.

We both were... emotional.

Tried to piece them together with the other pieces of the puzzle. Which puzzle-? Orthoclase-Alpha. The Forge. Emotions in his spawn. All of it, together.

Yet even now he found himself no closer to seeing a finished picture, to ensnaring at last a solution as though it were a cave rat caught unawares. But there was a new question, now, one he sniffed out and cornered in the dark like the track that might lead him to his prey: Why, how, does 'not understanding' turn into violence and flight?
He pursued that track, for a moment, in his mind. Could it be that it holds emotions, but fears to do so? Perhaps it thinks I will deem it weak for them. But... Even if he were honest with his own brutality, he didn't think that was the case. Orthoclase-Alpha had shown itself to be emotionally stunted on more than one occasion, in a way that Vargas couldn't blame on even himself. Maybe he was wrong, but he did mark this thought-trail as only an unlikely possibility.

"One would think it grateful that it was missed." The remark was given in an almost offhand manner as he turned, surveyed the dirt and plants that Zoisite had mentioned. He was about to continue, to ask questions, when Zoisite asked her question.

It hung, pregnant with unpleasant possibility, in the air and Vargas glanced back curiously. "Mm, yes," he agreed, that brief hum a thoughtful one. "What we discuss stays between us." That was a stolid assurance, granted as he turned away again, as he made his way toward the plants. He would tackle the largest of them first; leave the lesser work to Zoisite, if at all.

As an afterthought he paused, casting out power and magic to seek anyone who might be lingering close by. It was a defensive gesture, though Zoisite likely wouldn't be aware of it: a check that there were no eavesdroppers already waiting close by.

When he saw nothing bar distant Lessers in all directions (and overhead), he glanced her way again with an incline of his head.

"It is safe to speak," he assured her, adding a second promise to that little pile.

And heaved the first of the larger plants upright, in a surge of violet muscle.

The Zoisite did not voice the discordant response that warred within themself. There was no reason to be grateful that it was missed. Perhaps guilty, that it had abandonned them-- though, that was a stretch. No, there was something horrible that had come, a feeling different that guilt. A fear. A sudden knowledge that it had done wrong, that ~~she~~ it had failed. The sensation was like a worm that writhed under the skin, one that did not come to the surface. It was a memory that could blind if stared at directly.

Start at the beginning, it told themself patiently. Master Vargas wouldn't put us in danger. Either the Zoisite or the Orthoclase. He would protect them. With a promise of safety, the Zoisite turned its head down toward the earth. Master Vargas was replanting the larger of the plants, dragging their roots back into place with a heavy effort... and it focused on the smaller crops that had been trampled, digging a small trench beside the row to replant them. Calm. Methodical.

"The Overseer," the Zoisite began to recount in better detail, "showed up in the garden. I asked how they were: Fine, and they asked me: Fine." Her exact words had been "I'm very well", but she no longer felt very well. Paraphrasing was needed regardless, considering...

"Overseer Orthoclase-Alpha did not have much to say. I assumed that they had come to see the farm, and proceeded to tell them about what jobs I had been doing in its absence. I told them about the garden, and the lights... They asked if you had ordered this, and... They had been gone for a long time, so I explained that you had let us pick what work we wanted to do."

There was a small, important nugget of information that perhaps the Zoisite could have left out, lying by omission, if not for the fact it simply did not recall. Something precious that Zoey would remember when faced with her mother, something fragile that Master Vargas couldn't know. Something that Alpha had demanded that she not say. The Zoisite forgot this little detail, which perhaps was a shame, or a mercy.

"I explained our plans for housing, and that Master Astraea had come to teach reading and writing. I tried to tell them everything. When I asked what they thought of the garden, they... Froze," the Zoisite recalled, words coming slower and more methodical, piecing together the puzzle in a distant, reserved fashion. "Then, they said it was nice."

They didn't think it was actually nice, though, did they? They just said that. Their chest ached.

"I continued to tell them my plans, the Forge's plans... And when I turned around..." The Zoisite's head turned toward the crater they had left in their fit. "They were on the other side of the garden, staring at nothing. I..."

What had happened, then? Zoey felt so silly in the aftermath, so small and ridiculous. To explain those emotions afterward would be to shrink into a worm. Especially after Master Vargas had precisely told her that Alpha's feelings did not reflect anything on her character. (But how could it not? When Alpha's feelings had been so much apart of her--)

Zoey froze, suddenly aware of each hair, needle, and hard carapace pressing in on her body. Exposed and laid bare, she shivered against the sudden awareness of breeze touching every nerve on her body. It took everything in her not to shut down, to not collapse right there and then again.

Her head tilted, golden eyes slowly finding their way to Master Vargas's towering form. It's alright, whispered through her shuttering mind. Breathe.

She tucked her limbs underneath of her, steading her posture, and steeled herself for what was going to be... a difficult subject. "It reminded me of how they looked before they left," she spoke in a much quieter voice. "I panicked. Then... Then I don't remember, exactly, what happened... But they came running over to me, and I thought I would die. That they would kill me, but they stopped... and told me to stay alive."

Zoey swallowed. Her throat felt tight, constricted by swelling grief. The following details were blurred, a mess of words that she simply couldn't say to anyone but Alpha and a haze of adrenaline and anxiety that turned it all to mush. Still, slowly, she recounted in vague memory what she had said. "That was when I told them I missed them." With a slow shake of her head, she repeated, "they didn't understand. They backed off, and I kept shouting at them... How they were important, how I needed them... I didn't want them to leave again." But that wasn't up to her, was it?

"I should've stopped. They ran, and I just... let them go."

It hurt so badly. If talking about it was supposed to help-- it didn't. It just made her want to curl up and disappear. But she remained still, standing at attention, her head turned sideways to peer up at her Master. "It's my fault," she murmured, barely audible under the sharp clacks of her own mandibles.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas listened as he worked, every one of Zoisite's words ticking his mind farther into confusion. None of it was-... helpful, not to understanding Alpha (not for Vargas, anyway), but that wasn't why he'd asked its report. It was just that it was deeply confusing to him: what exactly had gone wrong..?

It had spoken, which was... something. Conversed with the Zoisite, even asked full-sentence questions, by the sounds of things. They'd had a conversation. Then Orthoclase-Alpha had... what, panicked? Raced to the Zoisite, told them not to die? Vargas was taken aback by this. And then the Zoisite had finished, and he was shaking his head. "No, it isn't your fault. I didn't assume that this would be easy, though it's still difficult for me to understand. Mind you, not even I could stop Orthoclase-Alpha from running away," he added. No amount of the Zoisite's kind words would have changed that--of this, Vargas had no doubt. "I have no idea what prompted its panic--do you? It sounds like your telling it your plans did it..?" he added, puzzled.

Clawed hands pushed another root ball back into place as he considered.

It begged the question, of course, as to what to do next. Alpha had run off again. Would it return? I'll give it time to do so, but how much time was the question, and-

-Ah. Vargas's eyes settled on the Zoisite.

The Zoisite, steadying her posture, her expression attentive despite the situation. Her carapace hid her inner feelings and thoughts from him, and he wondered if she were like the Orthoclase--with hidden storms stirring beneath, threatening to tear her apart--or if she truly held the control that she presented. ""I suggest that you rest, if you need it," he told her; "I can work and keep watch for now. But... I am glad the Orthoclase came here, regardless of how it ended. No-" he paused, interrupted himself. "I do not think it is an ending; but such things must be taken in small steps. It is a beginning, perhaps," he mused.

He shrugged, rolling massive shoulders. "If you have suggestions on how to handle it I am listening, because I feel I may be entirely out of my depths. But at least its damage was limited to the crops," he finished, firing a dour glance around.

In retrospect, however, maybe this wasn't so bad as it looked, at first glance. He'd told the Orthoclase to bond. It had come and, in the midst of a businesslike report, had spilled a personal request of such intimate nature that Vargas might not have believed the words from anyone but Zoisite.

Thinking this over, he glanced back to Zoisite again. "You know, I do not think this is as bad as it seems," he said at last, though whether he meant Orthoclase-Alpha or the farm, he failed to clarify.

No, the Master insisted, calm and collected. It was reassuring, on one level, though the words only reached the shallows of what was otherwise a deep, dark ocean of emotion. "I don't know why it froze," Zoey answered with a quiet click of her mandibles. "But when I fell-- when I panicked, I, fell." Her head turned, golden gaze pouring over the twelve-by-twelve patch of destroyed garden where she had thrashed, clawed, nearly drowned.

The suggestion to rest was a good idea. Zoey was exhausted. But stopping, curling up to rest, seemed like an open invitation for all of her darkest thoughts to come swirling up to meet her. She was glad that he did not press her, merely left it as a suggestion. She instead nodded, turning her head back down to the plants, gently collecting another to set down into its new hole, scooping dirt back on to its roots and patting it down.

A beginning. That was optimistic. Zoey couldn't quite-- as a Zoisite, it turned over such hope in its mind's eye, cradling it close. She-- struggled, just then, to see it that way. But maybe it would be easier with time.

As far as suggestions for... handling, "it", handling Alpha and the situation and everything else, Zoey didn't know the first place to begin. She didn't even truly know anything about Alpha... only her own selfish, desperate feelings.

But Master Vargas again pointed to optimism, to seeing the disaster and the mess as half-preserved, not half-ruined. "... It feels like the end of the world," Zoey answered honestly, heaving a shuttering breath through her carapace. She kept moving, working methodically. It was like she was only half there, speaking while her body moved of its own accord. "As if I stop and allow myself dwell on it, it will destroy me."

It was a quiet plea for help. Master Vargas was not necessarily equipped to help her, but there was little else she could turn to. No one else she trusted, no one else who could provide reassurances (even if they were lies) that she could will herself to believe.

"I'm sorry," Zoey shook her head. "I'm-- I'm upset."

- THE LEVIATHAN -

I don't know why it froze. Vargas gave a soft, very dry huff of laughter. "Then you are in the position I have been in far too many times," he commented, but didn't further interrupt. Instead, he kept working, root balls inspected, plants replaced or set aside.

The idea that the Zoisite... simply tipped over, purely due to emotion-? ...puzzled him. He couldn't make heads nor tails of this, and chewed the thought over in his mind. Was it simply overwhelmed? Unused to emotion? -Did it trip, and not notice? he wondered. But he didn't voice any of that, only listening.

And suddenly, Master Vargas was dumped into an ocean completely out of his depth.

Zoisite was... upset.

Some faint part of the Leviathan still saw this with disgust. It always would. A weakness that had the potential to interfere with work-... But logically, of course, he knew--he'd always known, this was nothing new--that upset was quite natural. It was up there with anger, with fear, with a hunger for power, as emotions that drove a being toward survival. It was just that upset was one that belonged not to the primal hunter-and-prey but to those cyclical, self-destructive social interactions.

A snake had need for fear; it had no need to be upset. 'Upset' belonged to soft things, things that required cooperation, love, sympathy. It belonged to things that worked together for survival and had need of all the tangles of emotions that came with sorting out their little hierarchies and maintaining their relationships.

Zoisite is a social creature, then, he realized, though that was also nothing really new. It had missed the Orthoclase, sought a bond, and didn't Vargas do much the same?

The problem was that he didn't know what to do with any of this. He could accept it--he could easily smother his faint disgust, and acknowledge that it was natural and allowed. But how to handle it--ahh, there he was already drowning.

There was a reason the Leviathan had, in desperation, turned toward Lord Dhracia to serve as Alpha's therapist.

He studied Zoisite, for a moment, and tried to imagine what to say. Shallow words of support rose up in his mind but they felt flimsy, insubstantial. Meaningless. He couldn't offer to solve Zoisite's troubles, because there was no easy solution--if there had been, he'd have implemented it to bring Orthoclase-Alpha back to health many cycles prior.

So he hesitated, and offered instead the blunt honesty that was his hallmark: "You have my condolences for your upset. I admit I've no idea how to solve this either, so I can only ask: is there anything I can do to help?"

Perhaps it wasn't the new perspective and compassion someone better might have offered, but the Leviathan had to work with what he had.