Vargas entered Canis with some reluctance. Truth be told, his back was already up: the hyena pushed her luck too often, and he simply knew (with all the ability he held to judge others) that she would not be able to help herself when he revealed that the second spawn had never hatched.

Their wager had been to see which of them, in essence, made for a better parent. Who could raise the happier, more well-adjusted child. Vargas held no true investment in winning--rather, his interest was in seeing if she were right. And if she was--since indeed so many of the Forge were... broken, in their way, for lack of a better phrase... he could (in the guise of losing a bet) incorporate her advice. But the Leviathan did not know many of Giggle's children. He couldn't speak to her effectiveness, truth be told. He only knew that his methods were better used for shaping and culling adult creations than nurturing the young--a fact the alligator Dragon had been quite clear on.

He stifled a sigh as he picked his way to her pit--and when she was not there, to her den. He sensed her gemstone up ahead. Two copies, one touched by fungal magic, one by fire. Good. They were both alive, awake, and moving. Meaning one child, at least, had hatched.

Vargas buckled down to the task ahead, picking up his pace and striding into sight of them.

His eyes took in Giggle--standing to one side of a small, stagnant pool--and then to the hulking, Valkhound-like creature on the other side. His first and immediate impression was that it was relatively physically impressive. Of a good size, imposing, though its proportions lacked agility--it held a bulkier build, more like a hyena's than his or Nidhogg's. At least it had long forelimbs.

His gaze dismissed it, sweeping back to Giggle just as they both registered his approach and turned toward him. "Spotted dog," he greeted, a deliberate insult given with amusement. And then he launched right into it. "Yours seems to have come out well enough, physically. I would test its mind. But mine-... has not yet hatched." He paused for a moment. "We might compare this one now, and that one at four cycles. Or call it a draw. But I would assess yours, first."

He didn't even look at the valkhyena as he spoke: his full attention was on Giggle, as though Ravage were nothing more than scenery, a pet to be discussed.

"No," Vargas answered Ravage bluntly--and moved to meet him. And then, past him. He circled him, looking him over, and it was very deliberately rude. He wanted to see how this child would react, in truth. If he had the fiery temper of his family. If he were aggressive, miserable, or if he'd take it in stride. He eyed him as though the child (now adult, in truth) were a stone to be examined. Then, he looked to Giggle--pacing for her, hulking, posing a very deliberate threat.

And again, this was a test. He wanted to see how Ravage would react.

"I have warned you of your tone. Of showing respect," Vargas growled, looming over her. But his full attention wasn't on her, but on the child.

How would he react-? Would he need more prodding..? "You have not yet won a thing, and so our naming conventions are hardly going to be changed. It sounds as if you are the one who needs to be reminded of a lesson." This last was given in a threatening, guttural growl.

His eyes lingered on Giggle as he stood above her--but his other senses were riveted on Ravage. Would it attack? Protest, or flee-?

His attention was so fixed upon the spawn behind him that he almost didn't notice the cloud of spores coming his way. He saw the faint shimmer in the air a second before he inhaled it, and quickly scooted backward--avoiding enough of it that he didn't pass out outright, at least. Still, there was a brief moment of drowsiness that rose up around him threatening to drag him down-

-and then something lit his ass on fire.

With a snarling roar he leapt forward, scrambling and jerking around to face the child--who was yelping, and I did not mean for it to be injured. Vargas grimaced, but for a moment it was all he could do to swing himself around and plunge his hindquarters into the stagnant water. "ENOUGH," he boomed, hastening to end this before it started. His flesh hissed, sending up steam, and he huffed pain of his own as he leaned away. Even past the searing agony he realized how strong Ravage's magic had been, and his eyes cut to it.

It is a good combination of bloodlines, he thought. Dragon's magic had always been strong, as had that of his children. Giggle was a potent user of her own, and of course Ravage had inherited some of each of their forms. Ahh, but back to the situation-...

Vargas held up one hand to forestall further attack. "Enough," he repeated, with a grunt--then stood and turned to inspect the damage. A seared patch was blistering his flank and haunch. It would take time to heal. "I had meant to test you--to my detriment, it would seem." He looked to Ravage. "Drink." He then stood, pushing from the water. "It will soothe the burn." He could tell the hybrid didn't know this. It was choking on the dry air, wincing and snarling at him-... "I am not going to attack you." He moved away from the water, giving it space to maneuver.

"Tell me, then--after you have drunk. Are you 'happy?'"

A blunt question, and he gave no apology for his test. It had passed, though. Not a coward, nor uncontrolled in rage. Measured, yet powerful. Good.

Never mind the wager; the child itself had turned out well, so far.

His attention was jerked from his burns, to Giggle, as the fool had the gall to strike at him with magic. Yet as he instinctively began to move for her, he realized that it was reflex--that she was upset, terrified. It wasn't deliberate disobedience, or disrespect, but fear. "I said, 'enough,'" he growled to her, more loudly. A grunt, again. Images had battered him, and he had to shake them away before speaking further, struggling to push back the unfamiliar fear that threatened his own mind. He knew better than to be afraid of visions of bones and spirits--and he knew what magic it was that she now barraged him with. Still... it was the sort of unnatural dread that lingered, like a nightmare after one awoke. The sort that made no sense, but brought fear nipping at the heels regardless. He exhaled. "I will let that go, because it is... reasonable enough. Do not do it again." Had she been alone he might have punished her, but he was trying to defuse this situation. To get answers from her spawn.

He eyed her bared fangs, and then turned to Ravage, instead--and to his utter surprise, a pang of guilt stabbed at him.

Vargas pushed it aside.

"I am related to you, yes. But your idea of family--hers--is not mine. That is, in part, the foundation of our wager. To see which 'family' results in the better child." 'Better,' as though one could be judged higher than another, more valuable. Vargas, at least, seemed to think so--if one were to assume based on his words now. "Tell me of yourself, then," he demanded.

He would hear of its education. Its cunning and its intelligence. Its opinions and its values. "Tell me everything about yourself." And then he would judge.