Vargas had, and normally one might say "of course," noticed. But the "of course" wasn't so much a given, these days, and in fact it had taken longer than it should have.

Part of that was down to his duties--he was still planning his next creation, and getting everything together for it. It was going to be a big one, and the first wholly of his own design since coming to Draco, and he wanted to get it right. So, where normally he was eagle-eyed in terms of the state of his creatures, his 'team,' he had been half-distracted for weeks. And the other big part was in Orthoclase-Alpha itself. He'd been trusting the Orthoclase to look after everything for him: to Oversee, as was its job, the training and well-being of the rest of the Chaos Forge.

He'd first begun to realize that something was... off, a couple weeks ago, but he had been busy; he'd made a mental note to return to it and check again. Perhaps the Orthoclase was merely tired, or having a bad day. But he'd noticed a continuous, if slight, decline in the Forge as a whole. Training was lagging. The others too often had little to do, and mention, when asked, had been made of the Orthoclase seeming somehwat disengaged from its work. That mental note had strengthened, and Vargas had begun to pay more attention, then.

And to watch the Orthoclase, itself.

His Overseer was notably lethargic. Weary. Vargas was unsure why and if he knew Alpha at all, he knew that confronting it directly--asking about it--would lead nowhere. The thing didn't know its own mind, and it didn't speak about it, either. So he had thought about it. Instead of his Overseer taking a weight off his mind, then, it had become another weight, and that was an irritation; but he knew that sometimes things went wrong. He would not blame it--perhaps it was his own fault--but he would try to fix it. And so he had set out to brainstorm, to think of what could best be done. He'd eventually hit on an idea, and he didn't know if it would work--and it would set him back one Overseer, for a time, perhaps. But he was virtually without one anyway, right now (bar Delta, and that was an Overseer of another sort entirely).

And so he sought it out, this time, striding with long limbs toward the distant scent of Orthoclase--it took some time to pinpoint it, even in the relatively small cave of Draco but for once Vargas did not wander around bellowing its name or title. Instead he sought it out--and found Zoisite curled not far off.

Unexpected.

He eyed them both, and then looked to the Orthoclase.

"Overseer," he said, studying it briefly--watching the way its body seemed somehow lighter beneath the carapace (which undoubtedly shielded most of its condition from sight); the way it laid there as if no energy yet remained. "I would speak to you." He glanced at Zoisite; he didn't order it off, for now, but he did add, "You might wish privacy. That is your decison." He wasn't sure if the Orthoclase would respond the same with Zoisite there or not, but it wouldn't hurt to have both of them hear what he had to say.

Since it did not ask for privacy, Vargas made no attempt to provide any. He assumed that the Overseer was close enough to its kindred, here, that it did not mind them overhearing--he wasn't entirely sure, what with these "relationships" and "family" that these new generations had.

"You have lost your drive," Vargas stated bluntly, as a beginning, which was a very questionable way of remarking on the Orthoclase's apparent lack of joy. "To get straight to the point, I want you to find it again. Not for me, or for the work, but for yourself. And I'm not," he went on, turning to stare briefly in turn at Chaos-Two, and at Zoisite--"suggesting that this is an easy fix. I do not know if you will find your solution but I know you will not find it here. I am a creation of chaos, and you are bearing burdens we were not made to understand." Here Vargas paused, thinking. "Unless you have some new answer for me, if I ask you what is wrong? -If you still do not know, then I suggest you take the time to look for your own answers however you must." He could've added a "you are useless to me like this," but it was not how he'd have meant it. More... that things were always moving fast, now, and if the Orthoclase was still preoccupied, it was time to solve it, rather than let it merely get worse. Toxic eyes briefly travelled over Alpha. "This is not a punishment. It is concern. Would that I know what is wrong with you but I do not. Try and find someone who does--someone who can help you. It may not be among the Masters; it may be among these Gembound. You don't have to leave Draco, but you may. -And before I make a complete fool of myself," Vargas went on, dourly, "it is true that you have barely been eating, yes-? Perhaps you are only preparing to moult," he mused, eyeing the exoskeleton. Did Orthoclase-Alpha ever moult..? He thought it had. "But if you are still miserable, go take a... what do they call it. A vacation," the Leviathan finished, pronouncing the word as though it were foreign on his tongue.

Vargas vaguely noticed the signs of stress--the digging claws, the tensed limbs, grinding teeth, pricking quills. Each was subtle, though together they painted a picture--yet still, he had no idea of the severity of it. He assumed resentment--the Orthoclase didn't want to be called out, he thought; it wanted to continue pretending.

He knew nothing of the stress, the strain, that threatened to shatter the carapace rather than simply shed it.

Well, it wanted privacy--perhaps it hadn't realized the extent, then, of what he'd been about to speak of. That was fine, and he followed amiably enough, half his mind still on his other work. The Orthoclase's question--'What did I do wrong?'--caught him by surprise, as much as a sudden attack would have, and he peered at it briefly before responding. "I did not say you had done anything wrong. You have not done anything wrong. -If you are asking about why I am suggesting all of this, it is because you have seemed--distant. Weary, disengaged, and I have been told, eating very little." If only he'd known the true extent of it, Vargas would've been far more concerned, and for more than the Orthoclase's well-being. Still, he paused--trying to get over his mild surprise at Alpha's assumption. A brief check over his memory and he added, "I do not think you have ever done anything wrong--not particularly. Well, aside from the dragons," he added, with mild amusement in his tone. "Do you understand?--That this is concern, and not punishment? Take me at my word, Overseer. Relax for a time, and try to find something else to put your mind to. Something you enjoy," he added, trying to sound reassuring.

For him, it had been easy: his work, his assigned tasks, were what he enjoyed. But it was obvious that this wasn't the Orthoclase's calling. Perhaps it would find it; perhaps it wouldn't, or maybe something would bring it back to its work with newfound interest. Vargas had no idea, really, but everything so far hadn't been working, at least.

Vargas eyed Alpha, and something about its posture--the chitin backed to the wall, the way it had essentially cornered itself--struck a chord in him. Suddenly he realized that something might be really wrong, more than a little weariness and stress, more than overwork. He studied it briefly, and then stepped deliberately two long, Vargas-length paces backward to give it space, before settling down on his haunches.

Ahh, if he only had a tale to share--some quiet anecdote about some time he had lost his will, and found himself confronted with misery and confusion. But he didn't. He'd been made to be relentless, a single-minded machine with a purpose and a drive that would thrust him through millennia, and it had. And so the Master was left, paradoxically, with nothing to grasp at to help he, or Orthoclase, through this situation. He lacked the tools--the experience--to handle this. All he could do, then, was reiterate--more slowly, more clearly, to ensure that Alpha heard past whatever it was flooding it with misery. "You have done nothing wrong. This is not the end of anything, Orthoclase-Alpha, and you've nothing to fear." It might've sounded dramatic, if he was overestimating the situation, to some--but to Vargas it was what it sounded like. In his life, one did not get fired. If one failed at their job they were killed. And so, this reassurance was a kindness--even a necessity. "Tell me-" and here was sudden curious inspiration--"if one in your care, in your responsibility, began to behave as you are--what would you recommend?"

Would this perspective help? Vargas didn't know; he didn't know how to handle this. But perhaps the Orthoclase came with some pre-programmed instinct that might help it to figure it out, if only its point of view could be nudged in the right direction.

Or maybe, Vargas thought, grimly, it's too far gone for that. What I do not understand is, why?