Hemlocke's thoughts--though Vargas didn't know them--were dead-on. He didn't think about Desert Rose's comment in quite as much detail but he perceived the comment as arrogance. It was not up to Desert to decide what an asset would be, or not. Thirty-Five's playing at being any sort of authority figure, or perhaps attentive professional, was quickly wearing thin, and Vargas turned to stare at him.

"An asset? I don't think you understand," he said slowly, allowing another grin to briefly twist over his features. "They used her to test Hydra. Again and again. And she did not die. She is your superior: of that, make no mistake." There was more to it, of course, than that, though Vargas hadn't seen it firsthand. They'd thrown her against the Hydra beasts over and over, testing, and she simply hadn't died--hence her moniker--and this was, Vargas knew, why they'd chosen her stone to elevate into him. She was worthy of respect.

This small, sandy moron was not. The last of Vargas' respect had bled away at his remark; it had already been dripping off like a bad coffee feed at his remarks in the cycle prior, and his failure to guard the stones. Speaking of which-

"Guard the stones," Vargas said bluntly, "And try not to knock yourselves out again in the meantime. If she awakens before I return, you had best stay out of her way."

With a final glare at the two, Vargas turned to leave, his thin tail sweeping along behind him.

exit Vargas unless further addressed
@Desert Rose Thirty-Five

Any time Vargas laid eyes on him, Desert grew ever more uneasy in the span of time their conversations would take. He may challenge him- even if he shouldn't, he knew that's what he'd been doing- but even a glance set in stone how fragile his life could be in the Overseer's claws. Not just his body- his soul was practically owned by Vargas, and he didn't seem to grasp at the concept that the pervasive sense of individuality had begun to grasp at his mind like an infection.

His Overseer's voice chilled him to the bones. Asset- why did he say that? His teeth grit hard enough to cause aches to lash through his blue stained gums. Despite his more regal look now, he only felt more like a court jester, tap-dancing his way into the pit of spikes. His head lowered at Vargas's grin.

Testing Hydra was, perhaps, one of the worst things Desert could imagine doing, much less doing it multiple times. Yes, he did trials, but he wasn't pushing the cave to its limits, forcing the beasts to come at him- no. He was trying to survive. There was no chance in hell that he'd thrive in there, not with how he was built. A nervous swallow ran down his neck as his thin pupils pointed to the floor, staring hard on the rock below.

He stiffened when the command was ordered. "Of course, sir," he only spoke, avoiding making eye contact now. He didn't move when Vargas moved past them, stood frozen in that spot, before sighing and drawing his head back up to look over the chrysalises once more.

@Hemlocke

Hydra was a cave for testing - experimental grounds, at their finest and least sterile. Creatures were made and they were tossed into the sands with a whip at their rear and urging to go on, to survive and prove their design to be capable and worthwhile of continuation. But, for a cave's beasts to be tested by a creation - that was something to be respected, feared, revered. Anything that could stand up against an Eyehook should be avoided. Hemlocke did not intend to get on her bad side. If it happened to be around for her emergence, it would be brief and disappear into the woodwork at the soonest opportunity.

Best to leave it to the Overseer. At least one of the Sentinels knew its place.

"Yes, Overseer, sir," it chirruped automatically, staring after Vargas until he'd become little more than a small speck in the far distance.

Ruby-red eyes narrowed, almost predatory as Hemlocke spun atop its glassy precipice and padded down its length. One of its paws gripped an old blood stain. Coming into Desert's proximity, it sighed lightly and softened its gaze - if only out of exhaustion.

An age-old weariness had settled into its body, and all it could say for it was, "do you remember your place, now?"

Desert could hear as Hemlocke turned on him. Of course it wanted to dig, but- really, Desert was tired. They couldn't fight again, couldn't shove themselves into their chrysalises so close to the children being hatched. He'd hoped, at least. It had to be soon, right?

Instead, Desert only looked to the alien with a dour expression across his face, his baby blue eyes intense with apathy. "Sure." He shrugged, his eyes squinting for a moment. He wasn't going to start it this time.

He felt old, then, in that moment, scales tight against his skin, and yet altogether new in his reformed body. It wasn't like he had much to say to Hemlocke. Best move on, best not address what had happen- let Hemlocke think what it wanted. Instead, the dragon only turned to pace towards the den. "We should get the warren prepared for their arrival." His voice could only be described as dusty and weary, as though his mind had been placed on an old shelf to be forgotten for the time being. "Do we have bedding for them? I suspect the main area will be big enough for the Overseer's offspring." He could get some. It's not like he slept on any bedding himself- he'd found a dark corner he could hide in away from the wind and he often slept with his back turned against Hemlocke, if they ever managed to be in the same room together.

Hopefully, they wouldn't want to kill each other like their parents did. They could be raised to trust one another, to work together as a squadron in Hydra. Not like that foolish, naive trust that had built in the last trial, but an alliance risen up from the pressures of the sands and their teachers placed upon them. The kind Desert would make in his times there.

A brotherhood, like one he had with his own.

If only he could change himself enough to accept Hemlocke into one, become allies again, like old times. This could be the drive that pushed them there.

Hemlocke didn't mean to dig - didn't mean to keep picking at Desert's scabs and reopening them. It simply had a penchant for picking and picking and shoving and shoving. The alien just wanted him to understand, to know what its intentions had been (however unconscious and suppressed they had been at the time.)

In short, the fox-dragon didn't give it the answer it had wanted, the attention it thought it deserved, "I told you. The reproduction, 'my children,' 'asset.' The misspeaking... the stepping out of line - it's going to get you killed." Hemlocke inhaled sharply, adjusting its wings to focus on something other than the persistent tremble crawling up and down its spine. "I -" it soured, suddenly at a loss of what to say, "I could have betrayed you then and there, you know that? Said that you'd attacked me like it was the truth, that I was defending myself from assault so I could keep doing my work as his Eye without you." Tail lashing once or twice, it twittered, "I stuck my neck out just this once. I'm not going to do it again. Clean it up or you're - going to get killed and stain whatever the fuck legacy you're trying to achieve."

The last half seemed... almost heartfelt. A desperation to have something familiar in this world.

But, Champions were best at deflecting. They could not be known for endurance, perseverance, the ability to survive on little more than sultry heat and willpower. No, they were masters of moving on, forgetting what ailed them and pushing. Desert demonstrated, changing the subject to something safer, less personal and conflict-ridden. A wise choice, maybe.

Ah, the warren, half-dug and sustaining only the scant few creatures in this group. Doctor seemed to prefer his own open-air digs to the sandy bowl. "The center will have to do, for now. They can dig their own rooms once they earn it," Hemlocke hummed dully, exhausted and slipping easily back into automatic responses and behaviors, "and gather their own bedding, too." Comforts were materialistic, and acquiring them in free time was purely up to all of them. The alien didn't think it needed such things, even if the Overseer had offered them twice, now. Better to not disturb him and add another thing to his schedule...

... as grand as it would be to have yet another thing to hold above Desert's head like encouragement to stay loyal, obedient, and quiet.

He stopped midstep, his hind leg lifted into the air. All he could do was sigh. He didn't have a choice but to take this, blinking slow as his face held a blank expression. Halfway through, he turned to face Hemlocke, his foot placing itself down as he redirected his apathy to it. If it wanted to carry this on, Desert didn't care. He'd give short responses to get it to shut up.

It's not the first time he'd flirted with death, and it wouldn't be the last. He regarded the little alien for a moment. Blue eyes flicked over its form, looking it up and down as it grew frustrated with each word. "Thank you, Hemlocke," he spoke gently, genuine. There was no reason for them to do that. Not when its life was obviously threatened by associating with Desert, not in the moment, but perhaps that alliance he desired was reforming.

It wouldn't be easy, not when Hemlocke wanted to dig into it so often. Desert resorted, quickly, to take a different approach to it, as fighting fire with fire only bred you burns and scabs.

His shoulders rolled as he looked back to the place they'd begun to call their own. It was open, for now, and there was some work that needed to be done. "Of course," he'd repeated himself on earning rooms. That he agreed with- but they should at least give them some semblance of courtesy, being thrown into these times with no information, nothing the Champions had. Granted, they didn't have much either. Or- at least he'd assumed. It had been eons since he'd first formed, and he had no chance of remembering it at this point.

"We might as well mark it as ours, however. It's too obvious to disguise into the surrounding area." He'd walked over- it wasn't far from their clutch. There were ancient iron doors that had protected this tunnel. Something like that may suffice well, something to barricade them from the outside world, but they should clear out the area first of all for their new influx coming in.

A claw flexed up to rest on the sandy wall, a regard for them running over him. A symbol, perhaps? He'd never learned how to read- he had no chance to write their group's name into the stone. However, he could carve, especially with his new claws being much less blunt now. Or- was there a way to paint the side? Crushed berries, perhaps, or find a sticky residue and use a deceased gem to stain the den.

Though- digging. "The... Hm. Initiates?" That sounded good. "They should be strong enough upon hatching to help us clear out area for them. I'd assume, at least." A lot of this was running off of fuzzy, ingrained memories at this point. "Have you considered carving out a den for yourself inside? Tasking them with assisting in that may show their initial personality after they've finished with the center. See who volunteers."

He'd mention his want of one, but, well. He hadn't earned it. Not yet. Plus, there was the fact that he may be regarding these children as having adult personalities right off the bat, rather than being. Well. Children.

It's not like he remembered meeting (or being) one.

Minimal responses. Hemlocke ground its beak, but dropped the subject before its mind could get too hasty. The here and now is more important. Don't think of the future, tiny alien. You might not like what you imagine.

At least they could agree on some things - the newly emerged offspring would dig their own dwellings, permanent or not. If they desired something, they would have to get it for themselves. Self-sufficiency was a gateway to independence while remaining subservient. Overseers and Masters would provide order, keeping them obedient.

Would it be fair, though, to consider the warren as having an identity of its own? When its inhabitants were merely numbers and gems unless proven, unless given the privilege? Hemlocke hummed softly, shrugging in mild agreement. The entrance was fairly large, carved out so that the Overseer may be able to fit inside. That had been the intention, at least - to avoid any ideas of it being a hiding place. Blustering winds could do the work of smoothing out the hole, with time. "I - knew of a creature that used these colored sticks... powders? To draw on walls. I'm not sure where they are," it pondered quietly, "perhaps we could mark it in a similar way." With similar tools.

Somehow, the alien suspected those chalks had been stolen.

"Putting them to work would - definitely be helpful, I think," the alien mused aloud, but hesitated with a sidelong glance. "We'll have to see what our Overseer thinks we should begin with." After all, such a being was tasked with training and testing. These were, in essence, his chrysalises, his children. He made the final decisions. "No, I haven't considered a den. It'd be space wasted when I can just find a ledge."

It wasn't like it slept much - if at all. Constantly being on high alert and overstimulated, and all.

Desert's claw dug into the hard wall, pressing in with a soft grunt of its owner. He could try and carve something out, maybe? Or they could use one of the weapons abandoned at the entrance. Either way- "That would do. Dyes may rub off, though- carving may prove better until we find a way to keep it there." The nail he'd left on it scratched down in a line, leaving a shallow divot behind. That was a start. "I'm not sure what our symbol would even be." Being illiterate, there was no way of writing down what they were. Perhaps he could find someone who wasn't- Vargas?

Not now.

Putting his mind in a different place, Desert turned back to Hemlocke. It agreed on putting them to work. It'd prove to be a good training session, definitely, and he could see them work. Hopefully.

He huffed, backing away from the wall. Hemlocke should find itself a permanent sleeping location. It had earned it, no? "We will see, then," he agreed on Vargas's call, disregarding what it had to say about sleeping positions.

His mind was still churning on symbols. Something... With the glass? Something about sands? Hm. They could tattoo it onto themselves- or, at least, the initiates- once everything got going. But then again they needed subtlety sometimes. Allegiances displayed so clearly were dangerous.

"I will return." Desert flared out his wings somewhat. He had it in his mind to get a utensil to carve out some possible designs, get the symbol down before laying it down in front of their den. There wasn't anything left to say, anyways, as he pulsed down his wings, taking note of how they moved different from his previous flights. Curious, but he could work with this, nonetheless.

Without further word, Desert took off for the Canis entrance of the tunnel.

;exit Desert unless stopped

"I could burn it into the wall -" it mused, but nodded in mute agreement. They would have to workshop a sort of symbol, a marker that they were the Sentinels and that they were here. Visible. Unable to be quelled by rebellion and lunacy. Hemlocke quietly hoped it could say the same of Desert.

The odd alien didn't think for too long on that, only watching as the fox-dragon left it holding the proverbial bag. With a grimace, Hemlocke stretched. Arching its back, fanning wings, it gave off a minute squeak. Ruby-red eyes narrowed, blinking almost blearily as it defaulted back to the standard, emotionless state with no outward stimulation.

Thoughts, of course, continued to turn over and over in its conscious, but it merely perched on a rock shelf near to the chrysalises. Waiting. Watching. Obedient and dutiful.

;exit hemlocke