A towering, magic stone— "A Spire?" it half-asked, half-whinged. Was there something wrong with him today... ?

The possibility that it hit the punchline without actually parsing the rest of the joke was very real and lost on Orthoclase-Alpha.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"A Spire?"

"Yes!" Vargas boomed, and then came a monstrously loud, hearty laugh. "A spy-er!" The emphasis was very much on the 'spi' half of the word, and he laughed again after the delivery.

"Excellent! How very good. Here, one more: what do you call a serpent battlemaster who has forgotten to put on his armor?"

@Orthoclase-Alpha

The praise and laughter was... unexpected to say the least. It jolted at the first booming chuckle, the same as a dog might at a loud sound they're unfamiliar with—thunder, a door slamming, the vacuum cleaner. Then, it just returned to being plain confused.

Something had to be wrong with him today. Had some sort of illness overtaken him? Was he in a feverish haze, cracking "jokes" and fraternitizing?

"Are you... unwell?" Orthoclase-Alpha muttered in lieu of another uncomprehending What? that would never actually be answered.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas sighed.

Here he was, trying to provide a bit of levity, and his spawn simply asked if he were sick.

"...S-naked," he answered, pronouncing it like 'naked' but with an 's,' and then he grunted. "That--yes, I am fine." He sighed again.

"Never mind. You made a beginning with Zoisite, I saw?" he remarked, still on his haunches. "It was... a little distraught at the way things went, I should think, but you will continue with it--yes? And try to actually bond rather than upsetting it, this time."

Despite the words, they didn't hold the tone of command. If anything it sounded almost paternal, a suggestion, a conversation. But Vargas did want to get some idea, at least, of where they were all at.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Disappointment weighed on those two sighs—at least in the way that Orthoclase-Alpha interpreted them and its low-grade terror clung to it. The briefest flash of Zoisite came to mind even as it slowly nodded. If he said so, then he was fine. (Its favorite phrase! "I'm fine.") Still, warning signs of failure nipped any verbal acknowledgement in the bud; put a stranglehold on its throat, in fact. Cotton clogged its windpipe, padded the space between vocal chords.

"... a little distraught..." He knows. "... try... rather than upsetting it..." HE KNOWS.

Orthoclase-Alpha shrank into itself, quills pricking apprehensively. Its head dipped below its shoulders, which hiked high in a full-body cringe. "I'm—" its voice crackled, snapped, popping around the forced syllables that would be very familiar, "s-sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't— couldn't... talk to it— them—" On instinct, it took a staggering step backward, jolting when it met solid wall. "I couldn't— didn't understand and, and... I was g-going to—"

No. No. Don't tell him that.

"It's... the Forge is different— I d-don't understand why, I thought— thought it was weak and—" It heaved, eyes wild, voice trailing off to an unintelligible murmur.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas watched it... well, it spoke, but it was also staggering and stammering.

"I'll tell more jokes, if I have to," he said, and it sounded like a humorous half-threat. "I am not going to attack you. Stop, breathe. Take a breath. It is good that you are speaking, but... Try to tell me all of that again, but... With more..." He thought, and then gestured vaguely. "...Words."

He paused, eyeing it. "And take your time. We're in no rush."

And he wasn't, and nor did he any longer feel the urgency he'd once felt in dealing with the Orthoclase. He didn't expect it to suddenly recover, so if it didn't, well. Oh well. Status quo, these days. His demeanor, then, was almost idle.

Maybe that was really for the best.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Thoughts raced, slipping out of control at every banked left turn around the circle track; it could just barely get a hold of them before they smashed into the concrete barriers or dug trenches in the green. Orthoclase-Alpha nearly gave itself whiplash flicking its gaze up at Vargas, suddenly in the way of its incomprehensible stream of panic. The brakes slammed, and its mouth snapped shut.

(Surely empty) assurances of safety, orders to breathe, praise for speaking even if it wasn't right wasn't right I'm not all right—

It clung to its lifeline (what was that anyways?) and gasped for air through watery lungs. The spittle between its teeth was swept up by its tongue, along with what little blood remained of its meager meal on its gums. Alpha licked at its chops like it was just now tasting the fresh air, and it swallowed.

Inhaled again.

Swallowed again.

What had it already confessed to? It could start there. Shaking voice, shaking limbs, quills rattling an oh-so-quiet rhythm. "I... didn't understand them— or why them— it was... doing that. Gardening, not sparring or training or... Another gasping breath. Just a report. Of its failure. "But it said you allowed it and I... don't understand. Didn't. Can't." Too many corrections, Vargas would sniff out the lies by omission, the reek of what curse it'd bestowed upon Zoisite from the moment of its creation. Its heart jackhammered in its chest. "The Forge ch-changed and I... couldn't talk to it. It tried— tried to talk to me."

The next words tasted like acid on its tongue, and it physically cowered from the sensation. "I f— I failed, I think." Too-wide eyes snapped back to Vargas from where they'd wandered away to. "I'm sorry, Master Vargas... sir."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Speech. And he was relieved, immensely so, though that good cheer still had not left him regardless.

It was... trying.

He nearly interrupted, to explain that he had given permission for the farming, but Orthoclase-Alpha knew. Had been told, in fact. And its further explanations--about the Forge having changed--only confirmed what he had suspected. That when the world around Alpha had shifted, it hadn't quite been able to keep up. That it was lost, and adrift.

He considered, briefly, trying to explain this to it. To explain that adaptability was important. To explain, again, the ways the Forge had changed, and why.

But... talking never went over well with the Orthoclase. It tuned out, broke off, couldn't listen; he'd learned that the very difficult way.

So instead, he kept to deliberately casual.

Shook his head, even. "Oh, no, you need not apologize. A bond is not built in a day, Orthoclase-Alpha, and I am well aware that for one like you--trained as a soldier--it must be difficult adapting to a Forge that is bent on creation rather than pure destruction." Even if the creations were for destruction.

...It was complicated.

"I did allow them to work the farm, yes. There's a few of the Forge that are doing so; we need food for those that do not eat meat, after all, and some of them prefer... nonviolent pursuits, I think." Vargas had no idea, in fact, how far that sentiment actually went with the Zoisite--no inkling whatsoever. But the general wish had been clear, from several of their creatures. "And that is fine, we have enough roles to fill without requiring combat." It was a bit strange, in retrospect, to think that some of these monstrous beasts shied from conflict, but... interesting, too.

"I do not wish to see it harmed, however--yes? Not physically, and not, if you can help it, in its... feelings. I won't force you to speak with it, of course. If you don't wish to, then do not, but I still think it would be... worth working on. Some creatures do better with bonds."

Like you, I suspect, he thought.

He paused, and fired Orthoclase-Alpha a glance of amusement. There was wry humor in his voice, perhaps to mask the seriousness beneath, as he offered a taste of honesty: "You know, I think I rather like the Zoisite? It is a kind creature, and a keen one--but strong, deep down, as well."

Anything with the clarity of mind to take a breath and truly explain its inner thoughts while wracked with emotional trauma-? Strong, in Vargas's book.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

As Vargas settled and spoke, it remembered that it missed being thoughtless. Thoughtless in the sense of being uninvolved and uncaring of what would become of itself; in the sense of holding no responsibility except for what direct consequence bloomed from poking around in the lion's den. Missed when it merely wanted praise and to live another day as a good design, a good soldier. Missed when it didn't have to be more than that. Missed when it didn't feel hatred for what had changed and left it behind, for the passage of time itself. (And wasn't it a damn shame that was such an abstract concept? Alpha couldn't just rip it to shreds like any other problem.)

It stared down dragons, fought in war against the seemingly-anomalous concept of Order, looked Chaos in the eye and witnessed its Master's own ascension; and yet it had difficulty adapting to the thought that there was more to life than a war it was never destined to fight in. It was somewhere between Valkhound and Gembound, it thought; not quite human, not quite machine. A beating heart wired to a battery, either struggling to breathe.

Had it been ready to die? Had it become afraid to?

Alpha waited for him to finish before it took a gasping breath, yet another gulp of air. "Yes sir," it murmured a little ineffectively to all of the above— sans "I do not wish to see it harmed" and everything after it.

The faint feeling of relief at having dodged a bullet managed to flutter through it, put it just that little bit more at ease. It'd not made a horrible mistake in letting the zoisite's weakness go unpunished— no, not unpunished, the weakness, it'd... not needed to save them— it— Orthoclase-Alpha huffed, shook its head, blinked away the picture-perfect memory of the grub squirming in the dirt, in its looming shadow. It scratched at the pins-and-needles sensation in its forearm with the opposite arm. Claws scraped loudly at the carapace there, a little too forceful.

They curled back into the soil afterwards.

"I didn't— won't harm it again." It could promise that, if nothing else. "I... don't think I should—" Talk to it again? Am I afraid that I'm going to be trapped again? Afraid to hear them say that word again? Mothe— The sentence trailed off, and it shifted gears before it was too late.

But, it couldn't go wandering too far from where Vargas had urged the two of them to go: "It... wasn't the one to run away." Something halfway to agreement, though there was no prideful edge to its creaking voice, nor Duchenne smile reaching its eyes. Merely a bland sort-of observation uttered while it dared to rock back onto its far hindquarters, to at least give those legs a break from wobbling like they could not support the baggage it bore on its shoulders and under its eyes.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Won't harm it... again? Vargas thought, peering at the Orthoclase. He considered asking if it had hurt the Zoisite physically already, but after hesitation, decided not to. Zoisite hadn't said as much, and he himself had mentioned emotions. Perhaps Alpha was, for once, speaking in the abstract.

"Well, that is good!" he said, instead.

Of course, it'd broken off a sentence, there, and Vargas tilted his head just a tad. "Did you wish to finish that thought-?" he asked, and prompted, "You don't think you should-?" It was only curiosity, really, and he let it hang in the air a moment before continuing.

"I did not think it had run from you, no. It was still working the farm, repairing damage done, when I arrived; may I ask what made you flee from it?" The question was direct, yet not demanding.

Vargas had, perhaps ironically, learned to be a little less commanding purely in his interactions with the Zoisite: he felt a need to pull back, a little, around it. As though he feared frightening it. Because he didn't want to.

Somehow, this was now carrying over to the Orthoclase.

@Orthoclase-Alpha