She had to take deep breaths to control herself, to ease the rage in her eyes. The whispers that now clung to her--since her mastery of her magic--had grown to a near-roar, but they now eased.

Slowly--once it was clear there was no attack coming--she lowered herself to her haunches. Her hackles still stood on end, heart hammering in her chest (she fucking hated him for this)-... and his demands on her wounded child were cruel. She hoped Vargas felt bad, because he'd just damaged this one's trust in him. A trust he might have otherwise offered implicitly. Now? Now Vargas would have to earn it back--not an easy feat.

She glanced to Ravage. She wouldn't intervene, really. This was for him to answer, and she had complete faith that whatever he said, it would be good. He was a good kid, for the most part. Destructive, sure, like a bored dog sometimes--mischievous and a troublemaker--but good-hearted. And right now his back was up. He was showing more maturity than she'd expected, and she chose to simply trust him.

A single thought, though--imbued with the most powerful of her magic--swept to Ravage from her mind, a reassuring and warm confidence in every word. I'm right here with you, kid.

He stared up with resentment, a dislike that could easily blossom, if nurtured, into hatred. This brute had come in, threatened them, and now made demands-? Before he could snap something unwise at him, he felt his mother's presence brush his mind. It was warm, it was encouraging, and it... She had faith in him.

He glanced to her--it was steadying, somehow--then back to Vargas. Ravage took a breath.

He wasn't old enough, mature or experienced enough, to recognize fully that they had different values and perspectives. And he certainly wasn't experienced enough to address them, nor eloquent enough to explain it properly if he could. He was barely out of childhood, and all he could feel right now was a buzzing anger at the unfairness being perpetrated here.

"Myself-? I was taught to say please," he snapped, still incensed. "That's one fact about me. You've come in here and threatened us both and now you're making demands, and you haven't even said you're sorry?! If this is how you treat your family, they must be fucked up," he said, but all of this--all of it--was delivered more with a righteous disbelief than actual anger.

Who acts like this?!

- THE LEVIATHAN -

It was rapidly growing clear that Giggle had not impressed upon this child the truths of this cave's hierarchy. Vargas stared at Ravage, half tempted to immediately put him in his place, but that would not be... fair. And all else aside, the Leviathan was fair. Or--he tried to be, at least. No; this hybrid's perspective came from a wholly different place. A place where he'd been taught everyone were equals. That all deserved respect. Vargas took a breath, noting to himself that this could prove poor for Ravage's adaptability, in the long run--and addressed it.

"I see your stonegiver has not told you of the nature of your own home," he said evenly, shooting Giggle a reproachful but measured glance. He then looked back to Ravage. "This is a Nest of Chaos. I am a Master here--one of many--who keep this place running. Your kind was an accident. An incursion--but one we choose to tolerate. You are right: your ways are different from ours. From mine. That is what I am here to learn of. But do not make any mistake: I will not tolerate disrespect." His tone, still, was even, but it held a firm authority in it. It was almost fatherly, and perhaps, he thought wistfully, it might have had such an effect and garnered true respect had he not come in with threats, at first.

Had that been a mistake-? He'd learned much of the child even from that brief encounter--but he may have slammed the door on further learning, unless he chose to press hard enough to damage Ravage.

"When I speak, I do not need platitudes. I command, and I expect obedience. However..." he paused, taking a breath. "As necessary as my initial test was... I understand that it was distressing. That was the point of it." Vargas was, as it turned out, not very good at apologies. And for an instant, even he--with his experience of eons--wasn't sure where to go from there.

"I come from an era where I would simply have killed you both for not grovelling quickly enough," he settled on, at last, but... there was dark humor in it, and his forelimb was already rising to forestall argument. "It is, perhaps, for the best that this era is mostly passed. The fact that I am here at all is testament to my attempts to do better, yes-? So... if you believe me and my methods to be wrong. Grasp then that I am here to learn and understand. Perhaps... to make them better. And then: tell me of yourself."

He studied Ravage, wondering what the spawn would make of this. Whatever his answer... Vargas would learn from it.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

vomit

Vargas spoke. Ravage listened. At first, he paid attention to the words, giving them--as best he could--his consideration. But the more the Leviathan said, the more something tugged at Ravage's subconscious.

There was something... disturbing in Vargas's words. Something... familiar. He found himself focused not on the content, but the timbre, of this speech. And suddenly--halfway through the Leviathan's plodding explanations--it clicked. A memory--a fragment of a memory--shot through Ravage's mind.

'"Navea," pleaded the wolf again, its body trembling against the children. "Please. We can relocate, we can—"

"That's enough, June. This will buy you plenty of time. Perhaps you could try for the refuge?" Navea's voice was becoming resolved and it could feel that resolve in its heart, and in its stone, its core: this had to be done.

"Come out, come out, little mouse," slithered a voice, its deep tone carrying across the bones like dense thunder. The hidden creatures all paused, their breath held, and then Navea gave them a final smile.'

Images of a gemstone cleaved in half, a body torn, a family split-... He reeled, physically jerking back, and abruptly his stomach heaved. His head jerked down and his jaws hung wide, and this time instead of flames, the contents of his stomach lurched out, spilling to the rock below. The sting of acid on his burned throat drew a cry from him and he stumbled back, shaking his head and neck in slow refusal of this realization.

When he looked up at Vargas, it was with fresh eyes, with new horror. He didn't see a bastard who'd come in and acted rude. He saw a monster, a real monster, someone who'd slaughtered the innocent and killed parents and-

"You're a murderer," he rasped, past the pained throat and his own inability to raise his voice past a hoarse whisper. "I saw you." No--that wasn't right. "I heard you. Hunting them. You killed them. You killed Navea."

Part of him had thought the vision to be a nightmare. Or he'd hoped it. He'd known better, of course: it had been a memory he'd seen, and every facet of it had haunted him. The names, even--he'd kept those close, even when they'd brought him dreadful dreams. His own mother had gently explained it, when he'd gotten a little older, but he'd thought it to be ancient history. Something so far in the past that everyone in the vision was long gone and forgotten. He'd never imagined that the killer still walked the caves. That they--that he-... That it was his own grandfather.

His stomach heaved again, and he staggered further back, wanting to be as far from Vargas as he could.

She hadn't interfered. She didn't want to; this was Ravage's moment, his own relationship to build or to deny. That was up to him. Her mind had flicked half-away, going to reassure Omen that there was no immediate danger. The other half listened, tried to also register all of what was being said. But now-... What's going on? She pushed up, concern flaring through her, and stepped toward her son. "Ravage?" she asked, quietly, brow furrowed.

She pushed up beside him, looking to Vargas as if for explanation, and then back to Ravage again.

It was only at the mention of the name that it clicked. She knew what he had seen--had seen it, herself, in a linking of the mind but in a confused, jumbled way. It hadn't held the same impact, to glimpse only a snatch of it here and there. But--was he saying that it was Vargas that had killed the one he'd seen? Vargas, who'd left a newborn with this trauma? And what were the chances..? It was as though the victim had lain in wait, storing this memory in their grim bones, as some trap to spring on his descendents. But then... he may be responsible for half the dead in Canis. Maybe it wasn't that unlikely after all.

She looked up, grimly silent, to the Leviathan--as if to say, 'this is your mess to clean up.'

He had to make this right; the only thing was, Giggle didn't think he could. She sure as hell didn't know how.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He'd fully been expecting a turnaround to the conversation. He thought he'd been wholly reasonable, now. That his words would surely strike a chord, open a door to a new interaction, but-... No.

Ravage, apparently, had seen something of the past and even though Vargas had just told him that he'd once killed on a whim, it was somehow horrible news. He had the good grace, at least, not to blurt his first thought when the hybrid named the victim: Who?

He glanced to Giggle as she moved--and the look she gave him he met with a baffled, fractional shake of his head. He didn't know what to do with this. Reason wouldn't work: he had already explained all he could, and the spawn's back was up, their emotions running far too high to simply hear him and calm down. No, he could see and recognize trauma, at least.

It was irritating that this one had apparently been confident and well-adjusted until he turned up today, and then-

Ahh. Well. That was an unpleasant revelation. Two minutes with this one and he'd ruined it. Is that really all it takes? He'd deem it fragile, but that wasn't true, was it-? No; in the past they'd simply killed all of those like Ravage, all of those who cried and lashed back. It wasn't that the Valkhounds of the past had been that much different, that much stronger. They'd just killed the ones who weren't. Or culled them, in the Trials. And that was a cause for rebellion, in the end. Maybe those of the past hadn't truly been all that different. Maybe it was simply a matter of... not murdering everyone.

A revelatory thought, that.

Well.

"Yes," he said, at last, and though it was calm, there was no remorse in it. "As I said... we killed easily and often. And as I said. Things have changed." He pushed up from his haunches, because it was clear there'd be no useful assessment here. Not unless he pushed the hyena to breaking. Studied its recovery, if any. And what was the point in that-? That was the old way, yes, but he wasn't here to gauge the functionality of its design, but the flaws and benefits in his own methods. And it was clear, at the moment, that in a flash he had failed this one.

Was it even worth raising the other in the Forge at all-? His mind went over each of the Forge's members, and tried to think of a single one that was... normal. Well-adjusted. Some could look him in the eye and speak, but even those were half-mad with Chaos. He could not imagine, for example, taking The Sentinel to a Palace party.

Ravage?

He imagined Ravage would do just fine.

A sharp exhale escaped him. "I will return to Draco. Find me if you are willing to speak, in the future." He gave it a moment, in case either of them wished to speak, but it was clear that nothing constructive would come of his remaining here right now.

His breath was coming in fast, frightened gulps, as though he were trying to swallow down the air. And though disgust and fear and horror all drove him back, away from the Leviathan, he didn't turn and run.

Didn't panic, though it was a damn close thing.

He just stood there, heaving and gasping, struggling against the nightmares in his memory--struggling to reconcile with the fact that the murderer was standing here, now, right in front of him and that he was related to him. He'd always thought of that voice as a villain, an iredeemable monster, and the knowledge that it was his own, direct ancestor-... "Am I evil?" he blurted abruptly, and looked away from Vargas, to his mother, for reassurance.

He wasn't--was he?

He had a bloodthirst to him, certainly. He enjoyed a good hunt, though Giggle had taught him never to draw it out in cruelty. That Lessers had feelings, just as much as they did, even if they couldn't think and speak like they could. But if they had feelings and he ate them anyway-...

If his bloodline came from--from that-...

"Oh, bones," was her startled answer, her heart twisting in anguish for her child. She pushed forward, pressing her far smaller form to his, as if she could draw him close as she'd done when he had been a child. Even though, even then, he'd been as big as she was. "No, you aren't evil. You're a good kid, Ravage," she hurriedly assured him, and fired another brief glance--almost a glare--at Vargas. Look what you've done. "You've got me as your mom, right? I'm sure as shit not evil. Right-? Ravage--Ravage, look at me," she said softly, as he buried his head against her flank. She pulled back a little, looking him in the eye, trying to impress upon him how solemn she was. How honest.

"You're good. Your gemstone or your magic doesn't make you who you are. You do that. A shitty parent might make you worse, sure," she added, with another glance Vargas's way, "but not always, and it's not something that's just... part of you. Okay-? Even he's not evil. He did awful things, but he's trying to make them better--right? You're not bad, Ravage. I promise."

Oh, how she wished this was something she could heal with magic. Split it half-and-half, take on this agonizing burden for herself, because the weight of it on her four-cycle-old son was just too fucking much to bear.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas had made a long habit of trying to support those within the Forge. To build them up, rather than simply break them down. His initial impulse was the same as Giggle's, though untouched by her deep emotion--an urge to reassure the child that no, he was not 'evil.' It wasn't from a place of empathy, but simply fact.

To elaborate, even, and agree that he himself--Vargas--was not 'evil.'

Was he-?

That thought silenced anything he might have said. It was a foolish question, to wonder at the nature of 'good' and 'evil.' They were only words. They meant nothing.

One did what one had to do. They followed their orders, and pressed forward in the tasks that they'd been made for. They advanced the designs of their maker.

Never mind that he'd secreted away a few of those stones, wondering if perhaps the time would come he could revive them, in admiration of their strength--or even pity. Never mind that sometimes he had loudly killed one of them, knowing full well that the rest would get away. That hadn't been 'good.' Or acknowledgment that what he'd been doing had been 'evil.'

It had just been... his choice in the moment. That was all.

Yet still he stood here, lingering, fighting down what he identified as 'a faint unease' as he watched Ravage's internal torment. The creature had seen only one of his many acts and had immediately gotten sick, lost all faith in itself-...

Vargas wavered, for a moment, between two disparate responses. The first--his kneejerk, his old standby. To mentally sneer that the modern Gembounds were weak--and to return to Draco to continue his work. The second, to entertain the faintest feeling of guilt. But that would to be consider guilt for all his acts. To admit that he'd done wrong, and he did not feel that he had. To take on the burden of a thousand such acts--and could he carry such a thing? There's no need to, his pragmatic side answered, with certainty. It was a stupid idea. The past was in the past, and he was trying to improve things now.

Why was he even dwelling on this?

He had work to do.

He eyed the hybrid--a monster the size of a horse, trembling with its head tucked against its mother's flank--and turned away.

He would have to see if the other one hatched--and how that one might turn out. Perhaps see if Ravage came to him, in time, to talk.

Then he could compare them.

In the meantime-... Vargas paused, without looking back. His tail flicked slightly behind him before he spoke. "Boneseer. In the event that the other does not wake--you may come and offer your advice."

It was no admission of failure. Not at all. Just... an invitation for new perspectives, that's all. He'd assumed from the start that he might learn something from her methods. Everyone had something to teach, after all. And-...

I have work to do. The Leviathan stalked away, pushing his mind toward other things. Like the fungus in this cave--why wasn't it fully gone, yet? He'd have to see to that. And there was training to arrange, and...

He would not dwell on this.

exit all three