Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

Despite its cheery title, this thread is very likely to have a lot of dark themes including self-harm and suicidal thoughts, particularly in any Orthoclase-Alpha posts

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas threaded his way up the sandy trail, little puffs rising behind each of his steps. He was careful, still--and had been this whole way--not to leave Orthoclase-Alpha behind. If it spoke, he'd speak back; beyond that he simply, unerringly, headed for a secluded spot in Leo.

Light beat down on his hide, and he mused that it was nothing compared to the burning heat of a real sun--one that, after millennia, he had felt but once as it seared his skin. But still, it was warm. And heat was what he needed. He led the way around a curving path, one that rose behind the bay toward a series of pools and waterfalls where the warm waters of the bay met the base of Leo's volcano.

It wasn't idealism, foolish hopefulness, that made him wonder if molting--a stuck carapace--might be the base of all Orthoclase-Alpha's miserable depression. It was pragmatism. The thought had occurred to him long ago, and he'd never really pursued it; he intended to do so now, if only to rule it out before moving on to such things as "mind reader therapy" and "whatever else I can think of in last-minute desperation."

Dhracia failed. Now that was a thought. If nothing else, he could take a sort of grim solace in that thought; a dark hilarity, despite the ill omen such a thing provided.

"Here," he told his spawn at last, pushing past a stand of thickly overgrown jungle plants to plunge down a steeper slope. Water stood in honeycombed, hissing falls, rivulets trickling down; larger pools stood here and there, some warm, some outright hot. They weren't the best hot springs in the caves, but they would do for his purposes, and Vargas tested the waters of one with one hand before plunging in like a dog, head tilting up as his upper body briefly submerged. He paddled awkwardly to the other side, making room, then turned and settled where the water lay shallow.

An exhale escaped him, six toxic eyes sliding to languid near-closed. He turned, seeking out Alpha with his gaze, the thought now, let us see if you can swim one of pure metaphor.

"Do not worry--don't concern yourself with--accomplishing something. I simply want you to try and feel the water," he urged, his tone one of calm confidence, forced to something quieter than his usual booming voice. "To listen to the steam and feel the heat on your muscles. Then tell me how it feels." 'This is not a test,' he nearly added, in assurance; but he'd said so many times that everything was a test. How could Alpha believe that now-? So he left it unsaid, allowing himself to relax in the water, settling up to his jaws.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Bunny, necroing an 8 month old thread starter? It's more likely than you think.

With nothing from Vargas to prompt it, Orthoclase-Alpha is silent for the journey— as much as a hulking beast of rattling quills and grinding, chitinous plates can be. Silent in voice and, after a time, in mind; all its attention span circles the drain in a slow downward spiral, and the only thing keeping its physical trajectory sure and true is keeping a vague eye on the Valkhound in front of it's heels striking the earth. It's just visual noise, barely belonging to anyone.

That changes once they set foot in Leo.

Squinting eyes never quite adjust to the light, no matter if they're shoving through brush or strolling along the shore; and its quills never lie flat for another moment. Both quietly shake, anticipating and anxious. It despises this cave, even if it can barely recall a single square yard of its floor plan.

The path Vargas is leading it upon is an entirely new one, and that lack of familiarity is enough to set it further off. It's suddenly reminded again of its frustration, forgotten and tucked away so soon. But, there is nothing to be done about it other than look the part of a petulant child who didn't want to come on this vacation.

Orthoclase-Alpha's gaze hardly studies the environs they emerge into. Its gaze remains trapped on Vargas, watching as he tests the waters, drops in, and proves that the pool's far deeper than it looks. And to that end, more of an unknown than the Orthoclase can blindly follow through on just to appease him and go along with this charade. His encouragement and state of utter contentment means little for its feeling assured.

It paces toward the edge of the pool, each step an unreasonable amount of wary. The hot steam hits its face, and its jaw cracks as if it's about to pant; but, it snaps those teeth shut with a quiet zipper-toothed click! as the hypothetical object of its worries catches up to it. Too hot for any to survive, but... Chitinous plates grind against one another as the beast drops low, glaring into the drink and finding no bloody-red glow but Vargas's within.

No swarm waiting beneath the surface. Orthoclase-Alpha pauses a moment longer for good measure, shuffling along the spring's radius for another angle. Still, nothing.

... it's no less uncertain as it extends a forearm into the steaming-hot pool, frowning and grimacing as grasping claws continue to find no foothold but the wall it's crouched upon; not even when it's nearly up to its jaw in reaching.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas watched it test the waters--and then he didn't watch, deliberately averting his gaze to scan their surroundings with relatively idle interest. It was, in truth, more that he didn't want to upset it by staring.

Instead, he spoke again, making wholly idle conversation. "Is this your sort of climate? Or do you prefer cold? Rain, light?" he asked. He wasn't sure if it would speak. Or if it did, if it would speak much. Again he was trying, but it was a fumbling, a delicate plucking at things he didn't wholly understand and didn't want to further damage. But he was trying, and maybe it was sad that this was the best he could do: an attempt at small distractions, at putting Orthoclase-Alpha at its ease.

In the meantime he visibly lounged, leaning back in the water and half-closing his own eyes. It was pleasant, at least for him, and he was put in mind of the Palace's amenities.

Of a spa.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

At first, it answers Vargas with the sound of water dripping from its chin, then its shaking forearm— retreating from the spring's edge entirely. Talons scrape as it shuffles in place, instead putting itself parallel to the edge. It lowers itself to its belly and twists to look over a spiked shoulder as it drops its back leg in first.

Small talk breaks the ambient noise of its efforts. "No," it grunts, simply.

Orthoclase-Alpha barely spares Vargas a glance as it shuffles its latter end to drop in with a bit of a tumultuous splash!, all four other sets of claws white-knuckling the soft rock up top. It's a pleasant warmth that's starting to seep into between its plating, maybe, but— Quills flare with the stress of it all, clicking and rattling as it tries to safely shuffle and ease backward, dipping more of its lower torso into the spring.

The noise of its scraping talons is certainly a loud one.

Teeth snap shut as it glances toward Vargas and hesitates to make an admission, already halfway committed to this act of appeasement. "... can't swim."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

That wasn't a yes or no question, he thought, and tried to tamp down his annoyance at that. He was sure--at least, he hoped--that Alpha wasn't trying to ignore him deliberately. It was just its... whatever-it-was. He sure didn't know. That was the whole point of all of this, after all.

He pushed up, turning, using over-long forelimbs to feel his way through the spring. "Then my metaphor was accidentally a good one?" he asked, amused. And then, still trying to make that small talk: "What is your preferred weather, then?"

Just then he struck a shelf in the pool. He pushed up, pacing along it, finding an easy ramp of rock to the shore. "Try here," he added, and turned to head back to where he'd been.

It was relaxing, despite the situation. The heat worked at his muscles, a cradle not unlike the familiar warmth of Chaos--despite the fact that such was not his own magic. It was soothing, he had to admit.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

As is tradition with many of Vargas's other small, amused comments, it sails over the Orthoclase's head entirely; that, or it's too focused on not falling into the spring now, as it twists and contorts itself to watch through squinting eyes as he slinks through the frothy, steaming waters. When he veers a bit out of sight, it leans the opposite direction against the bath wall, turning its head the other way.

"Try here," he utters, clearly on steady ground and then mills back to where he'd been.

Orthoclase-Alpha hauls itself out with a chatter of jaws— because this awful cave now feels cold— and shake of the quills. Dripping water as it walks, it rounds the circumference of the spring until it's standing where it thinks Vargas had stood before; and once again begins the arm-dipping routine of looking for solid ground before it gets in.

As promised, there's something, and still yet it makes a wary show of dipping its whole self in. The water and its steam are hot— and the latter fills its lungs with every stuttering breath as it tip-toes into position (like a current will miraculously appear and sweep it away). Once there and assured that it's fully standing on the shelf, it moves back onto its haunches.

The kaiju just... sits there, at first. Blinking slowly, staring past Vargas, rather than at him directly. It's... not unpleasant.

...

... he said something. Orthoclase-Alpha shakes its head and soaked mane, gripping at the stone beneath itself. Small talk. "No" was meant to be all-encompassing, but— it feels like he'll keep trying until it answers or otherwise succumbs. It's just going along with this. A means to an end.

"Like... Tunnel P," it grumbles slowly, head lowering as it shuffles in place. "Warmer, but ... dry."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas considered. "Is that why you returned there? I am surprised you do not spend more time in Hydra; or do you?" It was idle thought, not even so much trying to keep Orthoclase-Alpha engaged so much as... conversation. If stilted. If awkward.

"If I am not mistaken, one of your ancestors was... similar, in terms of exoskeleton and the like." He lifted one large forelimb, swirling a circle in the steaming waters. "That design often had to moult periodically. And could moult to regrow lost limbs. I am wondering if you need to, and if it would be helpful to you. It is worth the attempt, in any case, and I was thinking the waters might help with it, if so. Otherwise... they are a good visit regardless. I find them relaxing. Although if you would prefer I remain silent, say as much." This was, though his tone was calm enough, a challenge.

If Orthoclase-Alpha did indeed want him to shut up, all it had to do was ask--which, Vargas already knew, would be a task all its own.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

A few seconds are all it takes for the spring's warmth to begin to seep into its chitinous husk, then scarcely a minute for it to thread in deeper, into wound-up and atrophied muscles and chip away at the physical tension that plagues the orthoclase so. Still yet, its quills stand on ever-so-slight end and it better fixes its wandering, tired gaze onto Vargas.

"Nno, that's n-not why," it grunts ineffectively, and laments again that secondary need to elaborate on its own, before its pushed and needled to. Otherwise, more small talk is all that he has, and it doesn't know what to do with that.

It certainly isn't going to meet his underhanded challenge verbally. It just needs to satisfy him enough to move on to the end of this. Even if it must claw and scrape at the underbelly of the fog that clouds every decision it has ever made and ask itself under strain of honesty: Why, then?

The quills haloing its skull clatter softly around one another as it grinds its teeth together and averts its gaze. "It w-was... familiar." It fastens itself more thoroughly to the shelf of rock, retreating into the spines draped over its shoulders and chest. "Dug most of the holes that we lived in."

Happy two year anniversary to this thread.
@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas made a 'hmmm' of thought, eyes slipping mostly shut. His head was facing off into some random direction; he wasn't looking at Orthoclase-Alpha, now. Whether it had been deliberate or not, he was nevertheless thrown back into the past by Alpha's words.

Back to dust, and a time of hope, and ambition. Of new, strangely shaped youths tumbling from multicolored gemstones, framed by his own expectations. Of making do with what he had to work with, hoping to rebuild, while children had simply wished to exist, as Gembounds were so wont to do.

He grumbled softly, after a moment. It wasn't an annoyed sound, or close to a growl; it was more of a grunt of thought, followed by a faint shake of his head.

"It was home, for a time," was all he said, quiet.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

To that, Vargas merely... thinks. And the orthoclase watches every second of it. Simmers in the bath while Vargas lies there, eyes closed.

Would it be that the thought to just strike at him was still there; even though he would most certainly hear it move to do as much, and it's uncertain just how much solid ground lies beneath the surface between them.

But, it doesn't think of it. Just the silence between them, and how heavy its eyelids are becoming, and how warm it is, and how much time has passed without a certain end in sight.

It thinks of all these nothings, until Vargas at last says: "It was home, for a time."

Here, the orthoclase lifts its heavy chin from the side of the bath that it has slowly come to rest against. Just a scant few inches above the surface, and enough to let water dribble from the ends of the quills at its throat. Though it has no name for it, the heartache that cuts through the fog and sinks into its guts makes itself painfully known.

Its teeth grind again, and it narrows its eyes. Swallows.

The murmur that slips through its teeth is anything but wary like its expression portends, though; sounding more like a plea than anything: "Y-you thought so.. ?"

@Vargas