Oliver turned to face it, ears back. Alpha made no move to rectify what it'd interpreted as a hint of fear. Instead, it did a somewhat in-depth once-over of the crow-dog. He hadn't had half of those wounds before, and it'd only been a day. There was no way they'd healed over so quickly. The orthoclase's eyes narrowed, more out of confusion than anything. Where'd those come from? Did it do that?

No, no - the little creature'd be shying away from it, then. It didn't know how Nemesis was faring (except for alive,) but it assumed the same of her.

Quills pricked at the lack of animosity, the questioning about what it wanted. Its needs were bare necessities. Creature comforts weren't among them - or so it'd conditioned itself to think. Socializing, as Pride had called it, wasn't necessary except to get what it was tasked to. There wasn't any task or goal here to focus on but whatever this little hybrid had in mind.

Alpha remained right where it was, awkwardly toeing the threshold of grass and dirt. Its shoulders rolled dismissively where it stood, and its resulting rumble was equally as noncommittal, "I'm fine." No injury but what it'd apparently caused. It didn't read too hard into the if you needed any help, and plowed right through the next offering: "I'm not hungry."

It hadn't eaten in a while, and knew that it reasonably should be; but, that twisting and churning feeling in its crop and stomach worked in conjunction to kill any real appetite. The orthoclase had no basis for it, but it pushed that personal issue aside and put suspicions of poisoning on the table. What reason did Oliver have not to do such a thing? Use fruit against it in a murderous plot? Its eyes narrowed again, and it shifted its weight onto either foot.

At least Oliver's request to talk wasn't outright denied.

@Oliver

He hesitated, then. Orthoclase-Alpha's succinct replies didn't give him much to work with, so he thought, for a moment, on what to say. He was a little disappointed it didn't want food--it was nice feeding others--but it was understandable, too.

Oliver wasn't sure what Alpha's motivations had been in really attacking Nemesis; whether he'd really hated her or if it'd been some form of accident, or loss of control or what. So he took a step back and gestured in, covering everything he could at once. "You can--come in, if you want. It's for everybody. Um--I'm not sure if you were... angry at Nemesis?" (He'd only learned her name this Olympics.) Oliver cast a questioning glance back as he made room, just in case Alpha did decide to get more comfortable. "She'll be okay, though, if you weren't."

The bird-dog settled into a quiet, calm sort of sitting stance. He was instinctively careful about everything he said--he didn't want to put Orthoclase's back up, or in any way prod something it wasn't comfortable with. Instead he was trying to invite it to explain, or open up, or...anything. He didn't know what was wrong or how to do that, exactly; he just knew that it had utterly lost control, and looked... upset? Afterward. So instead of making guesses or the like, he just offered a quiet statement; let Orthoclase take it as it would. "You don't seem to talk much?" was what he offered, then: a gentle observation. Maybe it would give him something, anything, to work with, or maybe it was simply uninterested in talking to him. If it didn't want to, well... he'd not push farther.

The way its quills moved, though, was a small but obvious giveaway... it was thinking, feeling, something. Oliver just didn't know what.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

The orthoclase's eyes narrowed and quills prickled with suspicion. Its head swung away from the crow-dog's gesturing, sweeping in a slow arc around the foliage. Every other body in Canis and near to Tunnel P blared in its vision, but there were no knife-wielding beasts in the wings waiting for it to cross the threshold. No dragons lurking around the corner. Alpha blinked with a huff, and fixed back on Oliver as he continued, shuffling back to make room.

It stood at the edge for a few moments longer, gathering up the confidence to stride onto the grasses with minimal amounts of the wariness it had rolling through its crop. Alpha eyed the edge of the grove, where some of the ground cover hadn't been flattened down by bodies yet, and decided there was a good place to stand.

That great task completed, it looked back at Oliver again. Angry at Nemesis - it's opponent. She'd been fighting fairly. No magic use, a contest of pure strength. Then, it smeared into a disgusting blur it wasn't fully-lucid for. It knew she wasn't dead - Vargas had suggested that much - but the best way it could describe the resulting feelings was mixed. Grateful in some ways (which it attributed to not having wasted her potential) and baleful in others (another witness to it's lapse in control.)

But, had it been angry at the wulfenite? Or completely out of its mind and lashing at anything that moved? It vaguely recalled setting its teeth around the Master's forearm. Alpha answered descriptively, "no." Quills prickled again with unintelligible emotion.

Alpha continued to be a great contributor to the hybrid's cause; it grunted a short, "I don't need to." Bait... taken, in a likely unhelpful way. Its eyes narrowed into another squint - the closest the monstrous being could get to a slight grimace.

@Oliver

Had Oliver known of its suspicion, he might have been saddened, or amused. (Despite having the promise of a gigantic assassin on his side, too; he'd not even have thought of that.)

He was busy studying Orthoclase worriedly--the way the quills again moved, the hesitation in its steps. It hadn't given him much to work with, and he couldn't--nor would he if he could--force it to speak. So he fell back on plain honesty.

"Okay. Well, it's just you don't seem real happy, and I'm kinda... I talk to others, sometimes? When something's wrong. Or when they just wanna talk. Sometimes it helps them feel better," he explained. "But if you don't wanna talk, that's okay. You can stay here and eat the stuff here, just don't kill the whole grove, please. And you can stay with me if you want, while i fix some of the plants? You don't have to talk, though. But if you ever want to talk--um, about anything--I won't ever tell anyone anything you say. Sometimes it helps," he repeated softly, with a little shrug.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

"... you don't seem real happy."

Alpha's head jerked to the side, jaw setting with a grunt. It glared down at Oliver, but otherwise didn't move.

Happy: what a word. That was something that seldom crossed its mind as the abstraction and innate need that it was. That was a creature comfort it - no, it didn't need that - did it? ... did it? What kind of a feeling was happy? Tearing its claws through something and contesting it's strength didn't fit the bill; all of that adrenaline was just eagerness and gratification for doing what it was made for. Looking for fruit, as it was presently distracting itself with?

The monstrous hybrid craned its neck to fit its teeth around a citrus-like fruit the size of its fist. It tugged back, the branches rocking and whispering against one another with the abrupt movement. Chk! went the now-free fruit. Alpha stared at Oliver again. It lifted a claw to turn the citrus around on its teeth, gnawing off the skin and carefully avoiding breaking the individual fruit inside.

There wasn't any heightened state of being coming from presenting itself with a fruit - just a brief rush of enjoyment from the juicy texture as it bit in, but fleeting. It was the same as the adrenaline from battle. A moment's feeling... good. Well, capable, here.

(The entire time it was mulling this over, it was shifting in place, pacing a few steps, ruffling its quills, whatnot. Clearly signs of just contemplating in wary silence.)

If it had no description for how happy felt, was it happy? Had it been? Early on, in its younger days not spent pacing Tunnel P or guarding chrysalises or doing whatever it was that the title of Overseer entailed? That reality-bending witch's words flickered into mind. Alone. "I don't mind being alone. I can protect myself," it'd hissed back, then. Alpha took another bite of its fruit, not at all tasting the acidity or sweetness of it. All it felt was a vague numbness and the juicy chunks in its teeth.

Pretty figurative, if you ask me.

It watched Oliver for a moment, finished eating, and finally bit, "... talk?" Alpha squinted hardheartedly, quills imitating. Its head tilted just slightly, maybe too little to even notice it.

@Oliver

Oliver waited--quiet, unassuming, and without expectation. He let Orthoclase find a fruit, he let it think--the pacing, the movement of quills, the (admittedly slightly unnerving) staring. When it laid four eyes on him and ceased motion, he couldn't help but flatten back ear-tufts--despite a desire not to--and shrink back a little, averting his own gaze. Was Orthoclase-Alpha angry-?

But it only asked a simple question--'talk?' and Oliver risked a look back to it, blinking.

"Oh-... yeah. About anything, really. Sometimes... it helps sort out your own thoughts, or... it might help to hear another perspective. Or if you wanna just... hang out, here, relax. Talk about anything. About-... I don't know, um, fruit or... water or--anything." (Creativity was apparently not the dog-bird's strongest point.) "But you're welcome to talk about anything you want, and I wouldn't ever tell anybody."

A quiet assurance, honestly given, though as Oliver's eyes travelled over the creature's scars, he realized that he couldn't blame it if it didn't believe his words.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

It hadn't even done anything to make the little hybrid cringe away; hadn't done anything but look at him. The toxic glow of its eyes was reflecting dimly, distantly in Oliver's. Looked like a mirror. Alpha gnashed its teeth, and averted its gaze to lick at its chops. Juice was practically dribbling down its chin, pinkish-red like blood mixed into saliva - it certainly didn't help the fearful situation going on closer to the ground.

The orthoclase listened without particularly looking, quills prickling like the idle twitch of a hide. It was still stuck on the question of happy, even though it had an answer for it. Dissatisfaction thrummed through it, and it looked for a loophole that wasn't there.

Unless... Alpha finally twisted to gaze at Oliver, most of the blank intensity in its eyes gone, now. It paced along the grove's edge and stopped where it'd come in. Lowering its head and its voice, it asked, "why don't I seem happy?" If it was one little error unraveling it for all to see, it could fix that. Polish up some broken bits and sweep aside that dissatisfaction. Problem-solving was the solution, and the solution was to find what vulnerabilities there were so it could cement them all away.

@Oliver

Progress, Oliver thought, even though it actually wasn't, by any means, 'progress.' He couldn't know, that, though; couldn't know Orthoclase-Alpha's intentions to patch up leaks rather than rebuild this figurative ship's hull.

He gave the question due consideration nonetheless, and seemed to have gotten ahold of himself, too, now: no more cringing. He'd had Venari hang out with him, after all, explaining that she'd been sort-of-there to kill his group; Orthoclase was scary too but... not quite as much. It helped that Alpha was no longer staring him down, but pacing gently, as if troubled.

"It's-... Well, it's a lot of little things, I guess? Happy Gembound are usually... smiling, laughing. I don't know if your mouth can, uhh--smile--not everyone's can? But you can see smiles in the eyes, too, and... I mean, body language shows if you're happy. Happy ones are--I dunno... bouncy?" (And Caves forbid a bouncy Orthoclase, honestly.) "...Bright. Cheerful, I guess? A little confident, you know? You seem, uhh. And I don't mean this with offense? But you seem... unsure. Hesitating-? I guess? Like... Like you have to think a lot. Like you've got a lot on your mind. You're really serious, I guess. But I don't know you that well, see--that's just a short impression. Maybe you're happy other times and I don't see it but..." Oliver paused, thinking, studying Orthoclase-Alpha absently as he thought over his words. "It's like you were barely holding on and--something in the fight pushed you over the edge?" Of course, this was fairly accurate but to Oliver's mind, the 'something' was... stress, or misery. He didn't imagine it was some subconscious traumatic memory or the like--he couldn't have possibly known. But the snapping had been there--that thin and fragile line the Orthoclase had walked had broken, tumbling it down into a mindless, frustrated rage.

Frustrated. That was it, and Oliver brightened.

"I think--it feels like you're frustrated..?" he suggested, almost hopefully. "That's why I said you can talk to me if you want, I guess. It's a good way to let stuff out?"

in which oliver says 'i guess' way too much

@Orthoclase-Alpha

cw for a whole lot of less-than-ideal concept of self and a kaiju panic attack
and numerous f-bombs

"Happy Gembound…" I'm not one, it thought with more confidence than anything else it had before. Not one of those fuzzy, emotional messes predisposed to impulsive decisions and mistakes. Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that; and the pressure to be perfect and the peak of creation. It wasn't shaped like Vargas's one spawn would be, pre-programmed with a purpose in mind — but it could pretend to be. What other choice did it have?

Smiling, laughing. Alpha set its jaw, looking Oliver up and down. He wasn't doing any of that. His eyes weren't morphing into smiling mouths. Wasn't bouncing up and down. It'd seen doggish grins before and overexcited eagerness from that annoying white dog with the paints. Preferring to look out, rather than in, it grunted a quiet observation, "you aren't smiling or laughing." Ergo, you're not happy, either. The orthoclase squinted as it continued to listen.

It hated how easily he could strike the nail on its head.

Alpha was thinking a lot in moments of quiet, was barely hanging on in moments of high activity and duress. Every little thing was glaringly obvious, even to a creature that'd never even met it before. Fucking wreck. Couldn't hardly demonstrate an emotion but every single one was visible. Claws curled into the dirt, and it trembled slightly despite every attempt to rein in that fucking instinct that said run, run, RUN! It wasn't was a coward. A pathetic one at that. Couldn't even hide its messes right. To Hell with cleaning them up.

Vision smearing briefly, the orthoclase lifted its head and swallowed once. Choking down that cottony feeling in its throat, it raked at the sod beneath it. Then, it set back to pacing like a shark; if it stopped moving, it might just die. The monotony and momentum steadied its own breathing. All the while, Alpha stared down the crow-dog, just about willing him to run off to its Master with this little bit, that words had it so agitated and stirred-up.

Caves, how tired was it? That brief moment of self-directed ire burnt out before it could get to the point of destructive behavior. It puttered to a stop, quills puffing and then drooping.

Gembound weren't self-serving enough to be liars and crooks. There were some here and there, but they never made it far. The whole lot of them were selfless fuzzy, emotional wrecks. They knew more than it in that regard. Alpha was intimately familiar with how its teeth and claws tore through flesh, what weak points were nearly universal across designs, species. It was not familiar with... the rest.

Alpha shifted towards the crow-dog, looming and crowding into his space. When it asked "how do I fix it?" it was in a monotonous low growl matched with a fiercely tired glare.

@Oliver

'You aren't smiling or laughing.' Oliver--unconsciously--immediately broke into a sheepish 'smile.' Ear-tufts back. Eyes in a half-squint. Mouth-corners pulling back and up. Head dipping down, almost bashfully. "Sorry," he told it--automatically, good-naturedly--"I was just focusing more on you."

Then... it was moving. Raking the dirt. Quills rising, falling. Oliver waited, patient (and concerned). His own thoughts ran on, meanwhile, though he gave the Orthoclase time to think on its own. He wondered what it was thinking. Why. He wondered what had happened. The creature gave so little away; there was hardly anything to work with, nothing to pick at or guess from. It was troubled--anyone could see that; but why? Does it feel guilty? Oliver wondered; maybe from hurting Nemesis-? But there was already something wrong, wasn't there? Maybe someone made it hurt her--that Master, maybe? But no--he stopped it. Asked if it was in control. Uhh... Maybe it's sad--oh. Oh, someone died, didn't they... in the Trial. And one of those others said-... Said they were sorry-...

Impulsively, Oliver spoke out, quiet. "I'm also not smiling so much 'cause... My dad died in the trial. He went in to protect others but--well. I guess you lost someone too," he added, quietly, "so you kinda know what it's like."

He'd spoken just after--almost overtop of, and nearly missed--Orthoclase-Alpha's own question. 'How do I fix it?' And so, to answer this, Oliver went on. "Well-... To fix being unhappy--I guess there's two things. If there's something making you unhappy, you gotta put a stop to that. And then find what does make you happy. If it's... someone you lost, though, that--that might take time. I know it will with me," he added, and he was distinctly not smiling, now, a sad glance cast to the floor.

He didn't seem to mind, at least, the Orthoclase towering in his personal space... his mind was elsewhere, for the moment. Half-absently he summoned up a small pumpkin, as he thought, and offered it up without a word. He blinked back up to Alpha, then--holding the pumpkin forth as some sort of strange offering. "Hey, wait-... Have you ever, um. Had a wound... heal wrong? A bone break? Uh--I think the... the mind, um. Feelings? Are kinda like that. If you have something bad happen... and it doesn't heal right sometimes you have to--to open it back up. So it does heal right. I'm a medic," he added, as if this somehow qualified him to be some form of therapist, which it did not. At all. Particularly not in terms of playing dangerous games with creatures fifty times his size, on an emotional edge.

"So what I was saying about talking-... Sometimes it helps to talk about just anything. But if there's stuff bothering you-... I can tell you're thinking about all sorts of things. If you tell me some of 'em it might... hurt, like... reopening a wound, you know? But if you don't, it'll--it'll stay, uh. Not-healed-right. It'll fester," he added, remembering the word he was looking for.

A pause, and he half-squinted up at Orthoclase-Alpha.

"I hope that makes sense."

@Orthoclase-Alpha