writing out a short interaction between dragon/vargas to sort out IC things

Draco was a strange place. Insidious, eerie, a pulsing miasma of Oil and living stone. It was fascinating, and Dragon regarded it with an aloofly keen eye, the way he looked to any of the Masters' powers. To the Creator, or what have you.

He worshiped nothing. Only survival--his, and that of his Children--mattered to him: and in this, though he did not know it, he and the creature he had come to meet were similar. But Vargas? Vargas had other goals. Dragon did not know them, either.

He was only here to ask how a creature named Jupiter had become misplaced; and whether an old rebel, one who'd stumbled across him in his swamp, might still find a home. But seeing Draco--this was an interesting treat.

Why is this place as it is? -The magic here is different. Foul. How did it come to be? The Black Spire reminded him at once--in appearance and humming power--of the Spire of Polaris. But this one was tainted, corrupted, a black mirror of what shone bright and clear in the Core.

Dragon did not assign it such a concept as "evil," but he eyed its power with envy, and its nature with a wary eye.

The way had not been easy. His magic had given up on him partway through Pegasus, and the rest of his journey had been a slow slog. A pilgrimage, really. His one bad leg--twisted and broken years ago by Raheerah--half-dragged behind him. Alligators were not meant for long journeys overland on the best of days and Dragon's travels, lame as he was, were never "the best of days." By the time he'd hauled himself (with long bouts of resting and sunning himself) upland the mile or so through Pegasus and then dragged himself up the tunnel, he was just about exhausted.

This was not to mention nearly a day he'd spent dragging his tail through Cepheus. Now, that had been a sight to see! Towering white marble, manicured gardens. The suspicion with which he'd regarded that place had been intense.

He eyed it with all the amazement and dislike with which a visitor to a grand cathedral might: admiring a place gilded in gold while knowing that the poor it was meant to service starved at its gates. It was magnificent, awe-inspiring even, but there was a corruption at its core that anyone could have sensed.

Ursa-... He hated it. Too damn cold, and the less said of that, the better. He'd nearly drifted off in the cold, sleep undoubtedly ready to arrow him toward his chrysalis, when he'd realized the very real danger he was in. Flames had warmed him, and he had quickly moved on.

Which brought him here.

He dragged his way inside, and was stopped only by the towering black gate guard: someone strangely familiar to Dragon but he could not have said why. He studied the stranger, squinting, but couldn't place him, and after explaining that he was there to see Vargas, the beast had called for him.

Dragon added his voice to the call, his own bellow louder, deeper, more carrying. "MASTER VARGAS," he roared; "I WOULD SPEAK WITH YOU."

He hadn't forgotten that this one was the one who had ripped out his child's eyes, at the behest of the one Aquarian called 'Betrayer.' He hadn't forgotten that this one had stood by Astraea in the demands that they bow to servitude. But Dragon wanted something from Vargas now; he was not here to make threats, but to ask questions.

He would bring up the other things if, and when, they benefitted him.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He'd heard the first call, and he felt both mild irritation and rising curiosity at the second. The voice was a strong one, and an unfamiliar one--but as he swept into view, long strides carrying him forward, he recognized at least its shape. And as he drew a little closer, he recognized the Gembound itself.

Dragon. Cetus, his memory supplised. Servant of Aquarian. Father of Imp and the creature known as Hunger. Grandfather of V-Chaos-One. The "Imp" part erected a wall of wariness in him: not fear, no, but awareness that the reptile might intend some ill-fated attempt at revenge.

His power as a Master--a power he had not held, the last time they had met--told him more. Told him things he hadn't seen in Cetus. It told him that Dragon's gemstone was a thick, broad scale at his chest. He recognized it as jasper, without even seeing it. And he felt the fire thrumming through it, a strong magic, stored and gathered over many cycles.

Nothing like what he had seen in his era, but compared to many now awakening throughout the caves, Vargas realized that Dragon was relatively old.

"Dragon. I am here," he said, bluntly, and came to an abrupt halt a few body lengths away. His tail twitched behind him, catlike, as he looked the alligator over. Thick, strong jaws. Nothing else to note, bar the magic, he decided. If they were in water, the creature might have had the ability to drag him under but here, on land? Dragon stood no chance if he attacked.

He waited, then, to see what he might want.

"Vargas," Dragon greeted, deliberately omitting the Master's title this time. He was curious if it would anger Vargas. If his pride would prick him. "Congratulations on your promotion. -Is it a promotion?" Was that the right word for it..? He laughed, a short bark of sound. "Ascension..?" Last time they'd met, Vargas had been an Overseer. He'd seen Astraea promise Vargas the position of Master and after that-? Dragon had retreated to his swamp. Nothing, since then, had been important enough to draw him out: until now.

Dragon settled in, making himself at home against the slick black, breathing stone. It was warm, at least, which was pleasant enough beneath his scales, even if the strange magic of the place sent a sort of skittering unease crawling along his hide. "Do you have a few minutes to talk? I have questions." He was direct, never subservient; he was respectful, but as one might be to an equal. It was the same way he addressed all the other Masters; would Vargas respond any differently?

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"Master Vargas," Vargas corrected at once, though there was no real feeling in it. More, he was preoccupied, curious. What was Dragon doing here..? What would the Cetus recluse, slave of Aquarian, want with him?

The congratulations didn't sit right with him. He wasn't sure why, but it somehow felt insincere. He felt, almost, like Dragon knew something he did not--but he was no mind-reader, so he tucked that thought aside and matter-of-factly took the reptile's remarks at face value. "Ascension would be more accurate," he answered, thinking, "but it is a promotion, too. I have been remade by the Creator." He was stiff, blunt, in his words. With the Forge perhaps he'd have been more open, more descriptive; but Dragon was not Forge. Perhaps if the alligator requested details, Vargas would give them but for now, he simply answered and moved on.

"I have time, for now; speak."

Dragon's grin would have widened, if it had been capable of doing so. "Master Vargas!" he boomed, his correction loudly, fiercely cheerful.

The Leviathan was right to sense his insincerity, though calling it that wasn't quite accurate. It had been a platitude. Behind it had been Dragon's burning heart, his burning eyes, his knowledge that his son's had been taken from him. His reptilian grin was just that. His politeness was as loud and bright as his flame, and as cold as his own scarred hide.

It wasn't that it was sarcastic.

It was only that if Dragon had had the option to kill Vargas, and no one would have known about it, if there'd been no repercussions-? He would have, in a heartbeat. Snapped the Leviathan's throat straight out, and taken his head to Imp. Not that he was imagining such things; he wasn't. But his congratulations-? Yes, they were empty. Loud, and empty.

"Remade! That sounds like a process," he exclaimed, with that same bright, false cheer. That smile with a snarl behind it. Perhaps the Master would tell him more of this process. Certainly he was curious of it. "I am here because I had a visitor to my swamp." 'My' swamp. Another test. Another chain thrown out to see which would rankle the new Master. "She is an old creature, one as old, perhaps, as you! She has only recently awoken, and she seeks her place in the caves. She wishes purpose, and I thought perhaps you might have it for her--as well as information. She spoke of the rebellion, you see. She claims that she obeyed her Master in all things, and does not even know which side she was on: rebel, or not. But... she says that they attacked Draco many times."

Straight to the point.

He drew the claws of one webbed forelimb along the rock, staring up at Vargas, thinking.

What else had he missed-? Ah.

"If you can assure me of her safety, if this interests you, I will tell you more of her; but she is trying to find the Master known as Jupiter."

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas's many nostrils flared in a vast inhale, an exhale, as he waited. Dragon might have wasted no time in getting to his point but he seemed to dally on it.

Once he had laid it all out, Vargas's eyes narrowed. He tried to think, to remember.

One of Jupiter's-? I do not know if I know any of her soldiers. A rebel, seeking orders..? It seemed strange to him that anyone could have known of the rebellion, even taken part, without knowing which side they were on. But perhaps this was some mindless slave, lost without command.

"I cannot guarantee safety if I do not know more," he began, studying Dragon, "but I have no reason, from what you have so far told me, to seek this one out and cause it harm. I can tell you that Jupiter is dead," he added flatly. Dead, and not the sort of dead liable to spring back up at some later point.

Dead, shredded by a hundred tiny maws from the way he'd heard it told. An irony he was unsure if Dhracia was even aware of.

He shifted his position, staring down at the Gembound before him. "It does interest me, if only to know who has now awoken. But I cannot imagine that someone of the rebellion would not know what side they were on." It held his tone of puzzlement, and not of doubt.

They had either been remarkably stupid, remarkably loyal or astonishingly oblivious; perhaps, even, a little of all three.

"Good enough," he murmured, to the first. And, damn, to the second.

He did not want to be the one to have to tell Eurydome that her beloved Master was dead.

"Very well, then. She calls herself Eurydome: she says that she was a fighter, made to battle in Orion's arena." It occurred to him, belatedly, that she might have just been making it all up; he had no real way of verifying anything she had said. But he couldn't imagine why anyone would say those things without truth.

"She says that she does not want to continue the rebellion on her own! That she does not want conflict, not outside of the Arena--but I think she might be willing to fight Order," he added, thoughtful. "She wants to speak to a Master, to find out what has happened, to seek new orders." He paused, studying Vargas again.

He wanted, so badly, to continue his line of questioning--but to shift it, to jump track to the left and abruptly ask him about his child's eyes.

He didn't, though. Not yet.

Imp would get those back, in time. He wasn't going to tell Vargas that, but... he might ask him why.

Why did you aid a traitor. Why are you still loyal to Nemean.

And so on.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas's eyes narrowed at the name Eurydome, but not in accusation. It was a quick search of his memory, instead--a thoughtful stare that, for just a moment, looked through Dragon instead of at him.

"I remember her!" he exclaimed, without quite meaning to. And chastised himself, internally, for the outburst. He didn't quite clear his throat, but he did stiffen upward, moving on to reclaim his verbal dignity. "A good fighter, and an entertaining one. I was wondering how one might not know what side they were on, but with her-? I can believe it. She lived for combat, and I imagine she did little else until Jupiter took her to battle," he added. He hadn't ever seen Eurydome in the rebellion itself, but he'd frequented the arena enough to be quite familiar with its regulars. Eurydome, if he remembered right, had a mixture of two shapes he had come to respect: feline, and upright weapon-wielding humanoid. The two "new metas," really. And she had known, he recalled, how to play to a crowd.

He wondered if he could convince her to perhaps recruit for the Forge. Gaining support from an audience had been, outside battle itself, perhaps her strongest point, and she hadn't shied from bloodshed.

"I will not harm her, if all is as you say. If you send her to me I will speak to her about orders, and purpose; and if you prefer I will tell her what happened to her Master. I will need to explain to her... more about the rebellion. But I think I could find a use for her," he finished.

He listened, and he got what he wanted. Answers. Reassurances. Vargas, for all his iron-clawed grip and his brutality, at least seemed reasonable and fair. And even Dragon had to admit that Imp had probably done something to piss the Masters off beyond repair.

But his dark eyes glittered more and more with malice as he listened, with bitterness that rose up in him. He could have stifled it down, and he certainly did not let it take him over but when Vargas finished, he spoke and then slid that part of him out alongside it, sly and cold.

"Thank you, then! I will send her your way. I am glad to hear that it may work out for the best for her, and for you. I have one other question: you tore out my child's eyes. Do you work with the Betrayer, then?"

His question was a blunt one, because if Vargas didn't know--Dragon did. He knew what Nemean had done. He wanted to know how this Master was aligned.

He wanted to know what to think of him.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

The question was so far out of left field that Vargas nearly reeled, more from amusement and surprise than any form of shock. His snort was deep, chest-deep, a huff of air that came out bass.

"Imp, you mean. First: I was Overseer, then, and obeyed Nemean, yes. But now more of her actions have become known to me; our relationship is... tentative. At best." He did not chide the alligator for asking, even for his bluntness; Vargas had nothing to hide and Dragon was not being particularly demanding. Just... honest, and he could accept this, provided there was no real disrespect.

"As for the creature itself-? Your child?" (And here, some side-part of Vargas's ever-calculating mind remembered something, ticked it off to address in a moment.) "It is admirable that it is a Champion, not once but twice and once blind. Your design, or his, or both, must be quite worth using. But he was found creating disrespectful mockeries throughout the cave, across the walls--graffiti--of Nemean. You may not know her well but her vanity is... larger than she is," he said, and if he could have grinned... "Suffice to say she did not approve of a thousand drawings of her covered in genitalia." He fixed Dragon with a level stare. "Imp is lucky that only its eyes were taken. I expected an execution that day. Nemean has her vices but in this, she was merciful." And that was truth; he'd fully expected her to have him tear out Imp's throat, rather than his eyes.

"In time perhaps the creature can earn new eyes through service, but until it learns to show respect, I have my doubts. I do not hate it," he added, eyeing Dragon curiously. "I admire its fire, if not its stupidity. But this reminds me of something. I have answered your questions: now you will answer one of mine. Related, I think. Some time ago I created a spawn with the one known as Hunger. This spawn has been... very like Imp, I think. Completely intractable. Wild. Fierce. It flaunts authority, tests every limit. I have been utterly unable to train it. What do you recommend?"

Dragon would know his own bloodline better than Vargas would--and this, too, would test the alligator's willingness to cooperate.