Chapter Text
It’s been a week since Jax kicked Pomni out of her room. The jester has avoided her since then, polite but distant, only speaking when spoken to. She seems dejected. Jax feels bad, she didn’t want to hurt the girl, but she doesn’t know how to reopen that line of communication without indicating that what she said was okay. Jax is a cartoon rabbit in a digital prison, she doesn’t do feelings, and she’s still sore about the memories Pomni brought up.
That doesn’t mean that the Jester’s silence isn’t affecting her, she’s loathe to admit it but she had grown used to her company, and she feels somewhat bereft without it. It’s a dangerous place to be mentally, emotional connection is risky in the circus. Last time she got truly attached to someone they abstracted, and left her behind. She tries not to think about Ribbit, but in the wake of her realisation the frog has occupied her thoughts often, she wonders what she would think of her now. She probably would have known, she was always far too perceptive like that.
In other news, Jax has been spending a lot of time thinking about her name. At first she was content to stick with ‘Jax’. It’s been her name for so long and it seems an insurmountable challenge to change both her own perception and the others’. But the name has connotations, beyond just being somewhat masculine, it's also been the name she’s had through so much of the bull$#!% she’s experienced here. A fresh start seems like the right decision.
(There’s also the voice in the back of her head whispering that if she doesn’t change her name, no one will take her seriously, insisting she’s just transitioning for attention. It’s nonsensical but the sentiment is hard to shake.)
Deciding to change her name was hard, but choosing a new name is even harder, especially without her memories from before the circus. What if she chooses a name and then somehow remembers that it's the name of a famous serial killer or something, it’s risky. A few possibilities stick out to her but she doesn’t know how to test if they feel right without telling the others, and there’s no chance of allowing them access to her inner turmoil.
Honestly access to the internet would be a godsend right now, what she wouldn’t give to trawl through reddit to see stories of other people’s experiences. She knows she isn’t, but the inherent isolation of the circus makes her feel as though she’s the first person to ever do this. Bereft of any sort of guide or blueprint. With each passing day it seems more and more likely that she’s going to have to ask someone for help.
Pomni’s off the table, opening that can of worms is not the priority right now. Ragatha’s annoyingly cheerful and unlikely to have any good advice pertaining to this situation. She feels bad asking Gangle anything with the way she’s treated the girl. Kinger’s insane, and neither Caine nor Bubble are human. It seems like asking Zooble is the only option, but she won’t do it yet, she’ll be damned if she asks for help before exhausting every other option.
—
Three days later, Jax is at the end of her tether. She’s so over hearing everyone refer to her as Jax and still has no idea how to choose a new name. She’s raising the white flag and going to ask Zooble for help. Knocking on their door yields no results, so either they’re ignoring her or not in their room. Regardless, she now finds herself wandering around the circus in search of Zooble.
She passes Ragatha and Pomni sitting on the couch in what looks like deep discussion, it doesn’t even seem like they notice her walking by, it causes a funny feeling in her chest, like there’s an elephant sitting on it, she gets out of there quickly. She checks the kitchen next, no one’s there.
A full lap of the interior shows nothing, seriously, where the hell are they? It’s nighttime and they already had their adventure for the day so it’s not like they’re hiding from Caine somewhere. She comes to a stop in front of Kinger’s pillow fort, eh, might as well check inside, they might be trying to catch a break from the circus’ fluorescent lighting. She peeks in through the small entrance, ugh, no Zooble, it’s just Kinger alone in there. He’s fiddling with something but she can’t see what from this angle, he seems… calm. That’s odd, Kinger is never really all that calm.
She must make a sound because Kinger whips his head around to look at her, his look of alarm fades when he sees her, “oh, hey Jax. Did you need a hand with something?”
Jax is bewildered, she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s heard Kinger say something both coherent and relevant to the situation, “uh, yeah. Have you seen Zooble anywhere around here? I need to talk to them.”
He thinks for a moment before responding, “oh, yeah, I think they said something about going to the lake with Gangle. I wouldn’t disturb them if I were you, I think it’s a date. Is there anything I can help with in the meantime? I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”
Jax’s bewilderment grows, “uh, I don’t know if you’d be able to help with this.”
Kinger shrugs, “might be worth a shot anyway, and I’ll probably forget what you said by tomorrow regardless.”
Jax considers this for a moment and concedes, crawling through the small entrance into the fort. Huh, it is peaceful in here, she thinks, looking around, light seeps in through the gaps in the pillows and the door, making it dim without being too dark, and the sounds of the circus are dulled by the thick fabric. From her new position sitting across from Kinger she can get a better look at what he’s holding, “what’s that?”
Kinger looks up at her and then back down, “this? Oh, it was my wife’s.” He holds it up so she can see, it’s a small plush cicada, it’s very realistic, its wings are see-through and have the same intricate design as a real one. Then Jax catches on to the rest of what he said.
“Your wife!?” She questions.
Kinger gives a small chuckle, “heh, yeah. I forget that most of you guys don’t know about her. She was in here with me at the start, she won this in an adventure. She was a programmer like me, but her true passion was entomology, thought bugs were fascinating. I never cared much for them until her, her love for them was endlessly contagious.” He says, looking down at the small plushie clutched between his gloved hands.
Jax feels her heart soften a tad, how, in all the time she’s been here, has she never known that Kinger was married, that his wife was stuck in here too. She thinks of the abstracted, down in the cellar, Kinger’s wife is probably down there with Ribbit and Kaufmo and the others. It heals a little part of her to think that their lost friends, despite being misshapen beyond recognition, aren’t alone down there. At least they have each other.
She shakes her head to clear the melancholy thoughts, Kinger must catch onto her agitation because he gives her a sympathetic look, inviting her to share her problems. He somehow carries off the ‘sympathetic’ face well, it doesn’t come off as pitying, just caring. Jax throws caution to the wind and decides to spill her guts.
“Listen, so, I, hm, ever since the Gender-Swap Adventure I just- hm.”
Kinger huffs a laugh at her floundering, he gives her a gentle smile and says, “you don’t have to force it, I’m happy to just hang out until you figure out what you want to say.”
Jax is relieved to hear that to say the least, she gives the man a nod and slumps back to lie flat, staring at the light shining through the ceiling of the pillow fort. She takes the time to get her thoughts in order. The biggest thing is the name, but she’d be lying if she said the Pomni situation isn’t weighing on her as well, maybe she can warm up to the big problem by asking Kinger for advice on how to solve her relationship friendship problems.
“I’m having problems with Pomni.”
He hums in acknowledgement, allowing her the opportunity to add more information without asking for it, huh, he is good at this listening stuff.
“She keeps pushing my boundaries without meaning to and I snapped and now she isn’t talking to me.”
He hums again, “have you tried talking to her about your boundaries.”
“No.” She responds petulantly.
“Do you want her to understand your boundaries better?”
“Yes” is her response, equally as petulant.
“But I’m guessing you want to avoid talking to her about it,” she nods, “okay, well you do know there are other ways to communicate that don’t require you talking out loud about it.”
She scoffs, “what, do you want me to write her a letter?”
Kinger looks her right in the eyes, “why shouldn’t you?”
That actually stumps the bunny for a second, no one’s telling her she can’t just write down her feelings except for herself, Pomni’s not likely to judge her, odds are she’ll just be grateful Jax is sharing at all. Kinger is looking at her with a small smile when she refocusses, somehow he makes it come off as encouraging where on others it would just look condescending. She huffs a laugh.
“When did you get so wise, huh?”
“Oh, it’s the dark.”
Jax blinks at him, “pardon?”
“The dark, when Queenie abstracted she was lost but in the dark she was calm. I got to spend my last moments of time with her, something about that experience means I get to be my old self when I’m in the dark. Or that’s my theory at least.”
“Why don’t you spend all your time in here then? You expose yourself to the light so often, isn’t it better to maintain your clarity by staying here?”
She gets a wry smile in response but Kinger’s eyes are sad, “when I first started losing my marbles I clung to places like this, where I could remain sane, but the toll that experience took on me was obvious to everyone around me. Ever since I lost my wife dark spaces have become both a sanctuary and a torture chamber. The cost of maintaining my sanity was crushing grief, I couldn’t move on when I was trapping myself in one place. So I eventually had to learn how to split my time between the two, sometimes in the dark and sane, sometimes in the light and crazy.”
—
Jax was so fixated on Kinger’s stories about his wife and his idea for fixing her friendship with Pomni that in the couple of hours they spent chatting inside the tent, sharing stories and drafting Jax’s letter, they never got around to discussing Jax’s second problem. Regardless, Jax left the pillow fort that day with a new understanding of the man and a plan.
That leads to now, it’s late at night and Jax is standing just outside her bedroom door clutching a two-page letter in her hand. Her gaze is locked on the door directly across from her, Pomni’s cartoon-y face splashed across it. The letter in her hand is the final draft of many, but it’s still covered in crossed-out words and corrections.
She’s nervous about it now that she’s here, that &!%$#y little voice in the back of her head is adamant that Pomni will laugh at her, tear her to shreds for having to write her feelings in a letter instead of being able to say them aloud. It’s total bull$#!%, Pomni’s too nice to ever do that, with that encouraging thought in her head, she crosses the hallway.
She doesn’t knock, her hope is that Pomni is already asleep and will find the letter when she wakes up at her usual freakishly early time, giving her a few hours to acclimatise while Jax sleeps peacefully. She bends down and is just about to slide the papers under her door when it opens, revealing Pomni wearing blue and red flannelette pyjamas and rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“Jax?” She questions, “what time is it?”
Jax freezes like that famous picture of Bigfoot, but instead of being captured taking a step, she’s frozen bent over at the waist clutching a letter in sweaty palms. Welp, looks like Plan A’s gone out the window, time for Plan B. She straightens up and prepares to run but Pomni must see the look in her eyes because she shouts, “no!” Reaching out to wrap small hands around her left arm.
$#%@, Plan C it is, Jax slumps in acquiescence and places the letter in Pomni’s outstretched hand.
The jester lets go to inspect the letter more closely, she starts to read and then readjusts, taking the bunny’s hand in her smaller one and leading her into the bedroom. Jax is so nervous about the letter that she forgets to be nervous about the handholding.
Pomni sits on her bed, wordlessly inviting Jax to sit next to her. The jester still hasn’t let go of her hand. Jax fidgets, picking at the palm of her glove with her index finger and thumb while looking around the room at the sparse collection of decorations the other girl has managed to accrue during her time in the circus.
There’s some items that clearly came with the room, meaningless tchotchkes in Pomni’s assigned red and blue, but there are also a few things she seems to have collected herself, one shelf is dedicated to small prize items from a few of their more competition-based adventures and another contains pictures of her with the other cast members. Jax is pleased to see that any pictures of her from before the avatar swap have been removed.
Jax is pulled from her musings by a sniffle to her right, looking over reveals massive teary red and blue pinwheels, she tenses, expecting an onslaught of words she doesn’t know how to deal with. But to her immense relief, the girl just holds out her arms in a request for a hug. Jax obliges, she wraps her arms tightly around Pomni’s shoulders, chuckling when the jester grabs her back, clutching desperately.
Quiet hiccups are interrupted by a small, “thank you.” Jax just hugs her harder in response.