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A/N: Hello! This is my first AO3 fic ever! I am really enjoying The Amazing Digital Circus (like, a lot), and felt the urge to put some ideas to paper. I plan for this to be a multi-part, multi-voice fic that explores secrets shared by both Jax and Ragatha, with Pomni unfortunately in the middle. I am beginning on the second chapter now.
I am a copywriter, with big dreams of writing fiction and getting published one day. My specialty and interest is in Gothic Literature - so writing in a more pared down style was an interesting challenge - unfortunately, you will find some archaic words in here like 'dint' and 'sonority' (actually, that one came from my cursory reread of I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream' after I watched the first episode of this show).
ANYWAY, I just became a fan like five days ago, so I apologize if there are any inconsistencies here. I am trying really hard to make sure the gang is in-character, but I apologize if there are any mistakes. I will also writing about Ribbit - so 1) spoilers there, and 2) I am fully expecting our ideas and assumptions about that character to change lmfao. Hopefully we land somewhere close to how it'll be in episode 6. I hope he's not a bully because I'm writing him to be kind of fragile.
This takes place in the immediate aftermath of Episode 5.
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Quiet and slow, and hardly daring to acknowledge the ache ballooning in her chest, Ragatha slipped away to her room, alone. The others had already scattered, Zooble, Gangle and Kinger having picked their way to the commons, while Jax and Pomni were still missing after running off unceremoniously to who-knows-where.
Nobody had asked her to come with them. Actually, it had seemed like they couldn't get away from her fast enough. And after what had happened, she really couldn't blame them. Still, her heart fluttered in her chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Even after years spent adrift in the digital space away from her body, loneliness still pressed through her, ever-heavy, like the dragging weight of an anchor.
Ragatha paused at her door, fingers lingering on the doorhandle, waiting. Jax's room was just next to hers - the room directly across from his now belonged to Pomni. Ragatha's was the very last before the hall darkened into a procession of empty rooms, lit once by the sound of familiar voices and the warmth of lived-in spaces---now silent and empty. She frowned.
Seconds passed.
One more minute, maybe it'd come- a burst of laughter, Kinger thumping her on the back--even Jax's rude, ugly grin. Wait for it. They'll be here.
Before she had even realized it she was already shuffling into her room, shutting the door and slumping softly to the ground.
God. What a terrible day that had been. First, she had shared way too much about her life before the Circus (they were all supposed to be sharing, right?). She had tried to be mindful, really, only to end up clumsily dumping her trauma all over the conversation, sounding like some sort of trust-fund basket case. Their furrowed brows, silent mouths and refusal to look her in the eye once she was through had said it all.
Then she'd lost it on Pomni -- well, first she had gone crawling to Pomni for reassurance, whining like a child. Then she'd snapped at her for no reason. That had been really bad--it wasn't Pomni's fault that she was always holding it in, putting up walls, bricking up her feelings behind layers and layers of positive affirmations, bright sides and silver linings. Oh god, what had been wrong with her? Ragatha decided that she'd wait until she heard the sound of Pomni returning to her room--then she'd rush out, all smiles and soft voices, and ask her to come in. She would make her a cup of tea and apologize again.
Ragatha gazed up at her room. It was small and boxy, brimming with comically-large teacups, kettles, a giant rocking-horse, a doll-house, a sewing machine and a floral jacquard wallpaper that bloomed so dark and blue and oversaturated that it sometimes bled through the pixels.
God. No wonder they think she's a total dweeb. Just look at her room.
Immediately, involuntarily, and with a trembling lip, she thought of Kaufmo.
Poor, sweet Kaufmo. All pastel-colors and softly-rendered like a clown from an old children's book. Like her, he had seemed better suited for more tender things than the horrors Caine cooked up for them daily. He'd always been gentler with her, careful even, and he wouldn't have allowed her to stay in her room alone. He would've pulled her laughingly out of her sadness, thrusting a balloon animal into her hand, juggling with Kinger's eyeballs, or producing a bright yellow daisy that would shoot digital water at Jax. It may not have been perfect, but she had felt closer to him than all the others. Quite a pair at times, the dolly and the illustrated clown.
She winced.
Kaufmo had been the most recent one to abstract, and he'd done so with less warning than Ragatha felt comfortable admitting to herself.
Had the signs really been there?
Squeezing her one eye shut, Ragatha remembered telling herself not to worry. He just needs space, she had said. The Circus does this to everyone - you couldn't count your off days. And sure he had recently lashed out to her, accusing her of only pretending to laugh at his jokes. But then he apologized and said that he was fine.
You should've done better. You should've checked on him. You should've listened to him.
But Ragatha had learned and had internalized, almost to a fault, that it was much was better to keep smiling through those bad days. To respect everyone's boundaries, and to be a helping hand when needed. Keep it positive, keep looking on the bright side, keep everyone happy - that's what they needed, right?
Then why wasn't he still here?
She sucked in her breath and turned on her side, back aching against the hard shell of the digital floor.
Truthfully, Ragatha had wanted to get to Pomni first. She wasn't sure she could go through it all again - another abstraction. If she could just get Pomni to listen to her, convince her that she'd be okay (as okay as one can be in the Circus) -- then maybe it wouldn't happen again.
Not like how it had happened with Ribbit, and now Kaufmo. With the screeching static and the rapid glitching. The fading of their avatars as they blinked into something grotesque and shapeless, their pixels stretched and drained of all color until all that was left was a shuddering black mass with hundreds of eyes, just mooning and blinking like something both alien and animal.
Ragatha had wanted to take the new girl under her wing, to show her how take the adventures in stride, how to enjoy them even. She saw herself setting a good example for Pomni on how to thrive with kindness, confidence, and dazzling positivity, (even if that meant gritting her teeth through the landscapes of uncanny horrors and digital catastrophes).
And after all that, why wouldn’t Pomni want to be friends? Ragatha would show her just how supportive and courageous a friend she could be, and just how valuable it was to have a friend like Ragatha in the Circus. Ragatha wanted to protect the newbie, and she wanted to do it right this time. She would do it right this time.
She’d do it right---
The softball game flashed in her mind. She'd been caught off-guard when Pomni suggested that she sub in for her. She figured Pomni was offering her an olive branch, forgiveness her untoward outburst earlier, and Ragatha eagerly accepted hoping this meant Pomni truly wanted to be friends. Only when she turned around and observed Pomni glued to Jax's side that it dawned on her.
She thought of Pomni giggling at his stupid antics. How had he so easily won her trust? What had he done for Pomni to look up at him so admirably, so affectionately, f---ing Jax, of all people-----
"Alright," she finally whispered to herself. "That's it, we're going to bed."
The ragdoll climbed into her bed, exhaled and drew the duvet right up over her nose. It was a chunky, 16-bit blanket of soft pink and white squares, with large buttons rendered to look like cloth ones.
The blanket’s pixels had been tiled carefully on top of one another to somewhat maintain the illusion of realness, even though it fluttered stiffly as if lagging, and felt like absolutely nothing.
She groaned. Her stitches itched.