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It had been approximately 15 minutes since Caine had sent the cast back to the circus tent from the softball adventure, and 5 minutes since Jax had dragged Pomni off to show her … something. It wasn’t really an important detail if you asked him.
To be completely honest, pulling Pomni aside from the cast was mostly because he wanted to take his mind off of the softball adventure.
If he distracted himself with someone he enjoyed the company of, he wouldn’t feel the pressure of growing nausea within his very stomach— was what he thought naively.
%#!$, what was he doing again? There’s that feeling he was trying so desperately to quell: nausea.
(Which was probably Zooble’s fault)
Oh, yeah.
It’s been 5 minutes since he sent Pomni off so he could collect himself in his room.
“Just going to take a nap,” he had said, casually waving her off, ignoring the cold sweat collecting at his footpads, “keep this between us, Poms, but that lightning round almost knocked me out, honest.”
Jax leaned against the doorframe, “I’m ssoooooo tired!” The back of his palm dramatically resting on his forehead to really sell the act.
He hears a chuckle sound from Pomni, it looks like his acting worked, “I bet we all are. Caine’s been… a bit energetic lately,”
“Ugh. Yeah, tell me about it. My legs are killing me.” Not really, Jax just wanted to relate to her, but Pomni wasn’t wrong either.
Jax wasn’t much to complain about Caine’s adventures. As bizarre as they usually are, at least it gave him something to look forward to everyday. Though, since the use of the suggestion-box, even he had to admit that Caine has been biting off more than he could chew— no pun intended. With each adventure, Jax could see the npcs get more and more jank with each day. Maybe it may have stemmed off of the fact that Caine had been making new npcs almost each adventure, but who knows. Not Jax.
One npc almost punched him at some point, which was… new. That never happened before, and Jax was totally not put off by how unpredictable it was, but hey, that probably means Caine’s loosening up the levels of violence allowed uncensored within the circus. That’s good news. He should feel excited.
Jax’s stomach churned.
There was that feeling again. Seemed like it didn’t go away. Ugh.
(It was the corn, wasn’t it?)
(It had to be)
“Anyways, I’m going to go…” he gestured lamely to his room door, “…pass out.“
She seemed taken aback by his change in demeanour, though it didn’t seem like she was willing to press further, which was good, “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sleep well then, Jax.”
Pomni turned to wave at him, a small polite smile forming before she walked off to her room.
(No. Wait.)
Jax waved back, unable to fight a grin, “Yup, same goes.” He returned blandly, before walking into his room, shutting his door.
Before he could register the door clicking shut, Jax found himself slumped against it, as if the lie he told to Pomni about his killed legs materialising into a truth.
Jax shuddered as he felt his back wash over with a feeling of coldness, and nausea.
(God damn it all, was having a nice, long, distracting conversation with someone that hard to do or was he finally losing it?)
Under any circumstances he would’ve probably chuckled softly at the joke he made to himself. ‘Finally losing it’ yeah, right. As if he had any issue with keeping his mind in place. The joke is that what he’s really losing is control over the current predicament he’s in right now, not his mental stability.
Man, he’s pretty good at being funny, even when he can feel his hands clam up with cold sweat under his gloves.
(Oh, gross. Weren’t his hands nearest to the corn Zooble put on the bench?)
(It’s probably partly why he feels so sick right now)
Jax finds himself taking a deep breath mid-thought, and patting— hitting —his temple lightly. He can’t afford thinking about the reason for his nausea right now, it just wasn’t practical.
(‘Practical’? What are you, Ragatha?)
Normally it’d be easy to wave off such thoughts during an adventure without needing the dramatics of a self-induced head-beating. After all, he’d be around the others and Jax simply can’t afford panicking around them, because comic relief characters don’t panic.
He finds that, ironically, panicking about panicking somehow cancels one-another out and he’s quick to regain his footing whenever it occurs. However, Jax is currently not in an adventure, and he’s in the ‘comfort’ of his own room, which means that the only person he needs to worry about watching him literally beat himself up over feeling a bit queasy is… himself.
Jax finds himself snapping back into reality by another wave of coldness being sent through his body.
Oh god it’s that feeling again. Nausea.
(Why is this happening to me?)
Jax can’t help but zero in on the sensations of his mouth.
Was it collecting saliva? He remembered reading somewhere that the body produces saliva when it’s about to upchuck. Was he going to upchuck?
Jax paused for a moment, his laboured breathing— (was he really breathing that heavily?) —ceasing as time seemed to hold itself in place.
He didn’t feel any difference in saliva production. Nothing to run home about. He’s probably just having a Kinger moment.
(But what if he’s wrong?)
Scratch that, this is definitely something to run home about.
Zooble had poisoned him like the %#!$hole they are and the corns they had put nearby him had transferred its despicable sick particles onto him and now he’s nauseous and throwing up is fate and its going to hurt and he’s going to choke on his own sick and it’ll be just like that night he got food-poisoning and—
Jax blinks.
Repeatedly.
Wow he feels lightheaded all of a sudden, that was new. Usually he’d stay curled up by a toilet or bin of some kind, fully conscious of every part of his body, his thoughts included.
Maybe this time he could pass out and wake up in a puddle of his own sick? Was that how it worked? Jax tries to recount vague memories of his friends talking to them about their gross hangover memories, remembering a time his friend had woken up in a puddle of their own sick after a crazy night.
Not that Jax knew anything about drinking and hangovers. He doesn’t remember much about his life before the circus— as per everyone —but he can confirm for sure he never drank. He has the emetophobia to prove it.
(Ha.)
It was a gross possibility to look forward to, yeah, obviously— cleaning a puddle of sick could be just as bad as being skinned alive for him —but it beats being conscious and present the whole time as one is vomiting their innards.
Jac shakily gets off the floor, and he hears the door hinges creak slightly as he lifts the weight of his leaning back off of it. It feels like he’s walking on air and his eyes feel as heavy as rocks, but it beats the nausea he had been feeling just a while ago.
How long ago was it again?
It’s been 15 minutes since he sent Pomni off so he could go have a panic attack on the floor of his room.
Just kidding! He wouldn’t classify practicing breathing techniques as a panic attack, he just happened to take too much deep breaths that he got lightheaded is all. What even is a panic attack, and who even has that over corn? Lame.
Jax can confirm, after a-many close calls with impromptu spewing sessions caused by god-knows, airborne particles of corn, probably, deep breathing helps override the commonly believed, uncontrollable action of vomiting.
Moreover, Jax is no quitter, and he is especially not one to submit to external control. It’s his body and he tells it exactly what to do and when to do it! So, his deep breathing was not hyperventilation, it was simply just that: breathing. Deeply.
Jax rubs his gloved hand across his face, sighing, his eyes are getting pretty heavy, but maybe he just needs a nap and that this is in no way related to him ‘hyperventilating’ before.
He finds himself on his bed, back propped up at a solid 90 degree, very comfortable angle. His chest rises and falls slowly, and he finds himself checking his pulse on instinct, his two fingers resting under his should-be jaw location.
—And then he immediately puts it back down.
Right, digital circus. He doesn’t have a pulse. How fun.
Logically, Caine might’ve not given them pulses to check because… well… it would simply be a bit redundant. Ragatha is a doll after all, and Zooble is… whatever they are. How would he implement pulses onto them anyways? Zooble doesn’t even have a mouth or nose to breathe from.
However, illogically, it makes things a lot harder for Jax when he’s ‘checking himself’. No pulse means no heartbeat, and no heartbeat means he can’t differentiate between bad-sick and good-sick. As deluded as he admittedly sounds, he at least has the conscience to try and rule out any possibilities that he may be sick because he’s overreacting and being dramatic rather than actual, genuine food poisoning.
Not that food poisoning is possible in the circus—
(???)
—but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.
Besides, Jax saw Pomni upchuck on her very first day, so that rules out that motion sickness is not a possibility.
Gross.
It’s been 30 minutes since he sent Pomni off so he could go take a nap in his room, and the window of time where vomiting would occurred has passed.
(Thank god)
Jax leans back on the bed-frame, and he stares dazedly at the ceiling above him.
(It’s safer to sleep propped up just in case the stomach acts up again)
(And it’s probably best to sleep while you’re still lightheaded)
Maybe tomorrow he could ask Caine for some peppermint oil, just in case something happens. It’s good for quelling the stomach, he remembers, and there’s a familiar weight he misses in his pockets where a small bottle of peppermint oil would always reside.
And if anyone asks, he can just rub some on his hands and paw at their face. Peppermint burns in a way that not only hurts if done right, but distracts.
Why rely on the distraction of interacting with someone when he can just technically do it himself?
Jax’s eyes grow heavier and he falls into a dreamless sleep, where he doesn’t need to worry about the uneasy feeling that may possibly collect at his stomach.