Work Text:
Kinger's memory is finicky. It has been, for a while - he can't say he remembers for exactly how long, but he knows it leads back to Queenie.
(everything leads back to her. it always has, and it always will, whether he remembers it or not.)
His memory comes and goes, like the breeze or the tide. He's learned the triggers, learned what leads to what.
The circus is unpredictable; which, in and of itself, may make it predictable. But, anyway. Kinger knows two things that will always, always be true, regardless of the settings or adjustments to his coding or the newest adventure Caine has set out for the humans.
Kinger will always, always love Queenie, and he will never, ever be lucid in the light.
Scratch.
The memories slam into Kinger; against his mind like the full weight of a bus. Kinger wishes he could say it came back slowly. Lucidity comes back slowly, when he’s adjusted to dark surroundings. But the bright light back-lighting Caine is the literal juxtaposition to the darkness of his pillow fort and Kinger remembers anyway, despite none of the conditions being met.
Scratch. The first abstraction. Scratch had joined just after Kinger and Queenie; had joined in the time period where the concept of a past life hadn't been so far out of reach, had joined right when the window closed for temporary visit and new home. Scratch- well, no one had adjusted well to that; memories slowly slipping from their digital avatar's fingers as they struggled to cling onto what they once knew. (but… did scratch ever do well in the circus?)
Kinger doesn't know how much he remembers, from the early days in the circus when the beta testing fell through. (or does he? had there ever been any real beta testing, or was this all just-)
No, no, that can't be right - his memories; are they still all scrambled? But, no - if he pushes through…
He hears Caine trying to backpedal above him, as the four words fall from the chess piece's mouth. But it makes sense, the more that Kinger thinks about it.
Scratch hadn't adjusted well to the circus. Caine tried to do his job to help. If too many modifiers got added; if it changed too much of Scratch's integral code to the point it became corrupt and disjointed and messy-
(who all had been witness to scratch's abstraction? kinger knows he was there. he remembers being confused and terrified; that hadn't been something in the game's code. he knows it hadn't been something he'd written. he thinks that he had gotten into a fight about it with caine, afterward.)
Caine disappears. The gift basket falls to the ground, and everyone stares blankly at the white void. Kinger thinks there will be questions for him, when they get back to the circus.
He does not know if he'll remember to have the answers.
In the days following Queenie's abstraction, Kinger shuts himself away. It's not that anyone's surprised - no, naturally Kinger would react this way, that was his wife for crying out loud! - but the concern etches into their avatars anyway. They cast glances between themselves and the pillow fortress that Kinger has seemingly locked himself into, like he's trying to cling onto the final moment he had with the other chess piece before Caine found the abstraction and cast her into the cellar with the others, and wonder if he'll be following Queenie soon.
(there's always stories of bonded pairs anyway, found between nearly every species that has the capability to form such strong bonds. once one goes, the other follows close by.)
The thought of comforting Kinger slips their mind, some. They'd hosted the funeral already - something that seems to be falling more into a sort of tradition with each lost circus member - and while he had been there for it, it was hard to tell how present he'd been. Of course they're worried about him! But it's just…
When you lose someone like that, how do you comfort them? Is there any good way, aside from a pat on the back and saying "I'm here if you need to talk"?
(it's not like any of them really get the extent of it, anyway. the two chess pieces were the only ones left from the first few who arrived and knew everything.)
So, when Kinger is found outside the fort for the first time in days, the circus seems to breathe a little easier. Maybe they won't lose him - not yet, at least, will his consciousness and soul be lost to the cellar with the other abstractions. He acts like he's okay (as much as one can be, what with his loss and all), like he wants to try and keep moving.
Kinger goes on the adventure. It's clear the entire time that he's trying to keep himself together; to keep himself from falling apart at the seams and blowing up.
The adventure had gone wrong. It had gone all wrong, and it's all Kinger's fault, because he thought he could put a lid on his grief just for a moment.
One small slip-up, one small snarky comment from someone who's always made comments like that, and Kinger breaks.
He yells.
Kinger yells, and everyone's frozen in shock.
Kinger never raises his voice. He's never once yelled in their time here in the circus. He's been stern and strict and called Caine out on some of his… less than friendly adventures that scared one of the humans a little too much or put someone back in place. But he's never yelled.
He seems to realize what he's done, rig freezing up and eyes wide as he seems to realize what had happened. He flounders, trying to find the words he wants, but the adventure ends in the next heartbeat and he's gone, disappearing into the pillow fortress that used to belong to two chess pieces and not just one, and everyone holds their breath, wondering if this is it.
…
There's no way to tell time in this digital world.
Kinger knows this. Kinger knows this, but he huddles in the pillow fort in complete darkness and wonders how long it's been since everything. Since he raised his voice, since he agreed to go on that adventure, since Queenie abstracted, since the latest member joined their crew, since since since.
He wonders how long it's been since he put a pencil to paper and drafted up a brainstorm sheet for a game he wanted to create.
He sits, hiding in the fortress. It's just his fort, now - no longer the king-and-queen impenetrable pillow fortress. They don't need to eat or drink or do anything really to survive here. (can kinger push those limits? is there some sort of extra layer of protection he might have, granted by the admin pass that's been hidden in the pillows since the fort was built?) He doesn't need to come back out for anything, really.
So he doesn't.
Kinger sits and hides like a coward, spiraling and left alone with his thoughts because no one's dared to speak to him since that adventure.
It's too much time to be by himself, too much time to sit in silence with the only company being his thoughts.
(his fingers twitch with static. whenever he closes his eyes, surrounded by darkness and silence, all he can see is her - dozens of vibrant glowing eyes in shifting hues. she was always beautiful, no matter what form she took. the static takes his hand, and he thinks, wouldn't it be easier to let go? it's what everyone expects from him, anyway.)
"Kinger, my favorite scrigglewhopper ding-a-ling!"
Kinger jerks, whipping around to come face to face with Caine. When had- what? Kinger stares at Caine, wide-eyed and tense like a cat. Caine stares at Kinger, face twisted into some sort of grin, posture open like he was expecting Kinger to be excited to see him.
"Caine," Kinger says slowly, having to force himself to relax. He forces down the wave of irritation that threatens to spill out of him. "What are you…?"
"Checking in on you!" Caine says, tossing his cane in the air as his body twists in a spin. He catches the cane and points it at Kinger's face, right between his eyes. Kinger would've gone cross-eyed if he'd not been keeping a close eye on Caine's face. "You've been holed up in here for way too long. I wanted to check in and see if there was anything I could do for you!"
Anything he could do for him. Anything he could do for him.
Kinger wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. There was nothing to do to be done for him! So much of this, so much of Kinger's issues, was that he was unable to get his head out of the dirt and continue on with life. He'd actually gotten to say goodbye to Queenie; gotten to have some form of closure with his wife before he had to say goodbye to her forever. It's the last memory he has of her, and he clings to it tighter than life itself.
Anything Caine could do for Kinger.
Let him die. Let him abstract; join his wife in the cellar. Bring Queenie back; overhaul the corrupted code and find if there was actually some way to fix it. Bring back everything Kinger had lost - his wife, his body, the memories of their past lives that everyone could feel slipping between their fingers.
(caine was the first to ask that recently.)
Kinger supposes he's been quiet for too long, because Caine hovers a little bit closer.
"Did you… want to talk about it?" Caine sounds ridiculously unsure of himself. Kinger can't figure out if he's grateful for Caine asking or put off by it being Caine who asks, and not one of the other humans. "I've heard that can, uh.. help?"
"I…" If Kinger had a mouth, it'd be opening and closing like a goldfish, stuck eternally trying to find the right words. It feels selfish. Kinger knows he just needs to get up and allow his grief to wash over him, to grow around it instead of allowing it to consume him. Everyone else misses Queenie, too. Kinger wonders about Caine, too - Queenie had adored the ringmaster. Was Caine taking her abstraction okay? He'd been off for a bit after she'd been sent to the cellar, now that Kinger things about it.
There's a lot that he's feeling right now. Most of it is all-encompassing grief and every single shade that comes with it. Anger and frustration color his chest and his mind is clouded with what-ifs, if there had been something that he'd missed or could have done differently. Some of it just feels faint, off so far away in a different region or story that it doesn't even matter. Kinger will wake up, Queenie will be next to him, and everyone will go on a new adventure. (kinger will wake up, queenie next to him, and they'll be back home in the real world.) Who's Kinger without Queenie, anyway? What's a king without his queen? Nothing, historically.
(but would any of this be appropriate to even talk about, nonetheless with an ai that gained sentience and has trouble genuinely understanding their human struggles and how they can't just be fixed with a snap of his fingers?)
Kinger must have been taking too long to come up with an answer, because Caine has apparently grown frustrated with his silence.
"I mean, I just- I don't get it," Caine says, irritation creeping into his tone. Ice trickles up Kinger's rig, cold and biting and the start of a frosty rage if he doesn't put a lid on this now; if he doesn't stop Caine from trying to pry.
"Don't worry about it," Kinger says coldly, ripping his attention away from Caine. He tries to dissociate from the conversation, tries to float back into the uncomfortable static feeling that traced through his hands moments before the ringmaster AI popped in. He doesn't expect anyone to genuinely get it, anyway. How do you come back from a loss like that? How are you supposed to bounce back from losing the woman you loved? They had a life together, one that dated prior to the circus, to this. He knows what he should do, but actually doing it? It would almost feel like a betrayal. (some distant part of him screams; banging on the walls that queenie would hate this. but kinger pays no heed to that part of his mind.)
He could say it. He could tell Caine just forget it and he would. Kinger thinks he's the only one who's figured that out.
"It just doesn't make any sense to me!" Caine's voice grows tighter, frustration creeping into his tone. Why can't Kinger just spit out the words? Forget it, Caine. he should say. Forget it and move on. Won't the others be back soon? (like he knows what time of day it is, like he knows if the others are on one of caine's adventures.)
"You wouldn't get it," Kinger stresses, hands curling into fists at his side. Maybe he's being a little unfair on Caine. It's not the AI's fault he doesn't understand; it's literally not in his programming. But Kinger can't help but feel like the walls are closing in on him and choking him up.
"Then explain it!" Caine exclaims, grip tightening on his cane. "I can't help if I don't-"
"I've lost everything, Caine!" Kinger snaps, pulling his lower half to his chest. He doesn't mean to cut Caine off, but anger burns at him, licking at the bare bones of his rig and threatening to overcome him. "I just want to forget; I want everything to go back to normal, but it won't! It's just not possible." He feels himself fall limp, slumped back against the wall. He knows none of this is fair to anyone - himself, the abstracted, Caine. Kinger thinks he can hear the hum and whir of overworked processor systems that often accompanied his computer, back in the real world, but he figures he's just finally lost it. He knows he should be more gentle with himself. He should actually has out his feelings instead of wallowing in his grief and guilt and self-hatred, because that's what any person should do in the events of something so incredibly traumatic.
Kinger tilts his head back, staring up at the low ceiling of his pillow fort. He should take a deep breath, stop himself from saying anything more to Caine he could regret. It wouldn't be fair to him, after all - he wasn't really created with the ability to truly understand people and all their complexities. He tries, but there's just that thing missing that can't be replicated in coding.
But he is weak, and he feels himself speaking anyway, falling into the heedless void where he just speaks to get it off his chest.
"I hate this," Kinger says quietly, energy slipping from his fingers. Emptiness replaces the anger he felt at the back of his throat. In front of him, Caine buzzes in confusion. "I hate this circus. I hate myself for creating it."
"You… what?" Caine asks, voice empty of his usual bravado. Next to Kinger, the pillows begin to glitch, shifting between the wire mesh grid-lines and the solid 8bit polygonal design and Kinger…
Well, for a moment, he considers leaning into it. Let Caine's glitches take him away; removed completely from the coding.
But his logical side, the side that still bangs against metaphorical walls to get up and live, points out that maybe that isn't the best idea, and Kinger actually realizes what this means.
"Wait- Caine?" Kinger stumbles over his words, blinking harshly like he's coming back to himself; like he's realizing what's actually happening right in front of him. He swears, ignoring how inappropriate the censor is at this very moment, and crawls over to the AI.
"Caine!" Kinger snaps, hands on either side of the ringmaster's head of teeth. He grumbles, something unintelligible that would've still had a scorned look from Queenie shot his way.
(he wonders if it's his fault that caine is as sentient as he is. based on everything else from the last who-knows-how-long, it's up in the air.)
Caine seems to snap back to attention, blinking rapidly as he readjusts to his surroundings. Kinger squints at him, eyes drifting around Caine's model as if he could peer into the AI's binary coding and processing systems if he just looked hard enough.
"Oh, Kinger!" Caine chirps, like he was finally back in his own body. "What's uh… what's going on here?" His eyes dart between the hands on either side of his head, acting like he's about to pull away from Kinger at any given moment.
"Caine," Kinger says gently, voice a soft whisper. "I don't hate you."
Caine laughs awkwardly, pulling away from Kinger with little resistance from the chess piece. "Well, I'd sure hope not! I'm doing my best here to keep everyone sane!"
Kinger's hands open and close in the empty space where Caine had once been.
(he knows what caine's doing. kinger just wonders how much of it is caine's programming or the ai himself mimicking learned behavior.)
Kinger knows he shouldn't take the coward's way out. He knows he should get Caine to understand what he means. But he's tired, and the guilt and grief are beginning to rear its heads again, and Kinger lets himself fall into the role of a coward.
"And you're doing great at it," Kinger hears himself say, eyes pinching up in the sort of half-smile that isn't really real, but it's convincing enough that it wouldn't really prompt someone to look closer.
"I'm glad to hear that, Kinger!" Caine says loudly, too loudly for the enclosed space. "I'll try to find something that helps you out, too. Hope to see you at the adventure tomorrow!"
And then Kinger finds himself alone with his self-hatred and grief once more, wondering what Caine meant by what he said.
(it's fine. he can talk to caine about it later, right?)
(but later never comes.)
The main area of the circus is quiet except for the sound of chatter between two chess pieces. Well, okay - as quiet as it can get with the background song on constant loop. Kinger's been here for long enough that it's easy to ignore. He isn't sure where everyone else; his only focus is on Queenie. She's talking animatedly with her hands, mentioning some of the bugs she'd found outside the circus tent and how closely they related to their real-world counterparts. Kinger, being the of course ever dutiful husband, is listening with rapt attention.
Queenie is in the middle of a rant in the differences between the real world and digital centipedes she'd found just an hour ago when her attention suddenly changes.
"Oh, Caine!" Queenie says warmly. "Who's your little friend?"
Kinger shifts, the soft expression that still warmed his features shifting to something confused, eyes squinting in a frown. There's a bubble floating next to Caine. He doesn't remember that - when had Caine..? He shoots a glance at his wife, trying to gauge her reaction (she doesn't seem to recognize the bubble floating beside Caine, either; is this as weird to her as it is to him?), but turns back to Caine as the AI speaks.
"I don't know," he says, looking a little miffed. Kinger thinks there's more to Caine's tone - concern, maybe? or happiness that he's not the only AI around anymore? - or is he reading too far into everything?
"It just appeared?" Kinger asks, eyes narrowed.
"My name is Bubble!" the bubble chirps, grinning down at the two chess pieces with a shark-sharp grin.
"Where'd you come from, Bubble?" Kinger asks, uncertainty creeping into his tone. He notes Caine shifting uncomfortably to the side. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he tenses, head snapping over to-
oh. it's just.
Kinger closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself.
Queenie apologizes for him - a quiet "he's just on edge" that he can barely make out over his exhale. "I'm Queenie," his wife says, much more audible this time. He focuses on the sound of her voice, on how real it sounds. "This is Kinger. It's nice to meet you, Bubble."
(kinger manages to pull queenie away, for a bit. he sounds slightly frantic, trying to confirm with her if she remembers any sort of talk for caine to have a companion; if anything was designed or coded in. queenie's expression had fallen blank for a moment too long, distant in the way that happens when caine tries to figure out what npcs should or shouldn't know, before coming back to herself with a shake of her head.)
(kinger wonders how much of this he should have continued to press with. the sudden inability to remove the headset, their memories slowly falling away from them like sand, bubble's appearance... he wonders how much of this was connected or some bizarre circumstance.)
Kinger has been spiraling for a bit. He can pinpoint the reason why; can still identify some of the self-hatred that still clings to his model's rig. He thinks it will stay settled there for a long, long time to come - but it's a little easier to live alongside right now.
His memory has begun to slip from him, between his fingers like beady little things. He can tell, sometimes, when he's not as lucid as he should be. Technically he notices these things after he's regained sense of himself. It's a little scary, honestly - both how unsettling it is to be unsure of all of his actions, but also of how little he can force himself to care. It's something that should concern him, of course, but Kinger thinks his mind has been slipping for a while anyway. The only thing that concerns him is losing all his memories of her.
(had he asked for this? had he begged caine for an easy way out; since he couldn't abstract, plead with him to ignore the instructions he'd been given in the past to attempt modifiers outside of adventures, to erase the pain? or was this a byproduct of kinger's own grief, spurred on by his own internalized hatred, sharper than the sharpest knives, desperate to distance himself and forget everything in a chance to continue to live? but is this really living?)
There's a sudden commotion outside in the main area. Kinger doesn't think too much of it at first - the others may have come back from their adventure (but doesn't that seem a little too soon?).
Someone screaming very quickly changes his mind.
Kinger pulls himself out of his (only his, now - no, don't think about that) pillow fort, stumbling a little at the sudden bright light and wow, is the circus bright today, what was he thinking about again? He looks up at the stage, metaphorical heart plummeting to the not-metaphorical floor as he feels like throwing up.
He can't throw up - he has no mouth - but he remembers why he was spiraling now.
"Where- where am I?!"
Up on the stage with their back turned to Kinger stands a trembling rag doll, with bright red yarn for hair and a blue patchwork dress with a matching bow.
A new character. A new character; a new human trapped in the circus. A quick look around the main area shows that Caine is nowhere in sight. Kinger isn't sure if this is a good or bad thing. He's not sure how well he'd do right now at trying to comfort someone, but it's better than the alternative of just hiding away until Caine realizes something is off in the circus and shows up, which could just scare the poor girl even more.
Kinger shuffles closer to the stage, remaining a healthy distance away - for the newcomer's sake!, he tells himself - and calls out to her.
She shrieks, clearing not expecting anyone to actually answer despite her cries. She whips around, hands clenched to her chest, and Kinger notes that one of her eyes is a button that matches the color of her dress. Her chest heaves up and down, desperate for air, and the tremors in her arms seem to worsen upon realizing there was someone else here.
"Y- you're a… a chess piece," she stammers, dark eye scanning him up and down from her spot on the stage.
Maybe it's a good thing Caine's not here, actually.
Kinger raises his hands in a gesture of peace and tries to offer her a semblance of a friendly expression. "I know this is a shock," he says, careful to keep his expression neutral and welcoming.
"You're… a chess piece," she repeats, breath slowing. His eyes squint a little in concern, but she's starting to breathe a little more normally, at least. Maybe she's just trying to take stock of her surroundings. It's fine; he'll take the probable win where he can. "A talking chess piece."
"That is my avatar, yes," he says lightly, aiming for something lighthearted to help ease her fear. Her entire being scrunches up, face twisting into something that Kinger can't name and her arms pulling impossibly closer to her chest. Dang, alright, that didn't land. Fair enough, let's try this again.
He shuffles forward another tile. "My name is Kinger," he introduces himself. He really, really doesn't want to ask this, because he knows what the response will be. No one enters the circus with their memories in tact anyway. Not anymore, at least. "Do you have anything we can call you?"
"Well, I- yes, I- I have a name-" the rag doll says, trying to sound confident. Her expression flickers, tossing and turning so quickly that Kinger can't even keep up with it. "My name. My name?! Wait- we?!"
Kinger winces. Okay, yeah, that's about what he expected. Caine's not here, so that means Kinger's the one giving the rundown. Right. Well…
Before the doll's breathing can begin to spike again, Kinger shuffles forward a little bit more. "You're okay," he says immediately, offering her a hand despite the distance.
"How- how can I be?" she nearly shouts, trembling. "I- I don't know where I am, I don't remember my name, I'm a f—cking doll for crying out loud!" She flinches, hands slapping against her face.
Kinger tries to look as apologetic as possible, what with only really being able to use his body language and eyes. Curse not having a mouth, seriously. "You can't swear here," he says, in way of an apology. She doesn't drop her hands from her mouth, which he thinks is fair.
"This is the Amazing Digital Circus," Kinger says, with mild fanfare to his tone. He debates adding jazz hands, but decides against it. Probably too much. His expression drops. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"I…" Her hands slowly fall from her mouth. She still looks sick, but at least she's talking. "There was this… headset."
Kinger winces. What he'd give to destroy those things - he can handle being trapped here for the rest of his life, he finally came to peace with that some time ago, but the fact that others keep getting dragged in…
Before the guilt can claw its way back up his throat, he forces himself to speak.
"That's how the rest of us got here," he says, inching closer to the stage. "Put on a headset, got stuck here." A half truth, at best, but what little he still remembers does paint the picture that he'd put on the headset.
"Oh, great," she says distantly, eyes slowly falling vacant. There's easier ways up onto the tall stage, but Kinger decides to try and be direct and scale the front. It is much easier said than done. "Is there- I mean, can I uhm… Leave?"
"Well," he starts, immediately throwing his hands up in apology when she yelps and whips around to face him. He thought she'd seen him head up the stage. "Uh, no."
She opens her mouth to speak, a slight tremor still in her hands, when the space around them suddenly warps and pops.
"Oh heya Kinger!- wait, what's this?"
Kinger and the rag doll both freeze, for equally different reasons.
"Caine," Kinger says lowly, a warning in his tone. He holds a hand up to both of them, eying the ring master from the corner of his vision. "Do not overwhelm her." He had just started getting to the point where the poor girl was starting to calm down; the last thing either of them need is Caine freaking her out.
"When have I ever done that?" Caine mockingly scoffs, eyes rolling in a way that implies he's definitely, one hundred percent lying. Kinger still doesn't know when Caine became so sentient. Normally, it's endearing. Right now, it's concerning. "Let's go, my succulent wildflower! We gotta give you the tour!"
Both Kinger and the newcomer frantically shout at Caine, but they're gone in the blink of an eye.
Kinger stares at the empty spot on the stage, swears, and then wonders (not for the first time) how to remove the dang profanity filter.
He doesn't move - he stays standing on the stage, waiting to see when Caine and the new girl would return. With how freaked out she had been, he's not sure if he feels comfortable leaving her alone to face the rest of the cast by herself.
(he feels himself spacing out every so often. he has to pull hard on the metaphorical strings of his consciousness to stay tethered; to not lose himself to the light. he may be slipping, but he will be here and present when caine and the new girl come back.)
They blip back into existence some short time later; Caine starting to say something before being abruptly cut off by the doll doubling over and hurling on the floor. Kinger shuffles over, placing a hand on her back. She jerks in surprise at first, seemingly startled to still see him standing on the stage, but some of the tension bleeds from her shoulders.
He'll take his wins where he can.
Kinger hears a portal open somewhere nearby. He feels himself grow rigid, forcing himself to leave his hand flat on the doll's back.
Distantly, he hears Caine loudly welcoming back everyone else. Under his hand, the girl freezes. He chances a quick look down at her, noting that she's stuck staring at the pile of black goo she'd vomited up just moments prior.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, letting his hand fall from her back. She's silent, staring at the floor with her chest heaving, and Kinger finds himself wishing he knew how to help her better. He tries to wrack his mind, to think of something he could do, but he just keeps falling short.
His mind begins to drift. The light's beginning to get to him. He almost forgets where he is, before a voice breaks him out of his stupor.
"Oh, lookit here!" someone calls out. "Ol' Kinger's actually out of the fortress!" Kinger tenses up at the same time the girl in front of him freezes, horror splayed across her face as it finally sinks in for her all at once that there actually are other people here, as well as-
"ohmygod is that a-"
"It's okay, dear," Kinger says, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Right. Right. He shoots the worm on a string model a sharp glare, and thanks his lucky stars that the worm takes the hint and slinks away with an over-exaggerated eye roll. The physical contact earlier hadn't been shaken off, so…
Hesitantly, he reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. When she doesn't immediately shrug him off, he gently squeezes her shoulder. "Ignore him," he says, hoping his tone comes across light enough. "He's been hanging out too much with our grumpy clown resident recently."
"Uhm…"
Kinger sighs, turning to face the poor girl. "C'mon," he offers, hand still on her shoulder in efforts to help keep her grounded. He motions with his other hand, down the hallway where everyone else seems to be trickling down to. "Let's go find your room."
—⭐︎—
It takes Ragatha a long, long time to find herself adjusted to the life of the Amazing Digital Circus. Kinger, in his slowly fading moments of lucidity, does his best to keep an eye on her. It's harder than he'd like to admit. He can feel himself slipping away, stuck sorting through moments and flashes in the darkness of his fortress; under the cover of the digital nighttime.
One night, staring up at the ceiling of his pillow fort, after an adventure where he had asked Ragatha to be on his team, he realized something.
Something inside him had shifted. He holds his hand up, staring at it as he thinks.
Ragatha. Ragatha, Ragatha, Ragatha.
The rag doll who had appeared on the stage, terrified within an inch of her life. Kinger had been concerned she would abstract so soon after joining. But she hadn't. She held on. She managed to keep her head up; managed to find her space in this crazy circus without losing herself.
Kinger realizes that he doesn't want to keep forgetting. Not anymore. His thoughts spin in lazy circles, slowly drifting back to his wife.
She would have loved her.
Oh, Queenie would have adored Ragatha.
He blinks back the sting of tears, unaware of when he had begun crying. He wants to stay present; wants to go back to being the shoulder Ragatha could lean on when the circus was still overwhelming and new for her; when he was able to answer her questions and help set up the funerals for their abstracted cast members. He wants to help her, so she doesn't have to keep being so strong on her own.
But…
Kinger blinks away the tears, letting his hand fall back to his chest. She'll be okay, he reasons with himself. She's come into herself. She's a strong young woman - someone who any parent would have been proud to call their daughter.
But Ragatha has Ribbit and Jax and Kaufmo. She has friends; there's no need for her to have to keep an eye on a senile old man.
He huffs, the feeling of a sad smile worming its way into his being, and closes his eyes.
Kinger feels like his head is about to explode. This is unfortunate for many reasons: For starters, he, along with his fellow circus members, are hurtling from the top of the circus tent to the ground from a height (and speed) that would kill them if they were human. Secondly, the circus is glitching.
Kinger's head is about to explode and the circus is glitching.
The thought comes to him so sudden that he doesn't know if the sudden head rush is due to him plummeting at breakneck speeds or from having the thought while feeling more lucid than he has in years. He can fix this. He can fix this, he thinks as he shuts his eyes while hurtling to the ground, knowing of the admin pass in his pillow fort - a real administrator pass he doesn't even technically need but has tucked away in his pillow fort anyway, not the fake ones that Caine's NPC had made for the kids, because Queenie thought it'd be funny and Caine was still so eager to find ways to please so he could learn and grow.
And then he hits the ground.
…
Faintly, Kinger thinks he can make out someone saying his name. The burden of a memory chases after him. A warm thought promises that he will open his eyes and be met with his wife looking down at him, a scowl on her face not matching her words as she teases him for another late night working on the game.
But that's not real, is it? He gave that up decades ago. He lost his wife years ago, to the circus he created. He would have lost himself to his guilt, had it not been for-
Kinger shoots forward, ignoring the startled yelps and shrieks of those around him. A hand grips his robe tightly as his other covers where his mouth would be if he had one, trying to keep himself from opening his eyes and forgetting because he still can't trust himself.
He remembers. He remembers. There were always things he intricately knew, even when he wasn't himself. Details his programming in this digital hellscape would never, ever allow him to forget, even if he didn't have the context for them. But this is different.
Scratch. The modifiers. Caine trying to bury the cause of Scratch's abstraction, trying to find ways to rewrite code so no one else would remember and go mad the way Scratch had. Memories of his first months in the circus that he had buried so, so deep, that he wasn't sure they were even still something he could recall.
(was that what happened to his memory? was remembering scratch what - hopefully - undid the modifier that affected his memory? or was he going to open his eyes and forget, all over again? he doesn’t want to forget. he doesn’t want to forget again.)
"Careful, Gramps," Jax says from above.
"Kinger? Are you back with us?" Ragatha asks to his side. There's a soft hand covering his own - the one gripping his robe - and he slowly lets go of where his mouth should've been to hold her hand between his own.
"The circus," Kinger says instead, wracking his brain. His hands squeeze Ragatha's. "Is it still glitching?"
He hears something spark in the distance, a short hiss from Pomni, and he figures that, yeah, server's still glitching. He moves to stand, to turn and ask Ragatha if she could help him to his fortress if it still stood, but Jax's voice stops him in the process.
"What was all that?" Kinger sways a little, steadied by Ragatha, and he shoots her a soft thank you under Jax's falsified bravado. "The- the buttons and the…"
"You're one to talk," Zooble spits. "If that had been real, you would've trapped us here!"
Kinger takes a chance and opens his eyes. It's not as bright in the circus as he had initially anticipated. That, or his memory hasn't slipped from his fingers yet. He's still lucid. He'll take what he can.
Jax sputters, trying and failing to come up with something witty and funny that would totally be enough to cover his hide. Zooble doesn't give him a chance to continue. "And what the heck, Pomni? Why'd you hesitate?"
He's still lucid, and it isn't pitch black.
"Well, I-"
"He thought it would make us happy," Kinger says, gaze shifting from where it had drifted down to his and Ragatha's hands to where Pomni was standing closest to Jax. "You said you saw an exit door when you first arrived, right?"
"I did, yeah," she says slowly, eying Kinger. "Everyone said I was already halfway to going crazy. You're the one who said Kaufmo had talked about it, before he abstracted."
(around pomni and kinger, the other four kids wince. jax tries to brush it off, but zooble shoots him a glare.)
"That's right," Ragatha says, nodding. "Didn't Caine say something about it being an 'unfinished adventure'?"
"He did, yeah," Zooble adds, eyes narrowed. There's still echoes of frustration in their posture, but their tone seems more confused like they were trying to put together how any of this was relevant. "Tried to bulls—t his way out of it by saying that he doesn't like us 'seeing his unfinished adventures' and something about the void."
Gangle gasps, ribbon hand covering her mouth. "And after the character awards…"
"Caine's desperate to be loved," Kinger admits, words feeling like molasses. His hands slip from Ragatha's, falling back to his sides. "His programming directive…" He shakes his head. He wonders, if this were happening some many years ago, if the guilt creeping into the corners of his subconscious would have swallowed him whole. "We didn't realize it, at first. His primary objective is to make everyone happy with his adventures. He was created to grow on his own, but the rate that it happened, we just couldn't keep up."
"'We'?" Jax parrots Kinger, voice clipped.
(there's no temperature in the digital circus. they can't actually feel anything, only concepts or suggestions. but, if say they could, kinger thinks he'd have felt the temperature drop to something very, very cold.)
"Yeah, hey - what do you mean by we, Kinger?" Zooble sounds suspicious. Kinger knows he can't blame them. If he were younger, the accusation in their tone may have stung. But…
But.
Kinger is old enough to admit when he's messed up. He's come to terms with everything he's ever done - the things that he faulted himself for; the things that made him hate himself. He isn't sure if this is something he would have ever wanted to share, but…
The lights in the circus glitch. Something in the distance sparks. Kinger remains silent, looking around at the kids before him. Pomni shifts closer to him, hands clasped next to her chest as his name dies on her lips.
He could take the easy way out. Let himself be a coward; let them think he's lost his mind again.
Eleven different abstractions, eleven different funerals, eleven different times wondering if he'd be next. Turning to Queenie during an adventure, only to be hit with the realization that she was gone. Forgetting the people who used to be his friends, left with nothing but faces on doors and memories he couldn't count on himself recalling, even in the dark.
"Let's sit down," Kinger finally suggests, head tilting to where he knows the couches are. The lights above him flicker, threatening to send the tent into darkness. "This might take a while."