Work Text:
Sometimes, Gangle remembers fragments of her life before the circus, things she once thought meaningless.
Walking by rivers. Listening to music while staring at the ceiling. Staying up late, wondering how much longer she could endure. Telling herself, week after week, that she only had to hold on until the next one. Pushing her goals aside, convinced there would always be a better time to try again.
Maybe none of it mattered in the grand scheme of things. She never knew if the people she passed back then ever remembered her face, or spared her a single thought. She never knew, and still doesn’t know if she ever will, or if it’s even worth knowing.
In the circus, things sometimes feel simpler.
The adventures Caine puts them through rarely demand much effort, and with natural leaders like Ragatha and Jax constantly pulling the group in opposite directions, there’s no point in trying to stand in between. So she allows herself to drift—to be carried wherever the current takes her (which is usually toward Jax’s “team”). Nights aren’t as quiet here; the ever-present background music fills the silence, and at least now she has a real excuse for her insomnia, being the complete absence of sleep itself.
Still, sometimes she can’t help but think about the outside. About the life she had before. She wonders if anyone remembers her name. If anyone ever bothered to look for her.
Maybe her boss, her former boss. She can’t quite recall if she quit her job as a manager or if that’s just another memory warped by everything else. Maybe her parents, though she lost touch with them long ago. Maybe a friend. People she once thought were friends.
She can’t remember their faces clearly anymore, and she doesn’t know if that’s because of the mental haze this digital place imposes... Or because of how distant she always kept herself.
The circus is the furthest thing from a home. That much is certain. Her room is nothing more than a stage, literally so. It’s probably tied to her theatrical avatar. But at least here, no one expects anything from her.
No leadership. No maturity. Nothing.
Well... Maybe Jax expects her to cry. To make that face she always makes when he pushes her too far. But that’s different.
She doesn’t have to think much, because something always distracts her before she can. She doesn’t need goals that might disappoint her. She isn’t responsible for anyone, not even herself. It’s disturbingly easy, how simple it is to be no one. To just exist. To watch. To draw in silence and cry in the dark.
She doesn’t know how long this can last.
But sometimes, she has the faint, unsettling feeling that she enjoys it more than the others do.
And that feeling... Weighs on her.
It’s wrong. It has to be.
Everyone wants to leave. Everyone hates the limits of the circus. They miss the outside—their lives, their memories, their real goals. Goals that aren’t just pathetic excuses for dreams.
Gangle knows this. She knows it, and gosh—she hates that she isn’t like them. That she can’t honestly agree. That she’s selfish enough to focus only on how easy all of this is for her, while everyone else is merely enduring it as a last resort.
For a long time, she thought she was the only one carrying that thought in silence, until the day Ragatha and Jax got into a fight.
At first, she assumed it would be like any other. But the longer she listened, the more something inside her froze.
“Don’t you care at all about what’s happening out there?! Don’t you even want to go back?!” Ragatha shouted, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.
Jax scoffed, looking away. He didn’t seem to be taking it seriously—not that it was out of character.
“Our bodies could be rotting by now. We might already be dead if we go back” he said, crossing his arms. “So no. I don’t really feel like finding out.”
Ragatha tugged at her hair, her tears finally spilling over. Pomni hurried toward her, trying to comfort her, but Ragatha only moved closer to where Jax stood instead. Even with the height difference, her gaze could cut into him like knives.
“You’re so selfish. I-I don’t even understand why. How can you like living like this?” Her voice faltered as she looked down, rubbing her arm. “Then again... I guess it makes sense. I shouldn’t try to reason with someone who enjoys hurting everyone else...” Her eyes drifted past Jax, landing somewhere behind him, right where Gangle sat, quietly drawing in her sketchbook. Well, maybe it didn’t feel like Ragatha was looking at her directly, but Gangle still felt a chill run down her spine. “... You’ve even done it to your own friends...”
And with that, she turned and left in tears.
Pomni followed immediately, trying to reach her.
From where she sat, Gangle couldn’t see Jax’s face. But she knew he wasn’t pleased.
She expected him to laugh. To brush it off. To change the subject with a joke. Maybe even to lash out and take it out on her, like he usually did.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t explode. He didn’t break.
He just... Left.
He turned his back and walked away until his figure disappeared into the distance.
Gangle clutched her sketchbook to her chest. If she had a heart, she imagined it would be pounding. If she had a stomach, she thought she might be sick.
Arguments always left her unsettled—but this felt different.
“Hey... Are you okay? That got pretty intense. Even for them.”
She startled at Zooble’s voice, having forgotten they were sitting beside her.
A wave of unease settled over her.
Maybe Zooble would understand. They were her closest friend here—the one she trusted the most. The only one who didn’t get irritated when she cried. The only one who didn’t drag her around like she was just an accessory.
“Yeah... I don’t know... Jax... We used to go on a lot of adventures together. But even after all this time, we never really talked about what might be happening outside. W-with anyone” she murmured, clutching her sketchbook tighter.
Zooble gave her a sympathetic look, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“I get that. It may be... Weird to think about” they admitted. “But I’m not surprised Jax doesn’t care. That excuse of his is ridiculous.” Their tone sharpened slightly, and something in Gangle tensed.
“He’s the only one who actually enjoys this place. He benefits from it. He even made Ragatha cry... What an a[BOING!]s.”
Gangle looked at them, uncertain.
Was it really that wrong?
Was it really so terrible to stay?
Did everyone truly have something worth returning to?
“Mmh... What do you think is happening to us outside the circus?” she asked.
Zooble blinked, caught off guard, before their expression softened into thought.
“Honestly? I have no idea” they said quietly. “But I’d like to believe we’ll be okay.”
It didn’t reassure her.
Her thoughts stayed tangled in Ragatha’s words, in Jax’s, and now Zooble’s.
How bad did she have to be... To be the only one who agreed with Jax?
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
The circus was eerily silent at midnight.
Sometimes Gangle liked it. Other nights—like this one—it felt like the silence was something fragile, ready to burst in her ears.
She tried not to think. Thinking was dangerous. One thought led to another, and another, until everything spiraled out of control.
Still, she found herself staring at the ceiling, questioning herself.
It had been a long time since she’d agreed with Jax.
It felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
He wasn’t a good person. At least, not here.
He was selfish. Cruel. Controlling. He broke her comedy mask, dragged her into danger, mocked Zooble, made Ragatha cry—even made Pomni uncomfortable in her very first week!
And yet...
She remembered something else.
Back when Ribbit was still around, Jax had been different. Not kind, exactly, but less sharp. His jokes had been stupid, harmless cartoon humor, now they felt like punishments disguised as pranks.
And somehow, Gangle was always his first target of the day.
She never understood why.
Even when he mocked her name, there was a strange familiarity in his gaze, something that didn’t quite match the cruelty of his words.
Maybe she really was broken.
There was nothing healthy about the circus, not for her. No responsibilities, no expectations—but also no reason to wake up. No reason to sleep. Endless time for her art, yet no one to truly appreciate it besides Zooble.
She had everything.
And at the end of the day... Nothing.
Maybe she wasn’t meant to exist at all.
If life outside was painful, and life here was empty and suffocating…
Maybe she should just...
The sound of the door snapping open dragged her back to reality.
She hadn’t even noticed when the ceiling started to look so colorful and psychedelic, now looking plain again.
Her breath hitched as she startled.
Jax stepped inside, rummaging through her drawers as if the room didn’t belong to anyone.
She watched him—his hunched silhouette, the careless way he moved—and felt that familiar, unsettling mix of fear and something softer.
She was always afraid of him. He gave her every reason to be.
But now... After everything earlier... Maybe he would understand.
“Jax...” she murmured. One of his ears twitched in acknowledgment, though he didn’t turn around. “I... I never thought about your idea before. That we might be... Rotting out there.”
That made him look at her.
His yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light—sharp, predatory.
A chill ran down her spine.
“Do you really think... If we go back, that’ll be it? The last time?” she asked, fidgeting with the ribbons that formed her hands.
Silence stretched between them.
She should’ve expected that.
“I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but... Sometimes I don’t think I want to leave” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Everyone else has something to go back to. B-but I know that if I leave, I’ll just be as lost as I was before.”
Jax stared at her like she’d said something incomprehensible.
Then he just turned back to the drawers.
“I don’t get why you’d tell me that” he said flatly. “But okay. I don’t really care.”
Of course.
She let out a quiet, breathy laugh. It was stupid. Pointless. Absurd. And yet... Saying it out loud made her feel lighter.
If even the worst person she knew didn’t think it mattered, maybe it wasn’t as terrible as she thought.
“Besides, you’ve got Zooble or whatever" he added. “You two are annoying as heck. Even if you were rotting for three hundred years, they’d still find a way to get their hands on you.”
His tone was mocking, but not entirely cruel.
Strangely... It comforted her.
She didn’t try to understand why.
“At least you’re not completely brainless as if you were just a pile of ribbons” he went on, sarcastically. “If you can admit leaving is a stupid idea. Especially coming from that doll face. I mean, seriously, throwing a whole scene just because I don’t care about her mommy issues... Ish...”
Gangle said nothing.
The validation felt dangerously good.
Jax had that effect on her sometimes—those rare moments where, instead of tearing her down, he redirected his cruelty elsewhere, giving her a strange kind of relief.
Two sides pulled at her, wanting to feel closer to the comfort, and wanting to be a good person.
She chose silence.
Jax eventually stopped rummaging, a sketchbook tucked under his arm. She couldn’t quite make out the color of the cover in the dim light.
The quiet between them stretched again, broken only by the sound of pages turning. His movements were rough, careless, like he might tear everything apart without thinking.
Gangle returned her gaze to the ceiling.
She never really knew what to say to him unless she was begging him to stop.
But there was something oddly comforting in this shared silence—acknowledging each other’s presence without needing to define it.
Maybe that was why she could never fully hate him.
He reminded her of the worst parts of herself. The anger. The selfishness. The emptiness.
He made her feel human—and stripped that humanity away just as easily.
Like fire.
It hurt to touch, but the pain made the safety more meaningful.
She glanced at him again. He was still flipping through her drawings, actually focused.
She felt herself flush slightly. She was only used to seeing that kind of attention from Zooble.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” Jax sneered without looking up.
She rolled her eyes and looked away.
“Sorry” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure why. “I haven’t drawn much lately. Zooble gave me some advice, but... I’ve been stuck.”
“Maybe you should try bringing your art to life” he said dryly. “Especially that one where you set me on fire with a gallon of gasoline. I’d love to see how that turns out.”
Her face flushed.
“I-I only drew that because you were being annoying! I wouldn’t actually do it...”
“Yeah, yeah. You’d get wrecked if you tried anyway.”
Before she could respond, he snapped the sketchbook shut and tucked it under his arm, heading for the door.
She just watched.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, glancing back. “Maybe don’t take art advice from Zooble. You both suck at it.”
And then he was gone.
Gangle stared at the empty doorway, her expression neutral, she had learned not to take those comments seriously.
The morning alarm music began to echo through the circus, signaling the end of the night.
She sighed, rubbing her face.
Once again, she hadn’t slept.
But that was fine. She didn’t need to. She was used to it.