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Routine was something often taken for granted.
Whether that be a soulless job that left you feeling dead inside after a grueling eight-hour shift, slaving through a pointless five-thousand-word essay due five minutes before midnight, or having to brave the foreign dangers of public transportation every day to save an extra ten dollars on food deliveries so you don't die of starvation in an old, crummy apartment building that's sure to foreclose in a month or two - routines gave you some end goal, at the very least.
Yeah, following through with them usually sucked, and you'd rather do anything else but that. But once all that becomes obsolete because you've now found yourself trapped in a digital nightmare, what else is there to distract yourself with? It's not like any of that mattered now, stuck in a seemingly purgatory-like carnival fever dream where even death doesn't seem to offer a chance at escape.
The closest thing you could define as a routine here was the self-appointed AI ringmaster's daily adventures. Some were fine, if not easy in their childish prompts and end goals; others… made it hard to believe that this was a place meant for all ages.
Gangle rarely found herself enjoying most of them - especially ones where she was without her comedy mask right off the get-go - but it was either that or rotting away in her room. And she's seen firsthand what excessive time spent locked away in one's room can do to a person here.
So the adventures it was, much to her chagrin. Anything to get away from the daunting circus tent. It was always so eerie, even more so when the others weren't around.
So vast and creepy and… seemingly unending, nonsensical space. Sometimes it felt like more and more of the circus kept getting added on by Caine, repeatedly generating remnants of a circus.
Or maybe she was just slowly losing it in here? What was it Caine called them again? Digital Hallucinations?
How did Zooble put up with spending their days here all on their own? What exactly would they get up to when they were out? Were they busy avoiding a nagging Caine every day, or did they just… prefer the solitude?
God, and what about Kinger? He was alone for how many years until Ragatha came along?
But now, with Caine no longer running things, adventures were a thing of the past.
And much to Gangle's selfish exasperation, now that they were all stuck in one place, the circus had become an even more oppressive force. The only solace she had now to avoid its creepy, empty ambiance was escaping outside to the circus grounds.
And even then, it did little to ease her. The circus grounds were just as unstable as the tent itself, if not more so. There wasn't much for them to go besides treading along the foot of the tent entrance if they didn't want to risk falling into the void.
At least some of Caine's adventures had some degree of elements pertaining to the real world, allowing her to immerse herself in the setting, even just a little. But here, everything was just cartoons. There was no escaping from this.
Far too bright, for too artificial, far too fake.
Without the consistency of daily adventures, they had to rely solely on the sun's and moon's animation cycles to keep track of time. And even then, it wasn't uncommon for either of the two to bug out and cause even more disorientation.
The days dragged on without any regard for them, seemingly bleeding into each other with little room to breathe, to process any of it.
Without any more adventures to distract them now, they've all begun sticking together, excessively so. They couldn't handle anyone suddenly abstracting during this sensitive period of unease. Safety in numbers, and all that - making sure to keep track of each other.
At first, admittedly, it was a little awkward. These forced hangouts. It felt like those mandatory introductory icebreakers you'd have to go through for each college class.
But, over time, it got easier. Talking about yourself, from before - the good and the bad - it was… relieving. Like a weight being lifted after having to lug it around for so long.
Jax, being the most stubborn of them all, of course, refused to cooperate. He'd wander off, who knows where, all on his own - ostracize himself from the group. But Pomni was even more stubborn, dedicating all her energy to aggressively shadowing him.
She somehow succeeded in raggling Jax along in the end. No one really knew the details of what happened, but there seemed to be some mutual understanding between the two?
Whatever the case, Jax would stick around the group most days. He'd usually sit off to the side, stewing in silence. He might comment here and there, something snidy, of course, but it was easy to ignore him once you could discern the jabs aiming for a reaction.
For once, when Gangle ignored him, he didn't react harshly. If at all.
She was glad, but still on edge.
No, she wouldn't let him make her uncomfortable anymore. She wouldn't let him get to her like before; she was better now, unlike him.
These hangouts were simple, but enjoyable. At the beginning, they'd predominantly stick to the cafe, or they'd invite each other into their respective rooms if they wanted more privacy or comfort. But as the circus stabilized more and more, they had the chance to visit more of the circus grounds.
The fairgrounds were a fun day-long trip if they wanted to get an adrenaline rush, though it took them a bit longer to get comfortable with the idea of visiting the lake again. But when they finally did, it was a relaxing spot to visit. Not just for swimming, but to draw in privacy. The artificial breeze and sunlight reminded Gangle of visits to the boardwalk when practicing still lifes.
Being introduced to the concept of conjuring had opened a barrage of possibilities for the group, possibilities that Gangle took full advantage of.
Custom clothes, new art supplies, decorations, and on, and on, and on!
While they were all still amateurs in this new game-changing skill, they had all the time in the world to get to the level of ease that Caine displayed. But until then, they'd just have to keep practicing.
Thanks to conjuring, some new additions were quickly added to the circus. A small kitchen, a volleyball net just outside the tent, a more comfortable, cozy-looking living room, and even a bar! Zooble had worked their ass off on that, conjuring something reminiscent of the bar Caine had cooked up from the rather overwhelming, last-minute Lightning Round adventure.
Which uh… Gangle's been beating around the bush for a while now. Might as well acknowledge the elephant in the room: Caine.
Caine was back. He'd been back for a good while now. Kinger argued early on that it was important for the deleted AI to return, having thankfully found him hidden away among files before he was completely purged from them. They were spared from eternity free-falling through the void thanks to Pomni, who was able to retrieve another monitor just in time.
But before Caine officially came back, Kinger had created some perimeters within the ringmaster's complex code - greatly depowering Caine from his admin status, as Kinger put it. He also put in additional restrictions requested on behalf of the group, not wanting a repeat of Caine's traumatizing crash out.
The results were… conflicting, to say the least.
Caine was back, but he wasn't the same. He was different, extremely so.
Upon his first reset, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least at first. He was his usual loud, boisterous self, sure, but. He felt more… idle, standby? Not all there, really, unless Kinger or someone else called for his attention.
He didn't remember anything: the torture, his breakdown, none of that.
It didn't take long for him to remember, though. And he was right back to being mad, incredibly so. More so now, once he realized what Kinger had done. What they all agreed to do to him.
And so Kinger reset him again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, Kinger creates more and more restrictions, more safety nets to prevent Caine's internal systems and processors - as Kinger called them - from reactivating his memories all on their own.
After Caine's most recent reset, one that still had Gange and the others still shaken up, Kinger had to take more extreme measures. More permanent.
Since then, Caine hasn't lashed out. Not yet, at least.
The air of the circus was on a precarious balance, constantly shifting between a sense of comfortability and unease. Caine's unstable presence only seemed to exacerbate that biased imbalance.
The circus was in a near-constant state of suspense - anxious anticipation from its human inhabitants. All but Caine were aware of this. And so, they all reluctantly accepted that they'd have to work around the former ringmaster to find some sense of stability in this new normal.
And that meant avoiding him as best they could.
Surely he wouldn't regain his memories if they just… avoid him, right?
Or at least, try to?
Since no one else really volunteered to watch over Caine when he wasn't placed into sleep mode - the only ones who ever did willingly were either Pomni, or, more rarely, Ragatha - the duty usually defaulted to Kinger. He was already the one who was keeping tabs on Caine - making sure things were adjusting smoothly with his latest reset - along with the plethora of other pressing issues concerning the stability of the circus.
So, of course, it was a natural decision. Kinger was the only one who really knew what he was doing here.
And the rest of them… really weren't too interested in lowering their guard around Caine, especially after such a close call.
Gangle just knows he was going to do something, something much, much worse than the first time the unnerving ringmaster went crazy.
Still, they all couldn't help but feel some guilt over having pushed this burdensome responsibility onto the veteran player. Kinger already had enough on his plate as it was, maintaining this unstable circus they called home and whatnot.
Kinger never seemed to mind, though. Always brushing off their worries, comforting them when he noticed their guilty looks, assuring them that he'd be alright.
He'd argue that Caine was his responsibility, always has been. That he was making up for lost time, mistakes from his inaction all those years ago.
Kinger was always so harsh on himself.
And he really didn't seem to mind. When he wasn't accompanying Caine on routine inspections around the circus or locked away in his room working on the latest error report, he'd be engaging with Caine on his own free time. Kinger humored the former ringmaster, playing along with his seemingly illogical conversations that went nowhere - no start or end really, unless something else distracted the AI at that very moment - or going along with his 'adventures'.
Ot at least, what one would loosely define as an adventure.
They were like… unfinished concepts just thrown out there. Even Caine didn't seem to know what the objective of his miniaturized escapades were.
It's like he forgot what the point of an adventure even was.
Gangle always makes herself scarce whenever one of Caine's little adventures brings the programmer and AI out into the common area. A familiar, gut-wrenching feeling always seems to make her unexpectedly weak, seeing the former ringmaster fumble and forget himself.
For an AI, he was too human sometimes…
The purpose of creating, as Kinger patiently explained to the exasperated troupe when a bumbling Caine had tried to introduce a botched adventure idea to an anxious Ragatha one day, was literally built into the very groundwork that was Caine. Adventures were just what his code sought their sights after when introduced into this new, wider space that would be transformed into the circus of today. There wasn't a way to just turn that off, despite how much Jax insisted there should be.
And he stormed off when Kinger put his foot down, because of course he did. That's all Jax does these days.
It really felt like a ticking time bomb with him. Gangle selfishly wishes it would just go off at this point, rip the bandage off to finally give her some peace of mind from Jax's unpredictable mood that's only getting worse.
Fuck, what a gross, selfish thought. She's no better than Jax at this point.
Maybe everyone's doomed to become a worse version of themselves the second they put the headset on; it only made sense.
The only direction to go in a place like this is downhill.
Any attempts to tamper with Caine's already heavily revised inner systems and codes and whatever else made him, him, would surely risk the stability of the very world already hanging on by a precarious thread, Kinger had argued to the remaining cast - tired of repeating the same script over and over.
He really had the patience of a saint, always trying to cater to their near-insecent demands for extra agency they could scoop out from the carcass that was the former ringmaster.
The others had chalked Kinger's more firm reluctance up to him just being tired, overwhelmed with all their demands. They'd stated holding off for now, worried that the constant pressure would do more harm to his already unpredictable mental state.
But Gangle had been starting to question whether it was because of something else.
With Kinger's restored sanity being more present to account for the circus's ever-growing laundry list of issues, it was easy to notice that there was always an underlying layer of… sadness, regret when he was around Caine.
It made sense, to Gangle at least. Despite explaining the concept of a hard reset to them when they pried for a comforting solution when finally accepting the fact that Caine was very much needed back so they wouldn't be stuck free-falling through the void for however long this program would last, he was very much against using it.
Caine must've meant something to Kinger.
Maybe it was the sentimentality that came with being a creator? Not wanting to drastically alter or throw away the very thing you worked so hard on, poured so much of your time and energy on top of the countless personal sacrifices to see it through.
Or maybe there was a relationship there that the rest of them just were not privy to. One that Kinger now bared the responsibility of carrying on his own; the dwindling flames of those past connections, memories, and personal relationships rested on him now. But who knows how much of that was left, or would be left, given his mental degradation in this place.
In short, Kinger was well overdue for a break. A really long one.
Come to think of it, when was the last time he actually slept?
Sure, they didn't really need to sleep, but it's the act of resting that really mattered.
It shouldn't take too much to convince him to step away from the computer and relax for a bit. The circus seems stable as it is for now. A little break wouldn't hurt. They just had to put Caine in sleep mode and…
…they couldn't just keep ignoring Caine, could they?
Even if he was in a more placid state of mind now, even though he hurt them - intentionally hurt them - it seemed cruel… hypocritical even to leave him in such a sad state.
And besides, isn't this how all of this started in the first place? Letting things bottle up until it all finally reached a breaking point?
Caine was not shy to express his grievances with the group. He was angry, uncharacteristically so for the usually eccentric yet jovial ringmaster, but he was also… hurt. Hurt and frustrated and confused that they were… never happy here.
Gangle could relate in some sense. An abandoned art account with little to no engagement, dismissive comments from her parents wanting her to go and find a real job instead of chasing a childhood dream.
Constant dismissal and discouragement. It could get people to do some pretty stupid things once they reached a breaking point…
Sure, Caine could be very narrow-minded and often let his own wants take the reins over their own expressed requests, but he did seem to care about them, in his own bizarre Caine way.
At least, before the Escape the Circus adventure.
Yes, it was a cruel adventure, blowing out the last sparks of hope they had at the idea of being able to go home after desperately grasping for straws for how many years now. But it didn't seem to be Caine's intention for the adventure. He, technically, in his own, warped way, did give them what they wanted - in the only way that he could. Through an adventure.
He might have meant well, but he hurt them by not understanding their real desires.
Maybe this all could have been avoided if they just… tried to talk to him before all of this, explain their human wants, needs, desires?
It might have been an impossible task, though. Caine was… a lot. Talking to him was hard, he never seemed to be fully intersted in what they had to say, their criticisms, their exasperated pleas for something more grounded from the surreal escapades he more preferably put them through.
Zooble seemed to have the same conversation with him over and over again regarding their own grievances with the circus and the tacky gimmicks exclusive to them and Gangle, only to ultimately give up once it was clear that the ringmaster couldn't seem to get it.
But maybe now, where he had no other choice but to actually listen to them without getting ahead of himself, they could make some progress and maybe even… meet each other in the middle?
It could do him some good. Maybe it could do all of them some good.
Why not give it a shot? She was the one who suggested it, after all.
"Hey, Gangle. You still up for this?"
"Huh?" She startles, looking over at Zooble.
Their contrasting eyes crinkle in a soft smile as they lay a hand over her shoulder. "Hey, no need to beat yourself up over this. If you want, I can stick around with you for a bit?"
"And if anything happens, you guys let us know right away," Pomni assures, holding up a bucket, "we'll keep a hold of this just in case."
"Oh, Pomni. Didn't see you there." Kinger jerks his head down at the jester, his bugged eyes blinking disjointedly against the circus' vibrant lighting. Hopefully, they could get around to fixing that soon. "Is that a new hat?"
Pomni chuckles, though it's a tired thing. "I guess you could say that." She hands the bucket off to Ragatha, who rests it under her arm. The two help guide Kinger toward his since-upgraded pillow fort.
Gangle swallows, forcing out a shaky breath. Her ribbon hands coil against her pink cardigan, gripping its front.
Her avatar's always made her feel so exposed. It was nice to actually be wearing something so comforting and soft for once.
God, she missed her baggy Etsy sweaters.
Zooble's hand slips off her shoulder. Turning to them, Gangle stares at the clawed hand offered up to her.
"Come on," they motion toward the couches. Gangle frowns at the familiar set of dentures sitting atop the red couch, busy kneading the stuffed bee Kinger had created for him.
"Let's get this over with." They drawl, their tone clearly shifting. Zooble wasn't shy to hide their disdain for the former ringmaster. But the fact that they were willing to put up with his presence for her made her mask warm up.
Gangle ducks her head, hoping to hide the bright red flush highlighting her comedy mask. She takes Zooble's hand, though, allowing the other to guide her to the couches.
She gives a shy little wave to the AI.
Caine doesn't react, simply staring past her as he continues playing with the bee.
Oh yeah, Kinger said Caine only reacted through voice commands now. They were practically invisible to him unless they properly introduced themselves; he couldn't even process their presence in the circus without that "permission". That way, those who wanted nothing to do with him could exist within his general vicinity without having to worry about unwanted attention from him.
Zooble had been particularly pleased with this latest update.
Gangle clumbsily clears her throat. "Hey, Caine. I… I-I'm Gangle," she reintroduces herself, hopefully for the last time, "it's nice to meet you."
Caine blinks, his heterochromic eyes practically glow after he seems to process the greeting, his inner systems probably reigniting at the new data being introduced.
"Hello, Gangle!" Caine chimes, kicking his feet. "It's a delight to meet you!"
It was strange. At first glance, Caine oftentimes sounded like his usual self. But from what she had seen from the few times Kinger and Caine were out and about, Caine would eventually… shut down? Emotionally, at least, until he'd just randomly return to his now more curt, albeit more absentminded self.
Kinger mentioned something about Caine experiencing soft resets now and then - the new features reining in any excessive influx of data he might idly collect?
It takes Gangle an embarrassingly long time to realize that Caine is staring attentively at her. And despite Zooble standing right beside her, the usually Zooble-obsessed Caine did not seem to notice them.
"…do you wanna?" Gangle turns to Zooble, awkwardly waving a hand. It's a dumb question that she already knows the answer to. But her mouth moved before she could stop herself.
It's just that, she wasn't exactly the best at steering a conversation, especially when she was the only other person in charge of the hem.
Zooble snorts softly, shaking their head at Gangle with a funny look.
"No, yeah. I get it." She shrugs, turning back to the uncharacteristically patient AI.
Or maybe he was just spacing out. Kinger mentioned he'd be doing more of that - at least the AI equivalent of that.
"Say, Caine," Gangle steps forward, pulling out two sets of notepads. One red, one black. "You like to draw, right? Do you want to draw with me?"
The former ringmaster nearly drops his bee as he jumps in his seat.
"Wowie! A human wants to draw? With me?!" He stutters abashedly. "I'd be honored!"
"Cool! Uh, cool. Here." Gangle nervously hands him the red notepad. He snatches it with curious fascination.
Oh yeah, he probably doesn't remember owning it.
"J-Just make yourself comfortable. I'll get us some pencils. Or, do you want something else?"
"Anything you provide will be most suitable!" Caine responds. He wrangles the bee plush and the notepad under his arms as he hops off the couch. He settles himself in a little spot on the newly added carpet, placing the bee plush down on his right. Caine gives the bee a little pat before flipping through the notepad, engrossed with each doodle in beaming intrigue.
Gangle turns to Zooble, who's settled themselves nicely on the green couch. "Oh, do you wanna draw too, Zooble?"
"Nah, I'm good. Can I watch you draw, instead?"
"S-Sure, yeah! Totally!"Gangle smiles stupidly. She was usually hesitant about letting people actively watch her draw, especially during the crude early drawing process - messy sketches, doodles, and all that. But Zooble was different. Drawing around Zooble was fine, safe even.
She liked drawing around Zooble.
Gangle quickly conjures up some pencils, faintly reminiscent of the fancy art pencils her community college had. She hands one over to Caine, who'd been particularly interested in an old doodle of Bubble wearing a cowboy hat, before cozying herself up on the end of the couch.
She angles the notepad enough for Zooble to see where they're sprawled against the center of the couch. They lean in just a little closer - a comfortable distance between the two.
Caine eventually flips through the last of the preexisting doodles, finding himself at a blank page. He stares for a bit until he remembers the pencil waiting by his side.
The pencil moves quickly against the paper. Swift, fluid motions as the graphite strokes against the pages. Caine is absolutely absorbed in the process.
Good. That's good. He's actually engaging in something rather than just… waiting for Kinger to follow after.
"Do you think," Gangle starts, her voice low, unsure as she pauses. She presses her pencil against the paper, letting it move without much thought. Crude outlines start to take shape as she carries on, the pressure light enough that any mistakes can still easily be fixed. With only the light scratching of graphite to latch onto, she feels herself relax enough to try again, choosing to focus her energy on the process more than the thoughts that tumble out.
She shouldn't have to overthink her thoughts. Not around Zooble.
"Do you think we'll ever be able to sort things out. With Caine? Like, ever?"
Zooble, who'd been watching Gangle's simple strokes in comfortable silence, shuffles on the couch. Their gaze bounces along the circus tent's nonessential scenery as they think. Their other hand, a simple blue glove, taps against the green couch's sturdy cushions.
"I don't like the guy," they answer bluntly, "and that's putting it lightly. But I can admit, it's a little unsettling seeing him so…"
"Docile?" Gangle tilts her mask. She hasn't really drawn much yet. Just rough outlines of poses she wants to fully commit to this time around. No hiding the hands behind the back, no excessive bangs hiding the face. She was never gonna get better if she just kept doing that.
She wasn't gonna cheat herself anymore.
"I guess?" Zooble lifts their tapping hand, trying to find the next string of words before giving up with an exasperated sigh. "I don't know, it's just, creepy. Fuck, it reminds me of—"
Gangle pulls away from her notepad once she realizes Zooble wasn't going to continue. She offers them a patient nod. "You good?"
"Yeah, it's just." Zooble leans back against the couch, their irregular eyes observing their hands as they fidget with them.
"I used to work at a psych ward - as a janitor. I was like seventeen, desperate for a job, anything really. It was the only place at the time that actually got back to me. They were pretty generous with the pay, probably because of all the fucked up shit you had to clean the aftermath of."
They look up at Gangle suddenly, a sheepish expression caught in their creasing eyes.
"Sorry, kind of, just went a bit off there. What I meant was that the kids there, this was like a juvie mental hospital or something, a lot of them were just… drugged up all the time - zombie-like. Barely reactive. Probably to make them more manageable for the staff. It was… fucked. The staff there weren't doing their jobs; they weren't helping these kids who really needed that help! I'd see a lot of familiar faces, coming in and out, usually looking worse and worse each time they came back. It was just fucking gross and so depressing. I didn't stay for too long."
They sit up, their distant gaze fixing on Caine. Unlike most times, where their unfiltered annoyance with the former ringmaster was as clear as day to read, for once, their expression was softer. There was some pity there.
"Caine's an AI, sure, but it still feels kinda… wrong. He's like, more advanced and all that, right? Fuck, I know this, but it's really easy to forget he's not human sometimes with just how infuriating it is talking to him. Is it even on purpose, or is that just how he is?
"I mean, Kinger says he's sentient." They throw out an arm. "Is this all the equivalent of drugging up a mentally ill kid who never had someone… help them out before shit finally hit the fan?"
"…and who's also technically god?" Gangle mumbles.
"...a drugged-up, mentally ill god." Zooble summarizes incredulously, mulling over such an obscene phrase. Their scrutinizing glare at Caine hardens, their antenna twitching in tandem. Caine, who's still drawing away, oblivious to the intense conversation unfolding around him, blindly reaches out his free hand to pet the bee, his shoulders relaxing as he does so.
Ultimately, Zooble pulls back from their staring with a loud, annoyed tsk. They nearly slide off the couch as they flop back, their unconventional legs drag awkwardly against the floor.
"I don't know. Shit's fucked. We're fucked no matter what. We already crossed that bridge, we just gotta hope we don't fall down with it."
They turn their head toward Gangle, their eyes tired. "It's a maybe - a big maybe. That's if Caine's even sorry in the first place. But with how he is now, I don't know if we'll ever know."
Gangle plays with the bow tucked behind her mask. A recent accessory she's starting to don at Zooble's suggestion, when the two tested out the newly added changing booth. Besides being really cute, it kinda served as phantom hair of sorts. Twiddling with it also helped keep her grounded - it reminded her of her hair.
Her grandma used to fawn over her hair, especially when they started visiting her in the nursing home. She'd light up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Was she sad when Gangle suddenly stopped visiting? Did she miss her? Her hair?
Or did she just forget her in the end?
"Maybe there's still a chance to fix things, talk things through?" Gangle lowers the notepad, not really feeling the creative mood right now. "It can be little things, but if we can have some understanding, things might actually change for the better."
Catching Zooble's gaze, Gangle nearly sputters. "We don't have to like, immediately forgive him or anything." She quickly adds, her ribboned hands flailing abashedly. "It'll take work, a lot of work, for everyone. But I think it can happen."
She looks back down at her notepad, staring for a moment at the faint sketch of a familiar face.
Gangle was surprised she could still remember her face after all this time. Maybe she had more wrinkles now?
Was she still even alive today?
"Showing that you care by putting in the effort to try and understand each other, even if there's… something in the way making it harder, I think that's a good first step." She eventually says, her hands clutching the notepad.
"…you're too precious for this world, Gangle."
Gangle squawks, immediately feeling embarrassed. "H-Ha, what? U-Um—"
"Kidding, I'm kidding." Zooble laughs, waving their hands in a placating manner. "It's just, I'm glad that you think that. We all could just unanimously agree with each other and call it a day, but it's good to have another voice thrown in the middle of all this. And I'm glad it was you who said something
"Like you said, maybe we need to go about all of this differently. Better to try and address this heads on that letting it boil over and bite us in the ass."
Gangle looks down with a smile, not feeling embarrassed by the heat brushing against her mask. "I learn from the best." She looks back at Zooble, a playful smirk decorates her mask.
This time, Zooble blushes. They quickly look away, their hand tapping on the couch's arm.
"You want something to eat?" They ask, looking at the obnoxiously complicated clock hanging over the common area. "It's about lunchtime."
"Uh, could you get me a mocha, actually?" Gangle asks. "Not feeling that hungry right now."
"Oh, yeah, of course." Zooble nods, though their eyes crease in a frown. "But uh, I'll have to go to the cafe to get a mug."
Oh, that's right. Zooble figured out how to conjure simple food, like one-ingredient sandwiches or pastas, but stuff like drinks were more complicated at the moment.
"I," Zooble pauses, looking back at Caine, "I don't want to leave you alone with…"
Gangles wraps a ribboned hand around Zooble's shoulder. "I'll be fine, Zooble. Don't worry. If anything, I can conjure up a Tommy Gun or something."
At that, Zooble snorts. "Yeah, last I checked, you're not exactly a conjuring master when it comes to automations."
Zooble gets up from the couch, passing by Gangle in their hobble. They quickly plant a quick kiss atop the crown of Gangle's mask. "I'll be back in a sec."
Gangle doesn't reply, too busy clutching her comedy mask as soft crackle runs along the pecked spot.
How embarrassing…
With an unnecessarily hot chuckle from Zooble, they run their head along the crack, fixing it up instantly.
Gangle, despite hours of practice, still had trouble fixing her comedy mask on her own.
But Zoobe figured it out in seconds.
Gangle silently simmers, curling in tight against the corner of the couch as Zooble limps. If they had a mouth, they'd surely have the most smug look ever.
The circus could be considered hell sometimes, but in moments like these, it almost felt like heaven.
Hands still gripping the pencil, more firmly now, the unprepared writing utensil starts moving rapidly against the newly flipped page. Gangle has to rein herself in a little as her breathing picks up, her eyes bulging as her newfound inspiration begins to bring her ideas to life within the confines of the paper.
She's gone through about four pages once she starts to wind down, a deep-seated sense of satisfaction nestles in her chest as she looks over her work with fondness and… other intense emotions.
She'd show these to Zooble later. As a surprise. In their room later tonight.
From the corner of her eyes, Gangle notices the little AI still drawing away.
She balks, nearly snapping her pencil in two.
Shit, she completely forgot that she was technically keeping an eye on Caine.
Talk with him, she said, only to be completely engrossed in her own work.
Gangle strains in her seat, peeking at the former ringmaster's notepad as he draws.
It wasn't exactly hard to see what he was doing; it's not like he's hiding it.
At first, Gangle didn't know what she was looking at. But she was quick to realize that Caine… hasn't switched to a new page since they started drawing. An evident observation, given that the page itself was covered in countless sloppily drawn, incomplete circles overlapping each other. All of it accumulating into an amalgamation of messy, smudging graphite.
Gangle clears her throat.
Caine doesn't stir.
Gangle swallows. "Caine?"
Caine looks up, his wrist freezing in a rather uncomfortable-looking position.
"Um, h-how about we draw our favorite people? You could draw your bee, or, or maybe Kinger! You must be bored of just drawing circles, right?"
Caine blinks, bringing his pencil back down on the ruined paper.
"M-Make sure you go on a new page once you run out of space," she quickly stutters, offering the AI a helpful reminder. "You wouldn't wanna go over your drawings, right?"
Caine blinks again before swiftly flipping to a new page. He draws a rather elongated circle, much to Gangle's worry, before quickly adding little wings on the side.
He briefly looks up at the bee plush, who stares blankly back. His eyes seem to scan over its soft and exaggerated features, drinking it all in as he continues dutifully with his work.
Caine does this now and then, re-referencing the stuffed bee as he fills the page to the brim with simple yet cute little bumblebees.
Thankfully, once he runs out of space this time, he flips the page. His feet freely kick behind in the air as he draws.
It was like he was in his own little world. A simple, content state.
Despite how unfair everything seemed around him.
Something in Gangle's chest lurches. Something ugly and tight that scrunches painfully behind her eyes.
Her hands fly up to her mask, but it's too late.
It cracks right in the middle, falling apart to reveal the undesirable mask underneath.
Fresh prickles of tears roll up within the corner of her eyes, stinging and overwhelming by the sheer intensity of the sudden onslaught of familiar, almost artificial sorrow.
She was fine just a second ago. Gah, she hated this!
Why did this shit have to follow her into the circus?
Gangle sniffles, wiping away at the tears that run down her face. Her efforts do little to mollify the teary armada that carelessly charges onward.
Ultimately, she gives up. Plopping back down on the couch as she stares up at the imposing, seemingly ever-branching circus tent - listlessly surrendering as the unwavering tears trickle down her mask.
Her grandma was a great artist. Always had been.
She drew out of passion, an uncharacteristic trait lost to the rest of her family, who settled for whatever soul-sucking jobs were available; anything to keep food on the table.
Her parents weren't so supportive, wanting her to find a man and settle down once she was of age. She eventually did, but only after achieving what could be called your traditional American Dream story.
She managed to get an internship at her local newspaper, starting off as a secretary for the dying publication. But then her employer noticed the little doodles she'd draw on the side. It wasn't long before a new section was added to the columns: original comic strips.
She also managed to meet her future husband there, who was an up-and-coming journalist. Two birds with one stone.
Visiting Grandma at work were some of the best memories Gangle had growing up, getting to see firsthand the creative process for these silly little comics. It was so inspiring, so exciting for her ten-year-old self.
She remembered telling her grandma that she wanted to make her own comics someday, showcase them to hundreds of people around the world.
She was one of the only people to really believe in her.
Her grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer's during her freshman year of high school. Gangle didn't really understand what it was at the time, naively thinking that they would just have to wait a month or so before Grandma would get better.
That's what the hospital visits were for, right?
She… never did get better.
The hospital visits weren't helping her; they were checking to see how far along the brain-deteriorating disease was stage-wise, how much time she had left.
Grandma didn't draw the same way she had before. She would if you egged her on, but her skills had diminished, noticeably so, since she'd initially been diagnosed.
But she still liked to draw.
And so, Gangle would draw with her.
Sometimes, Grandma would get tired or distracted, forgetting the notepad in her hands and instead watching Gangle with childish fascination. She'd awe at the crude, stiff anime caricatures as her wrinkled hands would play with Gangle's loose hair - she started mistaking it for her childhood cat, Mabel.
They were bittersweet memories, some better than others.
Gangle just wishes she were able to spend more time with her before…
She glances back at Caine, still dutifully drawing. He flips the page, allowing her to better see the drawings on the other side.
The many, many bees littered along the paper looked similar enough to his old doodles, but they were noticeably lacking the charm they usually had. Sure, the bees came in different sizes - some longer, some shorter - but compared to his older drawings, that's about it.
Slipping off the couch, Gangle kneels close to the AI.
He doesn't look up as she settles beside him, but she offers him a tired smile nonetheless.
It was an… almost familiar dynamic.
Gangle patiently watches as Caine drafts out a vague outline. She expects him to make another silly-looking bee, but it looked like he wasn't making another bee this time; it was…
"Why'd you give Kinger eyelashes?" Gangle asks, a light blush tickling her mask.
She wasn't… expecting Caine to draw something like that.
Caine's avatar twitches, his downcast eyes snapping onto Gangle with a nauseatingly familiar red-and-blue violent flicker.
Pencil and notebook clatter on the floor as Gangle aimlessly stumbles back with a startled cry, until her back hits one of the couches, her virtually-simulated heart pounding through her head as she cowers back. Her frail ribbons anxiously coiled into a small, pathetic bundle into itself.
Oh god, oh no, did she trigger something? Did he download a memory file or something?!
She messed up, she messed everything up! Why did she do this? She just, she thought, she just wanted to—
A loud static shutter kick-starts from Caine's avatar, jerking it into an awkward, contorted angle from his spot on the floor. The sudden thrumming sounded almost like… a fan?
With one final, volatile glitch, the AI's avatar sprang back into its original pose. His wide eyes returned to their regular heterochromic shade of green and blue.
Caine blinks, the loud, droning buzz having dialed back down to a low, more tolerable hum. Barely noticeable unless you really concentrate on not losing its faint pitch.
Gangle stares, too afraid to peel herself away from the false safety of the couch pressed against her.
In a matter of seconds, Caine had returned to normal.
As if nothing had happened.
Was this… the safety net Kinger mentioned?
Seemingly growing disinterested in her lack of engagement, the former ringmaster looks down at the notepad still in his hands, examining the effeminate Kinger doodle with a curious expression.
He blinks again. And just like that, gone are any traces of confusion before the soft-rebooted AI presses his pencil back down on the paper, continuing to draw.
Caine drags the pencil left and right, left and right.
Messy, imperfect circles eventually cover up the abandoned sketch under a blob of smudging graphite.