#headsetjester

"Hey me."

How odd, seeing another her. But after all the weird crap she's seen lately? This kinda felt normal by now. Nonetheless she gave her twin a faint little wave, her smile for once less strained than it usually was for everyone else.

"Players can eat ice cream to their heart's content, as long as they can avoid the bone breaking maraschino cherry boulders!"

He sticks his tongue out, which catches a snowflake, that's also powdered sugar. "Doesn't that sound swell, my little banana blitz boats?"

All   but   jolts   when   he   sees   the   familiar   outline   of   the   little   jester   in   the   unlit   room   ,   the   hall   cascading   the   faintest   of   light   over   her   .   Making   it   unmistakable   what   he   saw   .   He   moves   into   the   space   ,   silent   .   𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘   &&   𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊   is   his   ligneous   visage   .

There's   an   intolerable   silence   .   Filled   with   static   crackling   &&   distorting   around   them   as   though   the   whole   room   would   corrode   into   nothing   more   but   its   own   code   .

Disembodied   hand   reaches   for   the   butterfly   display   ,   taking   it   effortlessly   from   her   grasp   &&   bringing   it   to   his   askew   line   of   sight   to   look   upon   it   .   After   what   seems   like   eternity   he   finally   lowers   it   for   his   eyes   to   rest   on   her   again   .   The   sternness   in   his   gaze   seems   to   soften   .

⸺  ♔.   ❝   Looks   like   I'm   not   the   only   one   who   comes   to   visit   ,   my   dear   ,   ❞    Spoken   to   someone   not   even   within   the   walls   .

❝   Pomni   ,   I   didn't   know   you   had   access   to   this   room   .   It's   usually   locked   up   to   knox   .❞    His   voice   returning   back   into   the   room   ,   seems   as   soft   &&   gentle   as   it   usually   was   in   these   moments   in   𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊   .   He   simply   motions   to   sit   on   the   bed   ,   hand   still   griping   the   framed   butterfly   like   a   vice   grip   .   If   he's   angry   then   he's   all   too   good   at   feigning   it   .   No,   it's   not   anger   .   Not   even   deceit   . 

⸺    ♔.   ❝   I'm   glad   that   someone   else   thinks   to   check   in   on   her   room   once   in   a   while   .❞  / @headsetjester cont.  ⊹

*      .            it’s   not   funny,   but   also   like,   it’s   a   little   comical,   the   way   the   both   of   them   follow   the   npc   with   their   eyes,   the   splat   loud      (   most   likely   a   detail   added   by   caine   ).

no   one   moves,   for   a   moment.   well      —      until   the   gelatinous   jellyfish   kind   of   starts      .   .   .         dragging   himself   across   the   grass.   yeesh.   gangle   is   stock   -   still,   big   black   eyes   widening   a   fraction,   nearly   clipping   off   of   her   mask.         ❛      oh, um, wow.   i      —      i   didn’t   either.   um.      ❜

what,   exactly,   does   one   do   in   this   situation   ?

*            .                  she’s   always   been   a   shy   thing      —      not   because   she   wanted   to   be,   perhaps,   but   because   situation   lent   itself   that   way.   hard   to   fight   fate   and   all,   when   you’re   put   in   a   box.   she   looks   at   her   plush   hands,   the   plush   legs.   lamb   -   soft.   it   looked   like   it   was   even   harder   to   fight   fate   in   the   digital   world. she glances at @headsetjester.

—Jax’s ears wilt by just a few inches, fully taking in what Pomni’s said. This time he must have gone too far for her of all people to tell him this. Was it their fight? Him breaking Gangle’s comedy mask too many times? At this point he’s done so much wrong he can’t fathom what stupid thing he’s done now.

“What did I do now.”

*         .                  the   dorm   apartment   was      —      small.   not   much   to   balk   at,   but   it   was   comfortable,   and   warm,   and   safe.   the   thing   about   home   is   that   it   had   never   felt   safe,   not   really.   here,   though      —      pomni   is   a   steady   presence.   a   calming   one.   it   hadn’t   been   hard,   settling   in.   in   fact,   everything   with   her   felt   simple.   even now, she   isn’t   paying   much   attention   to   pomni,   who   putters   about   as   gangle   doodles.   pomni’s   presence   never   bothered   her,   anyway.   

it’s   only   when   the   distance   closes   that   gangle   nearly   drops   her   pen.   the   notebook   balanced   against   her   knees   wobbles,   graphite   smudges   catching   the   lamplight.   she’d   been   curled   there,   quiet   in   the   corner   of   the   couch,   hair   tumbling   over   her   shoulder   as   she   sketches   in   those   half   -   formed   shapes   that   don’t   belong   to   anyone   but   her.   and   then      —      pomni’s   lips,   soft   and   sudden   against   her   temple.   just   a   passing   thing,   a   careless   kiss   as   she   drifts   off   toward   the   bedroom,   muttering   something   about   cursed,   evil   8   am   classes.   nothing   weighted.   nothing   strange.

except   her   pulse   stumbles.   it’s   warm,   dizzying,   as   if   the   simple   press   of   it   had   tethered   her   whole   body   to   the   moment.   she   blinks   fast   behind   her   glasses,   ducking   further   over   the   page   like   she’s   simply   concentrating,   like   nothing   at   all   has   happened.   gangle   feels   kind   of   crazy.   or      —      maybe   this   was   normal.   do   roommates   do   this   ?         ​​❛         nuh   -   night   !         ❜         she   manages,   voice   squeaked.   way   to   be   casual,   gangle.   the   graphite   trembles   in   her   hand,   smearing   gray   across   the   paper.

pomni   is   already   gone,   the   sound   of   her   door   easing   shut.   gangle   exhales,   shaky,   and   tells   herself   it   doesn’t   matter.   tells   herself   it’s   just   friendly,   ordinary,   nothing   to   puzzle   over.   but   the   heat   lingers   along   her   temple,   a   phantom   brand,   and   she   knows   she’ll   be   tracing   it   in   her   mind   long   after   the   lamp   goes   out.