Chapter Text
She’s not processing this.
How is she supposed to? To just accept the words of some digital avatars in some poorly rendered digitalscape that she is now trapped there for the rest of her life? That there are others before her who fell victim to putting on that damned headset, their curiosity enough of a sin to imprison them within a point and click style adventure setting?
Not to mention the horrific fate that awaits these players, herself included, when they reach their ‘breaking point’; the amalgamation of broken code in the form of an abhorrent creature whose very existence rattles pain through the pixelated flesh that forms their bodies?
And the false hope of an exit, dashed by the personal oopsie-daisies of a deranged AI programme who can’t even keep track of what he’s created and what he’s misplaced. Being trapped in an endless maze until it led to a literal void of nothingness.
Seriously, how is Pomni meant to comprehend any of this.
She can barely register the conversation surrounding her, as she sits in a daze at an open table, an assorted feast for their supposed leisure, despite the sustenance being as fake as Pomni’s attempted escape route.
She already feels at her breaking point, so the fact that her body hasn’t fizzled out into the same inked stain as Kaufmo only tells her that worse is yet to happen, and this only spikes her anxieties further, a smear of a smile ticking across her face.
She’s uncomprehending. Maybe it’s the digital hallucinations taking effect, insanity leeching into her bone marrow and taking residence inside her. Maybe she’s supposed to feel insane, enough to fit right in at the table of assorted characters.
But she can’t let go of that conscience of humanity just yet. There’s still this persistent nagging feeling deep in her gut telling her that she isn’t meant to be here, and she needs to get the hell out before things go too far. What those things consist of, she isn’t too sure.
Right now, she struggles to process the setting before her.
There’s so much food set out across the table that it feels excessive. Even if they technically don’t need to eat, Pomni can’t imagine any of them finishing off the assortment of sharp, blockish items laid out in front of them. That, and they’re so minimally rendered that Pomni can’t even convince herself she’d be eating anything if she tries.
Distantly, like an out of body experience, she observes the others as they talk over their meal. For most of them, the food never meets their mouths; and for those that do eat, they don't have mouths to eat with. They simply lift the fork to their faces and a bite mark spawns against the cubed object automatically. Sometimes their voices would shift as if they were speaking with their mouths full, but it’d barely last a second, not even causing a lull in their conversations.
Pomni doesn’t want to eat any of this. It’s such a mockery of life that she can’t see a point.
Despite this, there’s an inkling of emptiness in her belly. Maybe it’s because she had last eaten the night before, several hours before she had made the mistake that evening of exploring that stupid run down office building that was set to be demolished at the end of town. Her fasting was purposeful; to ensure there’d be no cramps or sluggishness in her exploration, especially if an on-duty security guard was in the area. Pomni’s had a couple of run in’s with them before, but managed to scamper out of each chase with nothing more than heart palpitations and the adrenaline rushed urge to puke from the adventure.
Like Caine implies, maybe the hunger she feels is the leftover contingencies of her real body, lying in a chair somewhere and distracted by the headset glued to her face. Why the hell had she put it on in the first place?
She’s pulled out of her thoughts when Jax leans over and taps her plate with his fork.
“Hey newbie, eat up.”
She pulls back, away from his invasive presence in her space, then double checks the serving of her dish. Her stalk of plant, a couple of baby carrots, and low poly baked bun stare back at her like plastic decorations. She shakes her head.
“I’m not hungry.”
Jax scoffs. “Yeah you are. Seriously, eat while you still can.”
His insistence pulls a frown back onto her face. The chess piece - Kinger, had only just mentioned to him directly before they sat down that the food had no actual effect on their digital avatars. She drags her chair backwards, rising from the table.
She doesn’t want to entertain this anymore. She decides it’ll be easier to have a meltdown in the privacy of the room designed for her. She thinks she deserves that much to herself.
As she leaves, she can hear Jax still talking. “Well, sucks to suck I guess. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
If she’s truly trapped here, she’s with poor company.
It takes her a minute to recollect which set of stairs lead to the bedroom hallway, but once she finds it, it’s easy to locate her room. Her exaggerated frown of a face stares down at her from the door portrait, and Pomni thinks it's there to mock her.
Once you walk into here, this is all you’ll become. Another sad little face in the row of slashed portraits beside you.
Her eyes briefly glance over the assortment of neighbouring doors, and the many, many red X’s grooved through the colourful avatar portraits. The door belonging to Kaufmo is already muzzled by a matching cross, marring his frozen expression.
Pomni ducks her head, and pushes into her room.
What awaits her inside isn’t anything she expects. Just like the inner sanctum of the Tent Grounds, her room is a poorly rendered space with an assortment of seemingly randomised objects at her disposal. There are curtains strung up in every which way direction, not a window in sight. For some reason she has two separate mirrors in opposite corners, a chandelier, a godawful amount of baby toys scattered across the carpet, and a headache-inducing amount of asymmetrical patterns across her walls.
The most normal thing about the room is the bed, despite the obnoxious overhead frame.
She is about to beeline for the object; her safest bet for a meltdown feels like it could be done underneath the linen sheets, or even underneath the bed itself, with it being surprisingly tall; but walking through the room means her reflection meets her on both sides of her vision, and she pauses to pick a direction and stare at the avatar that she’s currently possessing.
Pomni has seen herself once before, but it was a fleeting moment, in the hurry of escaping Kaufmo. Now the air is settled, no glitch-inducing horrors to claim her, and she has the privacy to assess herself more thoroughly.
Truth be told; she looks awful, but not nearly as bad as what could have been her permanent form. The evidence lies in the sorry state of the rest of the cast trapped in here with her. At the very least she is about as human as one can be in appearance, and not built from an assortment of sentient building blocks or ribbons, or a furry.
The lack of a nose bothers her though, alongside the sheer out of proportioned appearance to the size of her head on her tiny body. Her gloved hands reach up to attempt to pick at the pink circles adorning her cheeks, but they sadly don’t peel off like stickers like she’d hoped.
Her fingers then reach for the hem of her hat, but find much to her dismay that they can’t slip under the seam to remove the garment from her head.
The lack of autonomy brings forth another wave of nausea. She’s really stuck like this.
As if not convinced, she tries again with removing her clothing.
Her stupid jester suit doesn’t come off. Neither does the irritating hat on her head, or the gloves on her oversized hands. After several attempts of trying to rip the fabric clean off her form, Pomni gives up, finally flopping onto her bed. It’s unnecessarily springy and her form bounces several times before it settles. It does nothing to relieve the sickly aftertaste in the back of her throat.
She’s frustrated, but it’s only overtaken by the misery that sweeps through her. She hates even more that the bunny boy was right all along.
She feels her gut gurgle on another plane of existence.
Despite it all, she is hungry.
But she doesn’t want to play tea party and pretend she can fill herself up on pixels.
So she curls up onto her side, and forces her eyes to close instead. She’ll just have to get over the want to eat until she’s acclimated properly.
Her dreams are harrowing and fuzzy, built static on the surface of an old television screen, warping her memories and visions into plaguing nightmares.
Her eyes open, and she knows from how tired she is that sleep truly is an unattainable sport here. It’s a stupid concept, because she’s still exhausted beyond belief, and her mind is still busy with the haze of overwhelming dread.
She’s still here, and her body isn’t adapting.
The nightmare persists into consciousness it seems.
She opts to get out of bed, the discomfort of her form feeling so real in a world that is so fake. The rest did nothing to help her, and she’s just as lost as the moment she arrived. It doesn’t help that there’s no way to gauge the passing of time either. She doesn’t feel as though she’d slept through an entire night, but the overhead saturation indicates nothing for her to estimate.
With both the moon and the sun being present outside when Caine whizzed her around against her will earlier, she has the inkling that they won’t give her much of an estimate either if she checked.
She doesn’t even know if they have a concept of day and night here; do the others sleep at indicative times, or is it only on the basis of if they’re feeling up to it or not? Ultimately, the only real way Pomni can find out is if she asks.
And, well, she’s feeling peckish still. It wouldn’t hurt for her to grab a bite on the way there, she tells herself.
The corridor is empty when Pomni exits her room, and she finds herself pausing to stare over the lip of the floor near the top of the stairs, really trying to take in the state of the Tent she’s now forced to call home. The room is open and vacant; even when filled with random playhouse-esque fixtures, there’s so much open space that it feels more like a warehouse than a play area.
A whole assortment of doors line each wall, but her earlier search resulted in a few too many frights and blows to the head, and Pomni isn’t keen on trying to locate the kitchen all by herself. It’ll be easier if she just asks one of the others instead. Maybe Ragatha, though her helpful demeanour earlier might now be tainted with the guilt of Pomni abandoning her during the Kaufmo situation. Pomni’s not so sure how far she’s already burned that bridge between them. She’ll have to find a way to make amends, she tells herself.
Speaking of; the vacancy of the room provides an ambient echo in its space, and Pomni is quick from her vantage point to locate the source of voices bouncing softly around the room. She can just make out Ragatha’s ginger mop of hair by an awkward little nook in the room. It’s a cluster of long sofa’s attached to each other, amongst a singular wooden table and a television screen directly across. The wedged furniture is practically fenced in by the oblong carpet it sits upon. It would have been cute if not for the expanse of space around it, instead it just feels out of place and too exposed.
It’s only as Ragatha stands from her seat to bend over the table that Pomni realises the others are there too, their shapes a little harder to tell apart thanks to their natural inanimate bodies.
Pomni steels her breath, and heads down the stairs to meet them.
They’re still talking between each other when Pomni approaches, though with the open space she’s spotted immediately, whatever Zooble is saying flits out once they notice her. They nod their head in her direction.
“Hey, you showed up just in time.”
Everyone turns to face her, including Ragatha, who stands up with several packets of chips in her arms. “Oh, Pomni! Did you check out your room? Is it to your liking?”
Pomni feels herself shrivel under the attention, her hands immediately finding each other to play with her fingers self consciously. Somehow, Ragatha doesn't sound sour over the earlier abandonment, but Pomni can't be too sure. But the bags in Ragatha’s arms remind Pomni of her initial task at hand. “It’s… fine. Uh, I was just wondering where the kitchen is..?”
“Oh! Uhm, we don’t actually - have one,” Ragatha’s smile is a little forced around the edges, a stress line forming against her cheek. She brandishes the packets in her arms. “B-but we thought ahead for this - we asked Caine if we could emulate a sleepover, and he brought us snacks! Did-did you want to join us?”
Emulate a sleepover? They have to ask Caine for permission for things like this?
Pomni’s immediate instinct is to refuse. She doesn’t know these people, and she dreads the concept of spending her first night here in the presence of them all where they could all judge her or haze her in some manner. She’d rather risk it in the privacy of her new dorm than to try her luck on the small arrangement of sofas they’re all sitting against. But her mind is distracted by other means; namely the food being offered in exchange for the sleepover. Despite it all, Pomni’s godawful stomach is making the decisions for her, as she eyes the table and the contents piled across its surface a little too hungrily. For some reason, the off brand junk food packets look far more realistic than their earlier dining table had offered.
“I-uh, if you don’t mind,” Pomni answers, hesitation all but obvious in her tone. Despite this, Ragatha grins, and she leans down to offer Pomni one of the chip packets. It’s a share size, but Pomni feels ready to tackle its entire contents by herself.
“Of course! We figured this would be a great way for us all to get to know each other better.”
The comment confuses Pomni for a brief moment, and her attention is stolen from her snacks to glance between all the members before her. Gangle and Zooble are perched along the sofa, but Kinger is in his pillow fort, wedged directly against the edge of the sofa. Jax is nowhere to be seen.
Zooble meets her eye, and clarifies, “Would be great for us all to get to know you better.” They gesture between everyone with a looped limb with no hand. “We’ve all been through this, it helps if we learn the ropes around each other quicker."
Right. Because the only person here without any rapport is herself. She hesitantly accepts the offered chips, noticing the blurred image sort of looks like an offbrand version of cheese puffs, before she awkwardly takes a seat at the far edge of the sofa that’s unoccupied. As antisocial and Pomni feels right now, she does need to get to know these people, if she’s stuck here with them for the indeterminable future.
“Where’s Jax?” She asks, just because everyone implies all, and he’s the only missing factor of that statement. Zooble makes a tsk sound, a strange concept when they don’t possess a mouth. Actually, them being able to talk as a whole should be more baffling.
Gangle answers for them. “He uh, he doesn’t do- bonding stuff.”
Weird, he seemed the nosy sort from what Pomni had gathered when he’d dragged herself and Ragatha along to find Kaufmo. But well, who was she to judge at this point? If today has been a lot for her, she can understand it being a lot for anyone else as well. She stares a little too distractedly at the plastic in her hands.
“There’s really no kitchen?” Pomni changes the subject, finally tearing open her packet. The wrapping opens a little too cleanly, and despite the supposed cheese puffs inside, no cheesy dust pops out of the top like Pomni is expecting. The reminder that the food isn’t real brings another wave of disappointment to her system, and she mouths at the first puff she grabs warily. It sort of tastes like cheese, if she thinks about it hard enough. She figures that’s the best she’s going to get, and gets to eating properly, though it doesn't bring her any sort of satisfaction. She's not even sure if it's tackling the whole feeling hungry part of her system, but the sensation of trying is providing enough faux comfort for her to keep at it.
Ragatha carefully deposits the remaining bags on the table, trying to fix the assortment so nothing falls onto the floor. The table is pretty packed with how much food is being balanced. It sort of put the feast table contents to shame. “Not really, since we don’t need to eat. But-but that’s why we asked Caine for this tonight! We know how hard it can be to-” she shares a look over Pomni’s head with Zooble and Gangle. “-adjust to no longer having to do… living things. It takes a bit of getting used to, but once you get the hang of it, things aren’t so bad.”
Pomni is already half way through her bag of puffs, but makes sure to swallow before asking, “How long does it usually take to adjust?” It sounds like everyone experiences an acclimation period to some degree. Pomni can't wait for her own to be over. She can't believe she's actually missing the concept of feeling mundanity in her life again. She could have sworn it was something she despised enough in the real world, but today has been enough of an adventure for her to never take for granted being a boring accountant ever again. She'd kill for a spreadsheet to proof-read at this point.
“Three days,” Zooble answers. There’s a strange weight to their reply, creating an awkward lull in the air.
Gangle lets out a quiet sigh. “Maybe sooner, if you’re lucky.”
Pomni hums, taking another bite. The crunch fills up the space, and it's only then that Pomni takes notice that she’s the only one eating. Realising she’s hogging the share bag all to herself, despite the many other bags on the table, Pomni offers it towards the others.
Ragatha’s smile is tight-lipped, and she shakes her head.
“No no, this is all yours, promise.”
Well, if that doesn’t make this more awkward. “Not a fan of cheese?” Pomni guesses, but Ragatha shakes her head again.
“We don’t need to eat,” she reminds her softly. “So please, just enjoy it whilst you still can.”
Gangle and Zooble nod at her side, but their insistence only sets off mild alarm bells at the back of Pomni’s mind. She hesitantly finishes her bite before resisting the remainder of its contents, rolling up the top of the bag to avoid spillage. Despite wearing her happy mask, somehow repaired from their introduction earlier that day, she notices Gangle frowning at the closed bag. But it just feels too awkward being the only person eating, so Pomni sets the packet aside on the table and clears her throat.
“So uhm, what else is involved for the sleepover?”
Ragatha finds her second wind, and claps her hands together. “Of course, how could I almost forget? I think Kinger has the roll ups in his fort, let me see if he’ll hand them over peacefully.”
“I vouch we siege his castle if he refuses to hand over the goods,” Zooble offers jokingly. Gangle hides a small laugh behind a curl of her ribbon arm.
Ragatha turns to kneel down at the entrance of the fort, and Pomni’s gaze once again falls to the contents of the table. Hesitantly, she leans over to pick up one of the cups, its contents something fizzy and undetermined. She assumes it's supposed to be pop, but she can’t tell if any of the others have claimed any of the drinks or not already. They're all open topped, red paper cups like from most college parties. She awkwardly looks to Zooble for guidance, who’s watching her intently.
They simply nod towards the table again.
“Feel free,” they tell her, “there’s no need to hold back just for us. No judgement.”
It’s an incredibly awkward approval, but it’s enough to spur Pomni into drinking. She is pretty thirsty after all. The texture is a little more syrupy than liquid, and it makes her tongue tingle, but otherwise it’s not so bad. She licks her lips afterwards, placing the cup on the corner so she’s sure not to confuse it with the others.
After all, despite their hesitancy to not share, surely they don’t expect her to eat the entire table’s worth of contents by herself? She’s sure after a while they’ll join in on the feast, especially if the conversation goes forward.
The night is still young after all.
Pomni wakes up in a blind panic, dust seizing her throat and having her gasp for air that doesn’t exist. The action does nothing to satiate the clog in her lungs, and she paws desperately at her throat, the only thing on her mind being water - now. Amongst the table, the leftover snacks and beverages are still loaded against the surface, and Pomni narrowly avoids tripping over Zooble’s sleeping form on the floor to scramble for the nearest drink.
Strangely to their word, the others hadn’t indulged with any of the snacks, though when Pomni started trying to guess what the drinks were supposed to be, she had convinced everyone to take a sip of their own cups and have their own opinions on the matter. Even Kinger had poked his head out to take a sip, Ragatha holding the cup to his face for inspection.
But that’s the last thing on her mind right now, as Pomni practically inhales the beverage, dismayed that it hadn’t been full to begin with and is already empty before her tongue can even process being dampened. She lunges for the second without a pause. There’s enough volume for her to actively gulp, but she finds frustration in the fact that it doesn’t clear the itch in her throat.
It’s as she begins downing the third drink that Pomni finally realises she has been mindlessly chugging everyone else’s drinks. She pauses mid glug, eyes wide with her sudden bout of selfishness. Like a dog caught with its muzzle in the trash, she cautiously eyes the sleeping forms of the others around her, guilt pouring to the forefront of her mind in a strong rush.
Pomni practically battles the cup away from her mouth, but the unnatural sheen of the fluid inside glinting with reflections only shakes her psyche further, and she clenches her eyes shut, tossing her head back and finishing the drink like her life depended on it.
When she places the empty container back onto the table, she finds she can breathe properly again, but is far from satisfied. The contents of her stomach are palpable and heavy in her cartoon body, and for a moment she fears she is a walking form of liquid content in a tiny jester body. An invasive thought plagues her mind; their bodies have no functioning parts, so where will all that fluid go? Is it to sit in her dead end of a stomach until she has had enough of the weight and throws it back up? Is the lack of a digestive tract why she is feeling zero relief from her thirst and hunger, despite the sensation of invasive weight sitting inside of her?
She wants to cry. It’s not even been twenty four hours stuck in this place and Pomni hates every sensation granted to her.
After a while, not too long, but enough for her to sit despondently back onto the sofa and stare at the wall for a bit, that the weight in her body begins to dissipate. Maybe the drinks despawn after a while, or maybe her digital body processes the food in a way unrelatable to the normal sensation of digestion, but soon Pomni’s body is no longer hosting the weight of liquid volume. It grants no satisfaction or relief, only parts the curtains to reveal that the sensation she has been trying to quench never even left.
Once she’s sure her stomach is truly empty, her eyes hone back to the contents on the table.
Against her better judgement, she begins the process of eating and drinking her fill. Again, and again, and again. She doesn’t notice the others waking up as she gorges herself, watching with pitying gazes that linger for too long in the darkness. They’re closed again long before Pomni even considers turning around in their general direction.
When morning arrives; a horrible blip of time where night literally trips and falls to make way for blinding midday sun, Pomni finds herself sitting at the sofa, unmoving, a dreadful clawing through her body that emphasises the empty surface of the table, and the empty clutches of her stomach.
She thinks to herself, noticing the other denizens take their time waking from their respective sleeping bags, a fresh new day awaiting them, that she might actually be trapped in hell.