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razberrypuck · 1 year ago

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something about kinger being in the circus "the longest" and him still openly caring about the other members and striving to be kind to them makes me emotional actually.

like yes the scene where he comforts ragatha but also the "pomni, take this" scenes. putting a bucket on ragatha's head after jax's licorice-hair comment -- said in front of a monster that eats candy people. winning rock-paper-scissors and being so excited to get to help zooble. remarking "oh, thank GOD you're okay," when zooble gets ejected from the gloink queen. he can be a great source of comfort in his moments of lucidity, but even when he's not quite there, he really does try his best to protect his friends -- even if his efforts come across as goofy or nonsensical.

I find it especially interesting that these moments are really the only times he actively involves himself in the adventures. yes he makes a few comments here and there, but when he isn't trying to help someone, he tends to just let things happen around him. he's largely absent in most of episode one (mostly because he seems to be freaking out about his own safety -- and granted, we don't know whether or not he was just having an especially bad day, but I think it's worth noting) and he doesn't get involved with the adventure at all until he's told to find zooble. he's also shown to be very observant of the people around him, like how he accurately predicted that kaufmo had completely lost it, when no one else picked up on the signs.

more than anything, though, I think kinger's conversation with ragatha shows some of his philosophy when it comes to the other players. "it's a lot for anybody to go through; don't take it too personally," is likely a learned sentiment -- and consciously or not, I think he doesn't have any bad blood with the other members (see: kinger being the only one (from what we've seen so far) that jax doesn't actively torment) because he understands why they act the way they do and doesn't hold it against them. everyone copes differently, and like I said before, he's very observant, especially when it comes to the emotions of others.

and idk. I just think it's nice the longest standing member of the circus didn't survive this long by learning not to care.

#i think it says something about him #that even through all his issues #his memory his stability how many people hes lost how long hes been there #that his compassion for other members is so unwavering #even if his efforts are. comically stupid. hes still trying and i do think that means a lot in a world where nothing *really* matters.#anyway. can you tell who my favorite character is JSHFKSKCKD #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc kinger

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houseofdissension · 1 month ago

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⸻ 𐄁 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐂. // 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝟎𝟗𝟗.𝐀

SUBJECT INTAKE FOR DUAL-IDENTITY REGISTRY FLOOR OF DISSENT — DISSENSION INITIATIVE, FLOOR 40 – RESTRICTED All data collected is strictly classified. Retrieval of memory post-submission is forbidden.

[ 𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗖. // 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠 ]

╰── LEWIS PULLMAN, 32, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ] ＞ 𝙾𝙱𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙾𝙶: The individual known informally as [ JUDE EASTERLIN ] has been noted for presence within the Downe’s Hollow parameters. According to behavioral estimates, they present at approximately [ THIRTY TWO ], and have been under evaluation for [ TEN MONTHS ]. During scheduled daylight hours, they are recorded operating in the role of [ DISSENSION EMPLOYEE / LEXICAL STABILITY TYPIST ]. Community observation reports suggest notable behavioral markers: prone to [ NEUROTICISM ] under stress, yet reportedly [ ASSIDUOUS ] in collective settings. Volner-issued residency placement: [ CORNELIUS CIRCLE / GUINEVERE LANES ]. Echo archetypes detected in personality patterns include: [ SURVIVAL THAT DEPENDS ON DISEMBOWELED IDENTITY, ON THE SACRIFICE OF INDIVIDUAL AUTHORITY AND CONFIDENCE IN DOMINANCE. THE ACHING PRICKLE OF SMOKE INHALATION THAT CONSTRICTS THE THROAT AND CRAWLS PRECARIOUSLY INTO THE TEAR GLANDS BEHIND THE EYES. NAUSEATING HUMILIATION, FESTERED INADEQUACY, CARDINAL DESIRES— UNFULFILLED— BURSTING FORTH IN RESIGNED, IMPOTENT TEARS— IN EMBARRASSED SOBBING AND GASPING TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR, LIKE A DROWNING MAN WAVING HIS ARMS TO OVERHEAD CLOUDS ]. 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: under continued observation.. Decompression tolerance uncertain. Reintegration probability: INCOMPLETE. Continue on to Dissension Form below:

╰── 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 — 𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗥 𝟰𝟬 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦.

＞ INTERNAL IDENTIFIER: JUDE E. ＞ DEPARTMENT ASSIGNMENT: MEMORY STABILIZATION TEAM ＞ TASK UNDERSTANDING: “I organize walls of text and give them all the novelty of updated standard logging of operating procedures… ‘SLOP’, if you will. I average about 130 WPM with 100% accuracy on a good day.” ＞ LAST PERFORMANCE NOTE: “Jude E. devotes meticulously thorough attention to detail in every task he performs. However, he often gets sidetracked on labor of dubious value, such as cleaning the underside of desk drawers, or wiping down the inside of the communal office paper shredder to get rid of 'particle residue'. Jude E. has not been reprimanded due to consistently staying ahead of production quota, but he should not be encouraged, as he seems to create his own ideas of personal incentives.” ＞ CROSS-MEMORY TRACE DETECTED?: NO ＞ DREAM REPORT ( IF ANY ): EMPLOYEE EXPERIENCES PERIODS OF ABSOLUTE SILENCE. HE CLAIMS THAT NO ONE TALKS TO HIM, OR PRODUCES SOUND WHEN THEY MOVE. ＞ MOTIVATIONAL SCORE: HIGH

𐄁 𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗖. // 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧-𝗦𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗢𝗡𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗘𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗨𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

FORM 82-D | RESIDENCY JUSTIFICATION INTAKE: Your responses are recorded under Civic Harmony Protocol 6.1. Please answer with full clarity and personal accountability. Ambiguity may result in further observation.

1. At the time of your Procedure, you were given the opportunity to decline. And yet, you proceeded. Why did you choose Dissension?

The fluorescent light murmurs to him— a quiet, buzzing chorus, like a swarm of tiny insects burrowing beneath his skin with evolution’s precision. It drones on during his sleeve pulling and eye darting. They want him to walk to some reason to all of this, to empty his bags, to sort and leave that; to take out each frayed thought and illuminate it. But as Jude considers the cost of alcohol, the trade of pills, the draw of smoke in his lungs— he finds that he already knows how to give every last thing away. He has done it a thousand times. The real cost, he knows, is long paid. His voice, when it comes, is strained— cracked from too many hours spent without another human ear to catch it. “I do anything for work. Construction. Auto repair. I’ve even worn one of those giant animal suits to hand out flyers. Whatever pays.” He pauses, eyes fixed on an invisible thread on the laminate table. “But I’ve burned through it all. I spent years addicted to anything I could afford. Whatever was cheapest.” Jude swallows. He is not ripe for the picking— he is past it, he is rotting. “And now I’m here, clocking in to a job where I don’t even get to remember the work I do.” He looks up. His eyes are glassy, ashamed. “Anyway, the luxury of dignity…” His laughter is whispered, like a ghost hiding in another room, “... is far beyond my means. I Just—” a breath, “— I just need the money.” His gaze sinks under the meek weight of resignation, so low that no spark of pride left to shield can be found in the downcast crescent shapes, witnessed in the enervated and gradual droop of his shoulders, like a melting candle, and in the mumbled and humming tones his words take on. A wan smile clings to his soft and pallid face; the last beacon of levity, albeit crumbling, left behind in the collapse.

2. At the time of your arrival, what were you running from, or toward?

“Yeah, so, uh… It’s funny now— well, kind of funny— how fast things go wrong when you owe the wrong people. It starts small, you know?” Jude’s smile widens fast, brittle. As a reflex. He chuckles, sharp and too quick, like a match struck in the dark, hoping to light the story before the shadows close in. An echo thrown ahead of the fear. “I thought I was juggling it all, being clever. And then one day, I was face down in an alley with a guy telling me he was going to turn my kneecaps into dust if I even looked like I was thinking about running.” His voice thins to silence, and his smile shudders. Jude’s stare slips across the floor— lost, unmoored— as if the hush between his heartbeats can summon the taste of blood mixed with bile in his mouth. “I think he called me “sweetheart” too, which, now that I think about it, is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Anyway, that kind of motivates a guy.” And Jude ran. Full sprint. Half-packed bag, bus station at midnight, shaking so much he couldn’t hold his ticket straight. He still has that shake in his hands, but he hides it behind his sleeves, twisting them tight around his fists. “That was a year ago. I don’t talk about it much. It’s not really… much of a story.” He glances up at last, but the moment vanishes like breath on glass.

3. Do you believe you chose this life, or were chosen for it?

Jude’s fingers twitch once in his lap, and then again. He blinks, and for a moment, stares down at the floor as if the answer might be hiding in the polished reflections. But nothing arrives. No spark, no elegant unraveling of thought. He sits— a vessel unfilled in heavy silence. His hopes are small things now, shriveled and quiet. He is too empty to hold meaning, to consider choice like it’s fate, or fate like it’s choice. He shifts in his chair, the creak of it far too loud in the hush. He swallows. His mouth is dry. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice low, unsure if he should’ve spoken at all. A beat. Jude lifts his gaze, but only part way. His eyes flicker near the interviewer’s face without quite meeting it. The words feel like failure in his throat— thin and unpolished. He hates the sound of his voice, how final the admission seems. “I don’t know,” he repeats, softer this time. “Is that okay, that I don’t know?” Jude shrugs, an apologetic gesture. His shoulders fold like the edges of a newspaper. “Sorry,” he adds, voice almost cracking. The interviewer hasn’t moved. They’re just listening. Letting the silence stretch. Jude’s face grows hot, gaining the blushing tincture of embarrassment. He wants to be impressive, articulate, maybe even wise. But all he has are dumb answers. “I mean,” he says, trying again, “I could think of an answer. I could say something. But I’d be making it up. Is that—” he breaks off, then finds his voice again, shakier this time, “is that okay?” His words linger in the air, fragile things. He folds his hands to still them. There’s a tremble—not in his voice, not quite—but in the space between each breath. The interviewer doesn’t speak. Just watches.

4. When you envision the person you used to be, what part of them still lingers in the current design?

There’s an ache building behind his eyes now— fatigue, maybe, or the slow unraveling of a mask he didn’t know he was wearing. He breathes out. It shakes. The question carries the sound of a reverberating bell, prompting him to wake up in his childhood bedroom, and harbor deep within its vague, imaginary space. He sits there, still as a photograph, as memory unfolds around him. He can see the low attic ceiling, narrow and dark. The door always closed. The curtains drawn. That sterile, acrid smell— too clean, so clean it feels wrong. It has never left him. Not really. It lives deep in his twisting guts, right next to the hunger and the quiet, constant pain. Jude doesn’t raise his head. His gaze stays on the table. “My mother believed in purity. Not metaphorically, not as some symbol of holiness to aspire to like all the others. No, she believed in it. She said God didn’t dwell on the unwashed, the gluttonous, the boisterous. The soul had to be scrubbed. To be pure, we had to be alone. We had to be silent.” There’s a tremble at the edge of his speech. He remembers his lessons. Jude’s shoulders hunch deeper inward, minimizing the space he occupies. His usual emotions, his regular habits, his conversations with others— all are presented with an instinct to withdraw, to shrink. Presence, after all, is intrusion. “That was part of her religion. Pain was private. Holiness was earned in solitude. Repentance found in raw, burning skin.” Jude’s voice rises shakily from his lowered, hidden face. He feels his throat close up like it’s trying to protect him. “I ran away. I slept in alleys that smelled like piss and rot, under bridges that echoed with the groans of trucks and people trying not to cry.” He begged with his head down, not out of shame— shame came later— but because he couldn’t bear to see the disgust in people’s eyes. It’s one thing to be invisible. It’s another to be seen and pitied. “And it worked, for a while. But there’s a cost to vanishing, and to using. You don’t just lose the pain. You lose the parts of yourself that might’ve been worth saving.” There’s a hollowness he can’t name, even now. Sometimes, he wonders what part of him got scrubbed away for good. He was once clean, too clean, and he rejected it by finding every filthy thing and letting it touch his soul. Either way takes courage, either way wants him to become someone blank enough to survive. Something’s missing. Some softness, maybe. Or some part of him that once believed in safety. “Now, even clean, even housed, I feel… stained. Like I carry the scent of it with me, the rot I couldn’t wash off.” There’s tension in his posture even as he leans back and finally raises his chin. “But I eat now. Most days. I let my house be a little messy sometimes. I don’t own bleach. Can’t stand the stuff.” He doesn’t say that he still wakes up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, afraid that he’s been too loud in his sleep. Some part of him still believes that silence keeps him safe.

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫-𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐜., 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝗪𝗲’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗵��𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲. – Compliance. Continuity. Purpose.

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