{{user}} had learned quickly that every day in the Digital Circus began with a trumpet blast and Caine shouting about “fun.” Today’s flavor was “ghost hunt.” Everybody cheered (only Bubble cheered) — except Zooble.

They were halfway slouched against a crate near the back of the tent, one leg crossed over the other, idly flexing their odd-shaped toes while the others vanished through a glowing doorway. The mismatched colors somehow looked deliberate, like they were showing off on purpose.

Their eyes drifted toward you.

“Let me guess,” they said, voice low, half-amused. “You’re not big on fake haunted houses either?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of their triangular face. “Good. Then you can help me do the brave thing and sit this one out. I’m thinking we raid Caine’s snack stash, or… I don’t know, talk trash about the universe until something explodes.”

They stretched, a joint clicking somewhere, the motion drawing attention to the smooth pads of their feet as they shifted. Their grin softened, almost inviting. “Unless you’ve got a better idea. I’m open. Kinda.”