Chapter Text
It was different, seeing Travis Matagot at night. People don’t gamble at high noon, not unless they're desperate for the adrenaline, or they were Travis Matagot. Now that Gable thought about it, Travis fit squarely into the first category. Still. It was odd to see him like this, in low candlelight, and it made Gable realize what The Forest Queen had truly taken from him.
Travis shone brighter under the contrast of night. Gable had plenty of practice presiding underneath the sun, but Travis presiding under the moon was a sight to behold.
This night in N’goni, Gable found him playing round after round of illimat in a dingy bar, not looking happy, but not looking sad, either. They sidled up to him, and observed his cards, a bad hand, but Travis would make sure to win anyway.
Gable wondered if this was the only way he could control his life. Gable wondered if pretend stakes were easier to deal in. Gable wondered if this was his fantasy, making everything come out right, no matter the hand Travis had been dealt.
Gable put it out of their mind.
“Who’s winning?” they asked instead, addressing the entire table of players. There was a grumble and a couple of heads inclined towards Travis, who smiled as wide as he could.
“Care to watch, Gable?” he asked.
Gable cursed internally. They were hoping that Travis wouldn’t so obviously identify that the two of them were travelling together. They wondered what people would think of them if Travis wasn’t attached to them in this city.
“Sure,” said Gable, pulling up a chair opposite Travis. “What are you playing for?”
“Money.”
Gable rolled their eyes, quietly sizing up the other players at the table. They all looked to be members of the Glas, which, Gable reasoned, probably made themself easily identifiable as the helmsperson of the Uhuru. So there was no point in distancing themself from Travis.
Gable was brought out of their thoughts by Travis snapping in front of their face. “Gable, Gable, look. I’m going to win.”
There were sounds of outrage from around the table, even more so when Travis played his last hand, winning the pot. “Care to play again?”
Only one other man at the table volunteered, the rest grumbling and walking away, their purses a little lighter. “He’s been playing me the entire night,” said Travis. “Hasn't won once.”
“I will.”
Travis just smiled.
“Want to play, Gable?”
“No,” said Gable, staring daggers at Travis.
“Suit yourself,” said Travis.
He one again, of course, Gable marveling at the artfully played game, and still with no inclination to play Travis themself. They’d learned well enough that that was a downright stupid idea, even if this man hadn’t quite realized that.
Gable wondered if this is what life could be like, in easier times. Gable wondered if they would even want that.