Chapter Text
Sigma stared out at all the casino patrons from behind their main counter, wondering what all their purposes were like compared to them. They all had families, while Sigma sat alone all day and then slept all alone at night. That is, if they ever got a break to sleep for longer than four hours, intermittently at that too. Their only company was fellow employees, but even then, they could leave. Employees could quit, could find other jobs, could go back to their loved ones on the ground. Sigma was bound to this casino as long as it survived and each had in common the confusion of being born out of nothing and living to serve. Therefore, having no purpose aside from dealing cards and situating gamblers, Sigma's mind wandered to the one person they knew closer than anyone else and who actually had a goal in life. They were glad to know that someone had found such a beautiful meaning.
Nikolai Gogol was not a friend, no. Sigma was sure they didn't understand the full meaning of friendship yet, and thus could not call him so. They knew of the idea of friendship and picked up on different connections based on observing people all day, but they did not consider anyone more than an aquaintance. There were distant acquaintances, like patrons A3194 or T6701; simple acquaintances, those belonging to the staff; and close acquaintances, such as Gogol and Dostoyevsky. Though Sigma hardly saw the other two or members of the Decay of Angels, they still considered the group the closest thing they had to friendship. Otherwise, Sigma would feel subjected to the fear of loneliness, fear of that unbreachable gap between the rest of the world and their humble, desparate existence. Everyone in the DOA had their part to do in the end, and that semblance of duty to a great cause was the close bond Sigma felt. It was the group's secret, not like just any other job that the casino offered. One had to be trusted.
Once Sigma had realized all this thinking and feeling was causing a headache (and an odd suffocating ache in their chest), they noticed a tear in the fabric of reality above the red counterspace. An arm popped through, one encompassed by a frilly white sleeve. Sigma was startled by this at first, jumping back a bit, and even more surprised when the bright, gloved hand grabbed their forehead. It messed up their bangs before hesitantly, hurriedly, patting down the rest of their face—a light sigh came in response, and one with no particular emotion at that. Then the hand felt for Sigma's ear and gently flicked the earring there. Last, it pulled away to wave as a "Hiya!" came from somewhere unseen.
"What are you doing?" Sigma finally asked, head tilting away from the hand. The hole tore wider to let, well, stumble, through none other than Nikolai Gogol.
"Needed to make sure it was you!" Gogol said. He had landed on his back on the counter, sitting up to pinch Sigma's nose. "Honk."
Sigma pushed his hand away, a smile almost making its way onto their lips. "What did you do, flip into your coat? You're surely not dull enough to just set it on the ground and jump through."
"Absolutely correct!" Gogol proudly declared, one finger pointed upward. "Of course it was more fun that way. Why would you just step in?"
"Because no one would be watching. No point in making a show out of it," Sigma said, closing their eyes for a 'your recklessness is pointless' sort of effect. Then they looked around, realizing Gogol should have just used the door, because now there were at least twenty people looking their direction. Thankfully the Decay of Angels' faces were not known to the public, so a little leeway could be afforded when meeting each other if needed. Still, "Please sit normally, would you? There's a chair right in front of me."
Gogol gave a huff and glanced around the room as he stood up, no longer leaning into Sigma, and brushed off his cape. The people took one look at him and seemed to decide he fit right in since the patterns of his outfit and accents on his hat were like diamonds of a playing deck. Probably just an eccentric employee who walked out from the back, they thought. Gogol sat down on the short bar stool with crossed legs and set his chin on his crossed arms that lay on the table.
"Why'd you come here anyway?" Sigma asked, hands finding something to do with a deck of cards for Blackjack.
"Wanted to check up on you. After the desert you came right back to a place where routine is everything," Gogol said. He seemed ready to sleep as he squinted his eyes. "You were so free, I'm jealous."
Sigma took a moment to injest that statement. "Free is not the same as being alone in a wide open space." They placed the now shuffled deck to the side. "And the casino deals with luck. It's not all routine work like you think."
Gogol hummed and let the silence be.
.
.
.
For nine seconds.
"Your name is funny, you know," Gogol said with a little giggle as he sat up straight, hands now in his lap like a child.
"How so?" Sigma let the mild annoyance in their voice show, accompanied by a pouty glare. As much as they admired Gogol for his carefree attitude, his inability to shut his mouth was the price that came with. Sigma supposed his childlike nature was actually what made him free already. He was free to think about the world however he wanted. In a way, Sigma was like that too, but only because they were shoved into the universe with no preconceptions of how things should or shouldn't be.
"It rhymes with enigma! Not much else though," Gogol said before making up some song, or a small limerick. "~Sigma is an enigma, an enigma!~" His high-pitched range blurted out as if it was a background voice. "An enigma's what you are to meee, to me, to me! I'll have you know you overthink things way too much—"
"No, just the right amount."
"~And when I'm gone I bet you're awfully boring, forming plans to get done early and delighting in routine. . . "
"Again, not wholly routine."
"An enigma, Sigma, yes, that's what you seem to be!~" Gogol pulled a harmonica out from his cape to play a finalizing note.
"What on earth was that?" Sigma asked, though holding back the laugh trying to pull ahead of the smile. Except, their hand was over their mouth because although the song was cheerful, the lyrics were taken with a grain of salt. They would much rather be seen as special to someone they admired so much.
"A song for you! Or, of you. Too bad you didn't name yourself orange. Then I wouldn't have any way to tease you," Gogol smiled, that guilty side of him showing through a bit.
Sigma only slightly blushed in return.
"So, you gonna hit me or what?" Gogol said, a hand resting on his chin while the other arm perched on the countertop like some evil supervillain.
". . . Hit you? It's just a song. . . no need for me to get mad about it," Sigma said, taken aback.
Gogol laughed, then double-tapped the thick deck of cards, it shifting in response to the touch. "Blackjack, hit me."
Sigma's eyes widened slightly with embarrassment, then they took the deck in hand. "Oh, so you really want to play now," Sigma said with pride and made a challenging grin. "Welcome to my territory."
Gogol may be intelligent, and he may be talented, but for God's sake, he sucked at gambling. Sigma let him win the first five rounds after getting to know his strategy—spoiler alert, he didn't have one—then upped the difficulty, hoping to actually make him try harder. He didn't get better. Either he didn't care, wanted to rely on luck, or was truly stupid at casino games.
"Hit me," Gogol ordered, the phrase becoming quick and tedious on his tongue after ten more rounds.
A jack laid down by his queen and five. On the opposite end, a perfect twenty-one.
"Hit me," quieter this time, mumbled. Honestly, Gogol looked like he wanted to fall asleep, almost like one of the drunks in the evening. Why did he even ask to play then? Just to pass the time without talking, probably.
Sigma could prepare a perfectly rigged game for every gambler in the casino and turn the benefits around too, if needed, but the sheer joy that came from having purpose in beating Gogol became a fixation for them. Forget trying to let him win, they would go all out. Sigma could keep track of at least half of a Blackjack deck, something they were still working on in free time, so whenever Gogol had an ace in his pile, they would have one low number handy and then a sudden jump to several high value cards, a lower one always in front for Gogol to have, while they kept the better one for themself. Sigma also made sure to keep long strings of middle numbers under their careful watch to alternate point values and even out wins and losses. Being able to shuffle often in this game made it all easy.
"Dammit!" Gogol said after another loss, his head finally slipping from the hand against it causing his forehead to slam onto the counter. "I thought you were supposed to let me win! Come on Sig!" He made puppy eyes, then he leaned over the playing spot and looked up into Sigma's clear greys.
"We aren't playing with money, and I am not letting anything happen. It's totally luck," Sigma laughed. They were a very good liar, but Gogol still knew what was up. He was a king of card shuffling too, knowing magic tricks and all.
"Are you saying you'd give me money if we did play for it?" The clown asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"Maybe. . ."—Gogol's eyes lit up—". . . If you were an actual patron." And then they fell along with the grin.
"Rude," he complained in turn, nose upturned in hurt. "I would give you so much business, you know."
"Would you now? You're basically Dostovesky's right hand man. I don't see you having enough free time to bother coming here," Sigma explained, putting the playing cards back in their box and placing them on their shelf. This was the first time Gogol had even visited the casino, but the two got along surprisingly well. If visits outside DOA plotting became a regular thing, Sigma thought maybe, just maybe Gogol could teach them the meaning of friendship with time. If they both lived that long.
"Well I haven't had a reason to shirk my duties yet."
Sigma rolled their eyes but still smiled. Being thought of as a special distraction, a reason for something was undeniably sweet to them in a world where they had not even found a reason they liked for themself to exist yet.
"Cygnet's close, you know."
"What do you mean?" Sigma's head tilted, doe eyes looking innocently at the man across from them.
"To rhyming with your name."
A moment of silence passed by before Sigma asked, "What does it mean?" They couldn't be expected to know all the words, and this one certainly wasn't common where they had been. An almost entranced twinkle shone in their eyes at the mystery of the beautiful word. They didn't know the meaning yet, but they could tell it was elegant.
"Based on Old French and Latin, means 'young swan'," Gogol replied in a loud, bothered tone, throwing away whatever semblance of wistfulness or romanticism could have been there. In other words, killing the mood.
Sigma remained silent.
". . .You do know what a swan is, right?" His tone was gentler now, a curious question rather than appalled.
Come on Gogol, they were literally born three days ago.
Sigma tightened their lips together, then shook their head.
"You really haven't been free, have you?" Gogol asked.
"No, stuck here all day. . . every day," Sigma said, turning away from him to look off into the distance.
Sigma would have seen Nikolai looking at them, depressed on their behalf, if they had been less focused on watching the gamblers. Gogol wanted to say something, do something for this being who must have felt so out of place in the world. It wasn't. . . natural for him to think this way, to be sensitive to emotions other than death or those in relation to his own pursuits.
He supposed because Sigma was such a mystery, he was drawn to them, wanted to spend time with them, get to know them. Nothing else like them existed in the world as of now, except for the casino. So, Gogol had an idea.
"Tell you what," he started.
Sigma turned back to him, startled in a way like they forgot he was there.
"Next time I'm free, I'll take ya down to the surface—a whole day!" Gogol truly was genuine in his offer.
"Um, but. . ." Truth be told, Sigma didn't know if they could even be separated from the casino. Physically, sure, but emotionally, they were always there. If they went out on holiday could they be able to even enjoy the time away? Just when they were about to refuse, Gogol piped up with ideas.
"Ooh! We could go shopping—you'd probably like this cafe I've been to—Or an amusement park, yeah! There'll be carnival games, rides, kids to scar, it'll be so fun!" He was purely occupied with planning already. When he realized Sigma still hesitated, he added, "I'll even take you to see some cygnets~"
Since he was so excited, Sigma couldn't stand to say no, especially if that excitement was part of knowing that they'll be there with him. The curiousness about the swans was another part of it. "Then I look forward to it. . ." They smiled, "patron Z0001." Might as well make visits official by the next meeting.
Gogol's eyes went wide at the realization of becoming a regular gambler—also probably at the fear of having to learn games other than Blackjack. After he accepted it with a delighted grin, he stood up on his bar stool, now taller than literally everyone else in the room. He saluted goodbye to Sigma before announcing his departure for everyone to hear—even the people who didn't know he arrived in the first place. Sigma experienced secondhand embarrassment, putting their forehead in their hands as Gogol expertly made a flip into the inside of his cape and disappeared without a trace.
The alerted guests went into a panic at seeing an unknown ability user in the vicinity, leaving Sigma to deal with the clown's handcrafted mess. They would have to get back at him for this later.