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“Grateful as always for your help, my boy,” says Coran, reaching down to ruffle Lance’s hair. The young boy grins, gently bumping Coran’s shoulder with his own — something Coran has learnt is a gesture of affection among humans, particularly with Lance.
“Anytime!” Lance chirps. “I like helping you with chores. Makes me feel like I’m at home. Also, and you can never tell anyone else, but I like housework. The repetitiveness of the tasks are nice, so long as the chore isn’t gross.”
Coran hums in acknowledgment, although he has guessed this already. He knows Lance, while certainly adaptable, tends to prefer when things follow a certain order or plan, and enjoys tasks that are meticulous or organizational. It’s why the Altean is so comfortable calling for Lance’s help more than anyone else’s.
Also, he enjoys the boy’s company. He’s funny and witty, fun to talk to. He’s also got an incredible attention to detail, which is certainly an asset.
“Well, I think we can be done for the day. Other than a quick check-in with the laundry machines at the end of their cycle, there’s nothing else that needs our immediate attention. I believe the others are in the lounge, and I was thinking of joining them. What say you?”
At the mention of the other paladins, Lance brightens. “Oh, awesome! Maybe they’re playing a game, or something. Hopefully we can do Monsters & Mana again! And play with Keith this time.”
The two make their way to the lounge, chatting idly. Coran opens the door for Lance, who smiles and thanks him.
“Coran and I are here!” Lance announces. “We would like to participate in… whatever it is you’re doing!”
“We’re playing Superstoli,” Allura supplies.
“It’s an Altean card game,” Pidge explains (presumably to Lance — obviously Coran knows what Superstoli is). “It’s… really complicated.”
Whether or not Pidge meant this as a challenge is up for debate. Some might say her tone was condescending. Some might say her tone was frustrated. Truly, however, it made no difference — if the paladins had been paying attention, it would have been clear: Lance took the words as a challenge. Coran recognised the glint in his eye as the same determination he had before he entered the training room, determined to beat Keith at anything and everything. His face takes on a calculating look, and Coran hides a grin.
Lance knows how to play Superstoli. Coran taught him in his first week of space, and now Coran very rarely, if ever, wins a match. The game relies heavily on both strategy and spontaneous decision-making, both things Lance excels at. Coran is no slouch, either, but Lance has a certain stroke of brilliance that Coran has yet to see in anyone else.
After a quick moment of what Coran can only assume is Lance deciding how he’s going to play the room, Lance puffs put his chest, a cocky grin taking over his face. “Nothing is too complicated for the exceedingly smart sharpshooter extraordinaire!” he boasts.
Playing overconfidence to guarantee the team underestimates him. Interesting.
The team rolls their eyes in almost perfect unison, which is beyond amusing, but make space for the Cuban boy nonetheless. Before he sits down, he turns to Coran. He’s smirking,but no one else can see.
“Are you gonna play, Coran?”
Coran can read the underlying message — is the royal advisor going to rat him out?
Coran shakes his head minutely, twirling his moustache. His eyes shine with the same mischievous twinkle reflected in Lance’s brown irises. “I think I’ll just watch,” he responds, winking at Lance so the boy knows he’ll keep his secret.
Lance shrugs, slipping back into his persona. “Less competition to beat.”
“Shut up and listen to the instructions,” Keith says irritably.
Ah. Rivals.
“Bite me, Mullet,” Lance responds without looking. Allura sighs, but chooses to ignore their bickering to get the explanation over faster.
As she explains the rules, Coran watches as Lance does an excellent job of pretending to be too proud to admit he’s confused. He’s acting about being confused and then acting about being too cocky to admit to it… he’s definitely a talented pretender, an important trait in a good hustler. Coran must give credit where credit is due.
“Maybe you’ll understand better if we do a practice round before betting,” Hunk suggests.
Lance scoffs. “No way! This sounds easy. I’m all in, whatever we’re betting! I’m gonna smoke you guys!”
Keith snorts. “Sure thing, Cargo Pilot. I can’t wait to see you on kitchen duty for two weeks when you bomb this to pieces.”
“Well you can shove that desire right up your ass, Dropout, because you’re going to be eating my dust —”
“It’s not a fast game, you dolt, it’s about strategy —”
“Well you’re going to be eating the dust of my very fast strategy —”
“That doesn’t even make sense —”
“Boys!” Shiro says sharply. Both Keith and Lance cease arguing immediately, shooting identically sheepish looks at the Black Paladin. Shiro shakes his head, huffing, but there’s a small smile on his face. He knows as well as everyone else that Keith and Lance only argue for their own amusement, and haven’t felt genuinely malicious towards each other in months.
“Let’s play the quick version, so Lance has an easier time,” he decides. Lance protests immediately, insisting he’s capable of the full game no problem, but Shiro convinces him to try the short version first. Lance pouts, but agrees, and the game begins.
As expected, Lance is the first one out.
“Told ya you’d bomb,” Keith taunts.
Coran stays quiet, knowing exactly what’s coming next. Although it may be lightly unethical, the royal advisor enjoys watching a good hustle as much as anyone else. Why, back when he and Melenor were teens, the two would often make their way to bars and clubs around the galaxy and make loads of money conning cocky quiznacks underestimating their every move.
Lance scowls, protesting immediately. “Rematch!” he demands.
“No way!” Pidge scowls, “You don’t get to call rematch just because you lost!”
Lance leans forward, determined. “Triple the stakes,” he bargains. “If I lose again, I’ll do triple what I lost. Six weeks of kitchen duty. But if I win, each of you has to take on my two weeks.”
“That’s ten weeks of you doing jack shit!” Keith argues immediately.
Lance shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “Or six weeks of me doing everything.”
“And what of you don’t win or lose?” Hunk asks, before the two of them can bicker any further. “Like, what if you come in second?”
“For the sake of the bet, we’ll assume any position in which I am not the winner, I am the loser,” Lance clarifies.
The other paladins exchange looks, contemplating.
“I’d love to see Lance do six weeks of kitchen duty,” Pidge says.
“I’m fine with a friendly rematch,” Shiro agrees.
“One condition,” Lance hedges. “Let’s do the long play this time.”
Hunk looks at him in concern. “Uh, buddy, you kind of blew the short version, and that was a lower stakes game. Are you absolutely certain you want to make this harder on yourself?”
A tiny smirk lifts the corner of Lance’s mouth, gone before you can blink. So far, it’s the only indication that Lance might know more than he’s letting on.
“I’m positive, dude. I can do it!”
What Coran then witnesses cannot be accurately called a ‘win’. In all senses of the word, what Coran watches is an annihilation.
It’s the best game of Superstoli Coran has ever seen him play, and he’s seen Lance play many. He wipes Keith and Pidge off the table in minutes, possibly maliciously, and then efficiently and easily picks off the rest of his teammates. Coran has seen Lance struggle more to open a jar of Filtu. It’s not even fair to say that the rest of the paladins were poor players, or that their strategies were bad — Lance had simply seen right through them, methodically tore them down, and played circles around them. If Coran wasn’t so amused by it, he would have found it hard to watch.
Half a varga later (truly a humiliating length for a game, especially one played with so many people), Lance is smiling brightly at his bewildered teammates.
“That was fun!” he says cheerily. “I think I may have had some beginner’s luck, there. Y’all got reamed, which is strange since the instructions were oh so complicated for a beginner such as myself.”
His teammates continue to stare at him in shocked silence. Coran has to duck his head to hide his grin.
Lance turns to Keith, smile turning smug. “Maybe we can practice some more, after you’re finished with all your kitchen duty! I’m gonna head out now, though. Gosh, all this free time — I hardly know where to spend it!”
Lance skipped his way out of the lounge, humming to himself. Coran followed, shaking his head.
Hustler, indeed.