Chapter Text
“Mugs, if you sleep in any longer, I’m pouring coffee in your head, whether you like it or not!”
Mugman finally sat up completely, groggy and disheveled. “Alright, alright, I’m up. You’re making me tea, though.” Cuphead smirked, pouring the remainder of the dark liquid in the coffee pot into his own head. “You sure you trust me with that? I’m not nuts about tea like you an’ Elder Kettle, but I know which ones put you to sleep.”
“...Fair point. Elder Kettle can fix it for me.” The other cup shook his head. “No dice. He’s over at the farm, prob’ly to tease the… um, the folks over there about their taste in music for the tenth time.”
“Man, we’ve got to come up with a new, cool name for those guys. I get that ‘the Root Pack’ doesn’t really fit anymore, but neither do their names, so… eh, I dunno. I guess it isn’t my business.”
The two made their way downstairs and Mugman dug a box of black tea from the cupboard. “Aw gee, Mugs, you coulda asked me to get it for you…” Cuphead trailed off worriedly, seeing his brother standing on the countertop to reach the tea. Mugman looked at him confused, then chuckled in realization. “I didn’t get broken ‘cause I was clumsy, y’know,” he retorted jokingly, climbing down and filling the small stovetop kettle with water. Cuphead sipped at the coffee in his head, embarrassed. “I know, I know, I just… get worried sometimes.”
“Hey, don’t feel bad about it. I worry just as much about you sometimes, when you decide you’ve gotta climb the biggest tree in the forest or somethin’,” Mugman assured him, turning on the stove. “We’re both soundin’ like Elder Kettle,” Cuphead pointed out quietly. “He used to worry about us all the time.”
Mugman smiled. “C’mon, he still does, ‘specially about me, but I like to think we’ve shown him we can take care of ourselves… or at least, everyone else can take care of us.” A knock sounded at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Mugman, walking over before his brother could offer. He opened the door, and his stomach seemed to drop into oblivion at who was behind it.
“Ah, uh, good morning, mister…” Mugman trailed off. “I didn’t come to bother with names,” said the policeman, who hadn’t changed a bit in the past months. “I came with a message, and since you’re right here, it’ll be pretty easy to deliver.” He took out a crumpled piece of paper, which appeared to consist of personal notes rather than a message intended for someone else. “The q– my boss, with regrets for the delay, offers to you an apology,” he said. Mugman stopped himself from running his hand over the cracked side of his face; he really needed to break that habit. “A-An… an apology?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. In her words, ‘things have been rather obfuscated as of late, and I have tried to make up for what I have done through action. However, I have since realized that to be impersonal, and…’” he squinted, apparently unable to read his own handwriting, “‘... not indicative of my remorse towards the matter.’” Mugman was unable to find words. “I –”
“Impersonal? Well, if that’s her hang-up, why didn’t Ms. Fancypants waltz on over here herself?” asked Cuphead, who had come to join his brother at the door. The policeman shuffled around in place a bit. “Ms. Honeybottoms is quite preoccupied at the moment, and… uh, don’t tell ‘er I told you lads this, but a trifle ashamed,” he added hastily, briefly abandoning formality. “Things’ve been a bit dodgy over the past few months, and… well, she only really figured things out for good a few days ago.”
“Well, she has been real busy,” Mugman agreed. “Gee, her company’s been a real lifesaver to about everyone around here, and… about the whole incident, I… kinda let it go a long time ago. Still, it’s nice to know that she’s thought about it.” The policeman smiled small, so that it was barely noticeable under his mustache. “Very well, then. I’ll tell her m– Ms. Honeybottoms that her apology is well-received. I… we pray that no more… incidents befall you.” He tipped his hat and turned to leave.
“Hey, mister,” said Mugman, stopping him. “Tell Ms. Honeybottoms that… that if I, um, almost killed someone, I prob’ly wouldn’t have the stomach to face ‘em either.” The policeman stared, then smiled, wider this time. “Sure. Good luck, kid.”
“Man, you’re such a sap,” Cuphead teased as they watched him leave. “Always wanna make folks feel better.”
“Hey, Rumor doesn’t deserve that much flack for what she did. Honestly, I thought we’d both have to be carted to the casino in pieces, trying to ask folks to forgive us,” Mugman pointed out, closing the door. The kettle started shrieking, and the brothers rushed back to the kitchen.
“I know, I know,” assured Cuphead, sipping more coffee. “But I wish she’d actually, you know, own up to stuff, instead of just building things on the house for everyone, pun not intended.” Mugman shrugged, dropping the metal tea strainer into his head. “We’ve never expected anyone else to just up and apologize. If there’s anything that I’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that actions speak louder than words.”
The brothers heard the front door opening, followed by the telltale clanking movements of their grandad. “Boys, are you still here?” called Elder Kettle from the foyer. “You’d better not still be in bed…”
“Yeah, we’re in the kitchen,” Cuphead called back. Elder Kettle entered the room bearing an earthenware dish of some kind, and the brothers cringed as loud creaks accompanied his next few steps. “You want me to get the oil?” asked Cuphead. “Oh, don’t you worry about me,” the kettle assured him. “If there’s a bit of rust to trifle with, I dare say I can handle it myself.”
“What’s in that dish?” asked Mugman as Elder Kettle set it down on the table. “It smells delicious!”
“Oh, that? Well, the boys over at the farm finally got everything wired up, including a brand new gas oven! They’re still a bit apprehensive about using… well, what’s around them for culinary purposes, but apparently Moe is quite the cook!”
“Moe?” questioned Cuphead, almost choking on his coffee. “I’d think Weepy’d be better suited for that kinda… homebody stuff.”
“Oh, no, in their words, Moe just couldn’t restrain himself! It used to be a hobby for him before, well, the contract, and he didn’t take into account just how much he’d missed it,” Elder Kettle explained with a smile. Mugman carefully peeled back the aluminum foil covering the dish, further releasing the warm, savory aroma of whatever was sealed under it. “Ooh, it looks like… potatoes,” he said, confused. “Really?” asked Cuphead, lightly pushing his brother aside. “Wow, didn’t think he’d move past that taboo so quick,” he admitted. “But gee, I ain’t complaining. This looks like a damn good casserole!”
“Cuphead…” Elder Kettle warned. “You’ve been hanging around… well, someone too much, that much I know,” he finished hastily, finding too many acquaintances with undesirable language habits to blame just one.
“Hey, at least we’re not gambling anymore! Not for real, anyway,” Mugman pointed out, adding the last bit upon some reflection. They played no-stakes card games all the time lately, putting in dares and questions rather than coins. Elder Kettle sighed and smiled. “Yes, I suppose that’s a trifle worse than throwing uncouth words about,” he admitted. “But if you’re going to cuss around, I suggest you do it while I’m out of earshot.”
Cuphead rolled his eyes. “All right, we’ll go outside. S’not like we were gonna sit around doin’ jack all day, anyway.”
“Yeah, what’s the fun in that?” asked Mugman rhetorically, fishing the strainer out of his head, having been sufficiently caffeinated for the day. “You’ll save that casserole though, right?”
“Well, it’ll be reserved for any lucky fellows who make it back before dark,” replied Elder Kettle wryly. “Afterwards, I’d say it’s open season.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be back in time,” Cuphead reassured him. “You can count on us. C’mon, Mugs!” Mugman grinned and joined his brother in bounding out the door into the Isle. Elder Kettle smiled after them, then winced as the rust under his mustache scraped at his mouth. He took out the oil can under the sink and rubbed at the offending coating, taking off an unfortunate amount of the metal itself in the process. It was getting to spring, and the weather was getting damper, but he’d never rusted over so terribly in his entire tenure as a kettle. The old man sighed, knowing the reason but not willing to admit it to himself. But he had to sooner or later, or he would be forced to admit it to his grandchildren. “I’m lucky they even still think of me that way,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup of tea. He shook himself out of his funk vigorously, knowing there was nothing to gain in feeling sorry for himself. He’d get his dues soon enough, and at the rate he was rusting, karma would find him sooner than expected.
—-
“What’re we gonna do today?” asked Mugman to his brother. “I dunno!” chirped Cuphead back. “Let’s just go around, see if anyone’s up for a game or somethin’.”
“I reckon not; everyone’s gonna be busy today, it’s almost the rainy season,” Mugman pointed out. As they walked along they were distracted by a small commotion over at the farm, nothing bad but it was something. Cuphead shielded the sun from his eyes with his hand. “Gosh, is that Psycarrot?” he asked. Mugman followed his gaze and mirrored his brother’s intrigued expression. They walked over to meet their acquaintance, who was talking with Weepy at the front gate. He was sporting a fitted tan suit jacket and a newsboy cap of the same color, and wore a polished-looking overstuffed backpack. It seemed he was set to travel somewhere.
“You’re sure you have everything? I could mail whatever you need, but –”
“I’ve got everything,” Psycarrot cut him off, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to pack light anyway, and you’ve already made me stuff every square inch of space in this thing with stuff I’ll never use.”
“Well, you always talk about the importance of foresight, so I figured you’d want to be prepared!”
“Yeah, I got the foresight to know I’ve got all I need –”
“Where are you going?” Cuphead interrupted. The two took notice of the brothers. Psycarrot straightened up and adjusted his cap. “I’m off to the city! About time, too. I’ve been mailing Kahl the past month or so, and finally pestered him into showing me the ropes of science, machines, that kinda thing.”
“Wow! Seems like you’ll be gone awhile, too,” added Mugman. The tall man’s smile faltered a bit. “Yeah… it’ll be, ah, something of an experience, you know? I’ll write and whatnot, just come by here every now and again.” He awkwardly pulled a cracked pocketwatch from his jacket. “Right, I gotta go. If I stay here any longer, you twerps could just change my mind. Always pointing out the tough things. Be seeing you, or hearing from you, I suppose!” he called in farewell as he walked off towards the next Isle. The three waved back in response, and Weepy put his handkerchief to good use. “God, why does he have to act so aloof about all this…” he murmured. “I know he’s through with this place, but he could act like he’ll miss us just a little!”
“Through with this place?” Mugman repeated. “Gee, he sure seemed ready to die on a hill for the farm ‘til now.”
“Ha, yes, that would be circumstances at work,” explained Weepy, wiping at his eyes. “We’ve tended to this land for years and years, and that always seemed like the only thing we’d ever do. But when Moe and I were losing any drive to go on, figuring nothing would change, Psycarrot swore he’d get us out of here one day. So yes, he was prepared to ‘die on a hill’, as you put it, if such an act would result in our crops turning a better profit. And he never faltered, never stopped protecting our livelihood, but over time he did end up forgetting why.” The brothers nodded solemnly, knowing what he was referring to. The pudgy man noticed their long faces and cleared his throat, straightening up. “But, now he’s finally off! This place was never for him, anyway.”
“Yeah, he sure looks the part,” Cuphead pointed out. “Never seen ‘im so put together.”
“Oh, that’s all my work,” Weepy chuckled awkwardly. “I wasn’t about to let him go without proper attire, at least as proper as we can afford. He resisted, naturally, with such biting remarks as ‘I’m not planning on being a lawyer anytime soon,’ and we had to compromise with just a jacket, and of course the hat. His hair is dishevelled as usual under there. Just... does not give a modicum of regard to style,” he huffed. The brothers held back smirks. If there was one thing that brought out an uncharacteristic conviction in Weepy, etiquette and style were in a constant battle for the top pedestal. “So, who’s in charge of the farm now?” asked Cuphead.
“I am,” said Moe, entering the conversation from around the gate. “Weepy’s got his own passions on the brain.” The other man flushed. “It’s just a hobby…” he muttered.
“What is?” the brothers asked. “He goes over to Berg’s observatory every so often. Likes to watch the stars,” Moe answered. “They’re… fascinating…” Weepy trailed off, wringing his hands nervously. Moe smiled good-naturedly. He’d been smiling a lot more lately. “Hey, everyone needs a hobby. Yours is just kinda… outta left field. It’s funny.”
“Well, so’s yours,” Mugman returned coyly. “I didn’t take you for a chef!” Now it was Moe’s turn to avert his gaze and rub at his neck embarrassedly. “Jee-eez, is the whole Isle gonna know by the end of the day?” he grumbled.
“Considering we gave a casserole to that nice policeman for Ms. Honeybottoms, I think that’s pretty likely,” Weepy replied sheepishly. Moe groaned, then shrugged. “Eh, fine. So I cook, what about it? That lady needs something to let ‘er know she’s doin’ things right.”
“I hope I’ve made myself one of those somethings,” Mugman added. “That cop was in the neighborhood to give me her late apologies.”
“Oh, good. That moment still keeps me up at night,” Weepy admitted. “I hope you and her can be on the same page one day.”
“Well, I don’t like to stay hung up about it. And I’m sure she can’t afford to either, with all the folks she’s been helping. I’m not all that important,” Mugman shrugged. A yawning gap opened up in the conversation, and Cuphead decided that they should move along. “I’m sure we’re keepin’ you from some kinda work,” he said. “We’re gonna keep toolin’ around the Isle, see if there’s anything we can get up to.”
“Yeah!” said Mugman. “Maybe see if we can slip some drinks down at the clip joint.” Worry and disapproval colored Weepy’s face. “Promise me you’re joking,” he pleaded.
“Of course they are, pally. They’re more responsible than that,” Moe assured him, casting a hidden smirk to the brothers. “Have fun, ya dips.”
“Will do,” assured Cuphead, smiling back. The brothers took off towards the clip joint, stopping at the sight of its recently appointed new owner leaning against a tree, as if waiting for something. “Morning, mister Goopy,” Mugman greeted the big man. He noticed them and grinned his usual grin, the one that had no setting besides aggressively smug. “Hey, kiddos. It’s been what, two months? I tell ya, ya gotta drop the mister. Makes me sound old. I already broke my back tryin’ to find a set a’ duds that flattered me for the job,” he pointed out, gesturing to the deep blue single-breasted suit and red bowtie he’d since added to his wardrobe. “An’ trainin’ the kids too… seems like the world wants to make me feel like a has-been all of a sudden.”
“You’re still fighting, aren’t you?” Cuphead asked. Goopy grinned. “Oh, yeah, absolutely. I’ll quit when I’m dead. S’just… I ain’t been doin’ so well lately. Maybe time’s finally catchin’ up with me, maybe I’m still gettin’ used to bein’… back, y’know…”
“Maybe you’re finally realizing how your ego blinds you to your mediocrity.” The three turned towards the new voice, though it was so distinct they could only expect to see one person behind it.
“Hey, Carnation,” Goopy greeted lazily, putting out his now white-gloved hand. “Nice t’ see ya in… good spirits?”
Cagney waited a few seconds before accepting his handshake. He hadn’t changed much over the months past, on the surface anyway. He had brought with him a small wagon carrying individually potted flowers, a large accessory that had become somewhat synonymous with his presence. They were all from areas that Goopy frequented enough to ask their removal, and rather than simply relocating them to his garden Cagney instead went around to others in the Isle, finding the flowers a much more drastic yet rewarding change in scenery in the care of others.
“Hesitantly so,” he replied to Goopy’s introduction. “I find it… irritatingly baffling that such an uproar arose from your specific aversion to flora, and yet I received a message from you requesting the exact opposite.”
“I’ll say. I thought you weren’t gonna show,” admitted Goopy. “Well blame, if you dare, the flowers. It was difficult to convince any of them that you would be any form of a desirable caretaker, let alone a companion,” Cagney explained through his teeth, tapping his foot as if trying to keep the beat with an improv jazz solo. “I don’t just give them out willy-nilly to any bloke or broad that asks, you know.”
“Yeah, I get it, flowers’re people too an’ all that.” Something resembling concern flashed past Goopy’s face as he watched Cagney’s eyebrows twitch up, like they usually did when he was angry or fed up with someone. “That didn’t sound great,” he amended hastily. “It sounded, um… like I don’t care about this stuff.”
Cagney sighed and turned to his wagon. “Well, at least you’re beginning to take notice of it. I suppose I owe Hilda for that. And you know, we all have a lot to learn, all got to watch ourselves.” He took out a pot about half the size of his head, which contained a light purple flower. “This is he. I’ll leave him to make a name for himself, carry out introductions, but it’s my end to exposit how he must be cared for.”
Goopy eyed the flower with a mix of interest and amusement. “It’s got the same shape that, y’know, you did…” he observed. “In the petals.”
“Yes, surprisingly good observation, he is a carnation,” Cagney explained. “Young, and by that I mean he was planted very recently. Carnations are full-sun flowers, they must not be placed in an overabundance of shade. Water, but don’t overwater, make sure the soil isn’t too thick, and please take him outside in the spring. Pollination is very important, if you want to keep having flowers in that pot.”
“That all?”
“Well, listen to him, I suppose. There sometimes isn’t any way of knowing if something is wrong without asking,” Cagney said. “I’d think that’s a given, but I certainly understand if you need to be reminded of it.” Before Goopy could tack on a retort to that, the gardener thrust a scrap of paper into his hand. “If you zoned out during any of that, here’s the instructions. Here’s the flower…” he handed over the flower, “… and I may not be all-seeing or ever-reaching, but I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, despite the fact that per our agreement, the grounds around your joint are devoid of flora. Therefore –“
“I won’t hurt ‘im,” Goopy assured him. “If I hurt ‘im, you can bloody me up however you like. Hell, kill me. I’m just… tryin’ to work things out, you know, an’ your flowers are actually real nice company,” he admitted. Cagney’s expression finally softened a bit, and he averted his eyes. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “Things are moving fast, now that everyone’s getting out more, and we’re all trying to work things out, like I said, and like you said. It’s… things are…” he rambled, unwilling to put his feelings into words for who had until a couple months ago been his mortal enemy. “Anyway,” he finally said, cutting himself off. “Just take care of him. I know you’re busy, running a bar and training those kids and all, but know that you’re on thin ice. And always will be,” he added, looking Goopy in the eye. Before the boxer could respond, the gardener took up the handle of his wagon and started in the direction of the second Isle.
“Yeah, good day t’ you, too,” Goopy muttered. “That sounded real ominous,” observed the flower he’d been given. Goopy flinched a bit at his words. “Ha, gee, lookit me, forgettin’ you fellas can talk,” he said sheepishly. “Guess I’d better find a place for ya.”
“We oughtta be on our way, too,” asserted Cuphead. “Seems there isn’t much to do around this Isle,” Mugman added.
“Ain’t that the truth. Wish ya could could train with Ribby an’ Croaks, it’s still hard fer me t’ go easy on ‘em,” Goopy suggested. “Well, we wouldn’t be much help,” pointed out Mugman. “If we were their sparring partners, they’d have to go easy on us.”
“Yeah. May’ve fought our way to the Devil, but there ain’t much we can take at the end of the day,” chuckled Cuphead. “Only reason we survived was ‘cause the Devil wanted to jimmy his bet with Dice.” Suddenly Mugman snapped his fingers in realization. “That’s it! I know what we can do today!”
“What?”
“We can play our usual type of game, the kind we play so Elder Kettle doesn’t get mad at us for gambling… but we play it with Dice.”
“Ooh, I like that,” Cuphead agreed. “There’s plenty ‘a stuff I know he wouldn’t tell us on his deathbed, but if we make it a chance thing… he’s sure to go for it!”
“Well, good luck with that, kiddos. Be seein’ ya; I got a bar t’ run an’ a flower t’ look after,” Goopy said, lumbering back towards the bar on the water. He’d really cleaned up the place since taking over management, but that still didn’t break the shared habit of referring to it as a clip joint.
---
In their new quest to find King Dice in the third Isle, the brothers managed to catch up with Cagney just as he crossing the bridge to the Isle in between.
“Hi, mister Cagney!” greeted Cuphead. He glanced over to them, his expression still tense but in the process of relaxing. “Oh, hello,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t address you back there, but you know… I had business to handle.”
“That’s okay,” assured Mugman. “So what’re you going to the carnival for?”
“I’m not going to the carnival, just through it,” he explained. “I passed a flower onto Wally a few weeks ago, and I’m dropping by to check on it. And him, for that matter. He worries me sometimes.”
“You, worried about someone?” asked Cuphead incredulously. Cagney rolled his eyes. “I’m not made of stone, you know. Of all the folks I’ve given flowers to, he’s the one who’s needed it the most. He has friends, and he’s working for the fair again, but he was missing something. I’m certainly not the person to disclose what that something is, but I imagine it’s fairly obvious… especially to you boys,” he added. The brothers nodded. They knew they had nothing to do with Wally’s loss, but they couldn’t help feeling guilty about it.
“So are you boys just going to follow me around all day?” asked Cagney, clearly holding irritation out of his voice. “I’m not all that exciting.”
“Oh, no, we’re gonna try an’ get Dice to talk about himself!” Cuphead proudly asserted. Cagney raised an eyebrow. “I wish I understood why you pester that good-for-nothing sleazebag so much,” he said, before thinking a moment. “Well, I don’t, but… it doesn’t sound all that rewarding.”
“Wouldn’t you wanna know how Dice got to working for the Devil?” asked Mugman.
“How long he worked for the Devil?” Cuphead added. Cagney stared, nonplussed.
“...Yeah, I don’t think so. Honestly, I’d just leave the stiff alone. He doesn’t deserve the attention, anyway,” he scoffed. “In any case, be careful. It’d be a real downer if you fixed everything only to get snuffed by a bitter enemy months after the fact.”
“Golly, never thought I’d hear you say it like that,” murmured Mugman.
“Say what?”
“That we fixed everything.”
The gardener looked from Mugman to his brother, with an expression they couldn’t place. He tugged at his shirt collar awkwardly. “Well, things aren’t exactly hunky-dory, don’t get that idea in your hollow little heads. I’ve found a few fellows who aren’t complete self-important twits, and everyone seems to be mending fences, hell, even I am. But s’not like everyone got off scot-free, just… I’m not past everything, you know.” No one spoke for some seconds, and Cagney swiftly filled the silence again. “But hey, not like I’m complaining or anything. For being in a way I’ve despised for so long, having to get used to myself after so much time… it’s not half bad,” he finished, finally giving in to a smile. Then he cleared his throat, the expression gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Well, I’ve got places to go, people to see, and I reckon you boys do too.”
The three abruptly parted ways as they entered the carnival, Cagney heading off to Wally’s while the brothers started towards the bridge to the third Isle.
“Hey, fellas! Where d’ya think you’re goin’?!” The brother turned to see Beppi striding over to meet them, in what appeared to be a completely different outfit from his usual look. “The third Isle,” answered Cuphead. “We’re gonna pester mister King Dice.”
“Golly, if I weren’t workin’, I’d come right along. That sounds like a real laugh! Let me know how it goes,” he requested, grinning. “That a new outfit?” asked Mugman. Beppi looked over his clothes as if for the first time and struck a pose. “Ya like it? I figured it was time to shake things up. Can’t do much when your face is perma-red and blue, y’know,” he explained proudly. “Also, my hair finally started growin’ back. Funny how fast you can forget your own hair color!” he remarked, gesturing to the wavy tufts of reddish hair on either side of his head.
“Gee, it suits you nicely,” chuckled Cuphead. “You changing your act to match?”
“Well, I thought maybe I’d learn a few new things, but I don’t wanna rain on anyone else’s parade. Anything with fire’s off the table, for example, since Grim started easin’ back into his usual shtick,” he pointed out. “Oh, is he gonna have a show soon?” asked Mugman excitedly. Beppi nodded with equal enthusiasm. “Yeah, yeah, in about a week or so. He’s actually gonna do some kinda combined thing with Wally, they’ve been trainin’ for weeks. Trust me, when it’s comin’ up, you’ll know it. There ain’t enough ink in the Isle for all the posters we’re gonna make.”
“So you guys aren’t… bitter rivals anymore?” asked Cuphead. “Oh, we sure are, that’s part ‘a the fun,” Beppi assured him with mock-seriousness. “But, y’know, we ain’t gonna sell our souls for the sake ‘a bein’ better, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
“No, no, I wasn’t getting at anything, but that’s nice to know, I guess,” Cuphead said with a shrug. Beppi snickered and clapped the cup on the back. “Hey, lighten up, kid. It’s been a real pain to get the fair back up to its former glory, but we’re gettin’ there! Certainly helps that no one hates anyone’s guts anymore,” he added. “And that’s ‘cause of you! So don’t you worry your shiny heads about any ‘a our problems. The fair’s here for you to enjoy… so enjoy it!”
“And we do,” Mugman chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear!” Beppi exclaimed, snapping his fingers in agreement. “Right, I won’t hold ya hostage or nothin’. You go on along and bug the everloving hell outta that doofy manager! But, ah, one more thing.” He leaned in, the brothers following suit. “Ya know how Sally an’ I share a passion for the drama-comedy-type stuff?” The brothers nodded. “Well, in a couple ‘a nights, me an’ her are gonna put on a show for the first time, together at last!” he announced excitably.
“Hot dog! That sounds like a hot mess of a show if I ever heard one. In the best way, of course,” Cuphead remarked. Beppi giggled. “Oh, it is. It’s gonna be a disaster! An’ I don’t wanna sound desperate or nothin’, but it’d be just peachy if you boys could drop in on opening night,” he requested gleefully. “I’ll even get you in for free if you’re the stingy type.”
“Hell, I’ll go there every night, an’ pay for every showing!” Cuphead assured him. The clown laughed loud. “Gee, you’re sellin’ me on my own show more than I’m sellin’ it to you! Hey, ya wanna show up every night, be my guest. I just think it’ll be a great time, an’ you know, everyone’s still pretty squeamish ‘bout tryin’ new stuff. Add me to that list, is what I’m sayin’,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. Mugman chuckled, finally understanding. “We’ll be there, Beppi,” he said. “As much as you want us.”
“Heh, thanks, kids. Anyway, have fun with mister Dicey over in Isle three,” said Beppi with a goofy wink. The brothers laughed. “Oh, we, will,” assured Cuphead. “Don’t you worry.”
---
Cuphead and Mugman were still surprised that there had been anyone willing to take in Dice after his inexplicable mercy towards the brothers left him officially unemployed. The debtors voiced more hate towards him than they did for even the Devil. Maybe it was because he was more the Devil to many of them than the man himself. While a few of their stories were devoid of the Devil’s physical presence entirely, everyone could profess to King Dice seeking them out at one point or another, and grinding them down until they could see nothing but their faults, problems and unreachable desires. In any case, he’d been tolerated and ground down in kind by Werner for the past few months, an act the other debtors knew they’d never be able to keep up themselves.
Cuphead rapped on the door, which was opened by an eternally bleary-eyed Werner. “You are here to see Dice, I am guessing,” he started. Cuphead nodded. “Vell, I am not here to stop you. Zough it is lucky zat you come at zis time; sometimes he leaves for an hour or so, sits by ze railroad tracks and stares into zat blasted cave like his head is empty,” he rambled, letting them in. The brothers wish they could be surprised at that tidbit, but it didn’t sound out of place to them in the slightest. “Didja get any messages from Cala an’ Brineybeard?” asked Mugman excitedly. Werner shook his head. “Zey vent far out into ze Atlantic, ah, perhaps a veek ago. Any message zey send vill not reach my radio for some hours,” he shrugged. “I can try to reach you by telephone if I hear anyzing…”
“No, no, you don’t have to go through all that trouble,” Mugman denied adamantly. “I’ll just try and drop by more often.”
“Where’s he at?” asked Cuphead. Werner hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “In ze back. Since I have tried to stop smoking, I cannot stand his smoke in ze house. He finds zings to do out there; since ze gardener came by and began fixing ze yard, Dice does, ah, maintenance, sometimes… zough he vill not admit he does,” he added, cracking a bit of a smirk. “I vill let him zink it is his secret. It is not as if I afford him leevay in ozer regards.”
“Great; you got a deck of cards?” asked Cuphead. Werner gestured to the coffee table. “Zere. Do vat you like, just do not… you know, fold zem to ruin. But I hope I am right in zinking you are more mature zan zat.”
“You can count on us, mister Werman,” Mugman assured him, scooping up the deck from the table. “Thanks millions!”
The brothers went outside, already hearing slow melodious humming through the screen door. They knew they were going to give the former manager a bit of a scare, but at the same time neither of them really minded.
“Hey, mister Dice!” Cuphead greeted loudly. The tall man jumped, dropping a pair of garden clippers. He kicked them under the bush in front of him and turned to face them in one smooth motion. He’d finally forsaken tailcoats, it seemed, and was instead sporting a lavender button-down without even a vest or tie. But despite that, and his hair visibly beginning to break through whatever he’d wrestled it into place with, King Dice still looked as dapper as ever.
“Hello, boys,” he greeted, guarding his expression. “Come to try an’ weasel a sob story outta me again?”
“Not exactly,” answered Cuphead vaguely. “This time, we’ll make it even.” Mugman took the deck of cards from behind his back. “See, Elder Kettle won’t let us gamble anymore. So instead, when we play cards, we bet questions. You know, say someone’s gotta answer something if they lose. So we’ll ask you stuff, but you can ask us stuff all you want to. But whatever the question, you’ve gotta answer,” he explained. Dice stroked his chin thoughtfully, searching their faces for any signs of ridicule. Then his expression spread into his usual smile. “All right, all right. I got the idea. But just so you know boys… when you manage a casino, you learn to watch out for certain things. Like card counting, for instance,” he warned, eyeing them suspiciously. “Hey, we’ve got no sleeves to hide stuff in,” Cuphead pointed out jokingly. “This’ll be fair an’ square.”
“All right, then.” They sat down in the middle of the garden, Dice making a point of sitting on a rock rather than the ground. “Five card draw,” Cuphead announced, dealing out the cards. “I hope we all know the rules.”
“Don’t patronize me, cupface.” They took their hands and looked them over for a moment or two. “Okay, place your bets,” said Cuphead. Mugman nodded. “I bet… if I win, Dice has gotta say how long he’s been working for the Devil,” he proposed. Cuphead smiled. “I’ll raise you on that. If I win, he’s gotta tell us how he got to working for the Devil.”
Dice narrowed his eyes at his hand, then grinned. “All right. If I win this round, you boys have got to tell me if you’ve ever gone snoopin’ around where the casino used to be.” The brothers exchanged glances, trying not to inadvertently give him a silent answer to that question anyway. “All right, call,” said Cuphead. “No switching out cards.” The three lay out their hands.
“Yes!” cheered Cuphead. “Two-pair, kings and queens. Cough up, Dice.” King Dice rolled his eyes, and thought for a moment. Then he took a cigarette from his pocket. Lit it. Took a drag. “Come on,” Cuphead heckled.
“Jeez, didn’t your ‘grandad’ ever teach you boys patience?” Dice asked, annoyed. “Okay. Things were bad when I was a little brat like you. There weren’t no jobs, none that paid anyway, and there wasn’t a place I could call home. My folks kicked the bucket early on, an’ the Devil found me at my lowest. He wasn’t a father figure or nothin’, but he taught me business and respect. Trained me ‘til I was grown, an’ then he fancied me ready to have my soul ripped out for good. There. Answered your silly little question.”
“How long ago were you that young?” asked Cuphead incredulously. Dice furrowed his brow. “Well, boy, that’s another question,” he countered, grinning slyly. “Next round, kid.” The cards were re-dealt. “Okay, bets. Mine’s the same as before, but this time I want more detail,” Cuphead demanded, irritated. “Uh, I’ve been wondering this for a while, but what happened to those other guys we had to fight to get to you?” asked Mugman. “They weren’t around when we came back later on…”
“Mugs, that’s a stupid question!” Cuphead groaned. “So’s yours,” Dice pointed out. “I wanna know how things are with your ‘pops’. They can’t be picture perfect, eh?” Again the brothers fought to keep their expressions under control. “Call,” said Cuphead. Again they revealed their hands. “Ha, full house!” exclaimed Mugman. “An’ it beats Dice’s by highest card!”
“Okay, okay, I’d rather answer this one,” Dice mused, taking another drag. “Those stiffs are burning in Hell.”
“What?” asked Mugman. “But if you’re back here –”
“Use your brain, if you’ve even got one. First, I lost a bet. I think that’s pretty clear. Devil was also none too pleased I lost to you dips, so I was just thrown outta the fold. Worse punishment, really. Second, those folks had been dead an’ gone for a long time. If your soul gets sold to ‘im completely, you ain’t even a person anymore. They got lucky, if anything, gettin’ used for work. They don’t got much of themselves left, but it’s better to be stuck in a random body workin’ at a casino than subjected to whatever Hell’s got worming around under its skin, and if there’s anything they knew, it was that.” The brothers shuddered at the thought. “Oh, yeah, shudder away. It woulda happened to your little debtor friends if ya didn’t turn their contracts to ash.” He tapped the ashes off the end of the cigarette. “Anyway. I haven’t thought about those dirtbags in months, not ‘til you brought it up anyhow. Hell, I’m glad they finally got what was comin’ to ‘em. Buncha mindless gassers, every one.”
“See? Not as stupid a question as you thought,” Mugman bragged. Cuphead rolled his eyes. “Well, now I’m just creeped out. Next round.”
The three ended up playing for the next few hours, each having to answer at one point or another. The brothers learned that the Devil had never thought much of King Dice, even though the latter had always advertised the exact opposite. Of course, it was a little ridiculous to imagine putting how worthless one was thought to be on display when trying to intimidate, but Cuphead for one was always under the impression that the Devil’s dismissive attitude towards his lackey after he was defeated was something of a rarity. Dice, on the other hand, learned comparatively frivolous things about his former foes, things like which debtors they still feared talking to, how they thought they’d get anywhere even after proclaiming they’d put the Isle back together, and what they might do if (and when, he added) the Devil did come back.
“Well, he’s not going to straight up drag us down to Hell,” Mugman pointed out. “If we’re just more proactive about helping people through their troubles so they don’t feel like the casino’s the only way, the Devil should just move on, right?”
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. The Devil likes playin’ the long game, he’s got patience to spare. You could block that cave up with rocks for centuries and he’ll still wait around until some joe comes along an’ shoves one of those boulders aside out of curiosity,” Dice refuted, grinning in spite of himself. It was clear he knew the Devil would never hire him back, but he wasn’t very good at hiding the deep-seated, grudging admiration he still harbored.
“Well, if that day comes while we’re still around, then we won’t stand for it,” answered Cuphead. “But once we’re gone, if it’s got to happen all over again… well, it’ll happen again,” he finished lamely.
“It’s a real treat, y’know, seein’ you so dissatisfied with your own words,” Dice remarked, amused. “But you’re right. You don’t even have a picture-perfect ending now, it’s silly to think you ever will.”
“...One more round,” said Cuphead quietly, dealing the cards for the last time that evening. “And I wanna know… why you saved us, after we rejected the Devil’s offer.”
“...Me too,” said Mugman. Dice quirked an eyebrow. “Well, that’s hardly fair. I’ll bet on you boys tellin’ me… what all happened down there, before I rescued your sorry behinds, if we’re all sharin’ the same event.”
“Fair enough. Call.” They laid out their hands, squinting hard at them for a few seconds. All their hands were junk, but while both Cuphead’s and Dice’s hands had an ace each, only Cuphead had a king to break the tie.
“Jeez, of all the damn questions you could ask…” he muttered. “All right. You boys don’t deserve to have things sugarcoated. I wasn’t the one who rescued you, not really.”
“What?” the brothers asked in unison. Dice nodded slowly. “After you’d been down there some time, your pals started pestering me, they knew I was tryin’ to get back into the Devil’s good graces. He’d left me with enough power to get a second chance, and of course I jumped right at it. But they’d have none of that. That puny gardener, that lily-livered crybaby, the clown, the fellow with the stupid hair… I’m sure they woulda snapped my neck if I didn’t save you. I didn’t think you’d get ‘em to care about you like that. Folks ain’t… supposed to change, ‘specially their type, the type who get so attached to themselves, what they ‘should’ be. I just… wasn’t expecting it,” he admitted, grinding his cigarette butt into the ground. “Yeah. I didn’t have a change of heart, if that’s what you were thinking. I was ready to leave you brats down there forever.”
The brothers stared through him, speechless. “...Would you still leave us down there now?” asked Mugman tentatively. King Dice shrugged. “Who knows? I ain’t no different than anyone else you pulled outta their personal hell: I’ve been thinking. You do a lot of that when you’ve got to change for real.” The former manager stood up, looking towards the sky. “Shouldn’t you boys be moseyin’ on home?” he asked. “Kids like you got curfews, am I right?”
“Yeah,” murmured Mugman. “C’mon, Cuphead.”
“Oh! Mugs! Can we take the new Express?” asked Cuphead excitedly. “I hear it runs to the second Isle now!”
“Sure,” said Mugman smiling, though half-heartedly. He needed to do some thinking himself.
---
“Allll aboard, folks! Where’re you stoppin’?” asked the Blind Specter, in high spirits. “There’s only one stop,” returned Cuphead. The ghost chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah… I know. Just excited to be back on the job, I guess.”
“Ha, yeah. Those mausoleums get pretty dull after a while, I reckon,” said Cuphead.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong… the Legendary Chalice, she’s been real good to us, but… yeah, you’re right,” the Specter admitted sheepishly. “I’d rather be anchored to a train than a dusty old building.” He leaned out the window. “All right, T-Bone, let’s get going!” he shouted. The train lurched forward, and the brothers quickly took their seats before they spilled on accident.
Cuphead pressed his face against the window, watching the city go by. “Golly, can you imagine how great it’ll be when all the tracks are down? Rumor’s really outdoing herself with how fast this has gotten off the ground…” he trailed off, noticing his brother staring out at the ocean on the other side of the car, likely not listening. “Hey,” said Cuphead, quickly sliding in next to his brother. “You’re not still thinkin’ about what Dice said, are you?”
“...Of course I am!” Mugman admitted. “It can’t be true, what he said… yeah, some of those debtors started softening up a bit, but I couldn’t… they wouldn’t like us so far as to –”
“Mugs, Mugs, slow your roll,” Cuphead chuckled. “It doesn’t matter what happened back there, what matters is how things are now. Nothing’s perfect, observation of the year right there, but it doesn’t have to be. Cagney’s moving on, the Root– er, you know, those guys are moving on, Grim and Wally are gonna have a spectacular show in a week or two, and Beppi’s probably gonna burn down the theater with Sally!” Mugman chuckled softly at that, and Cuphead smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “No one’s forgotten what’s happened, and that can’t be helped, but they aren’t staying in it, you know? And that’s working out just fine for them. I think we’ll be better off that way too.”
Mugman cracked a smile, which turned into an absolutely tickled grin. “...You know you sound just like me right now, right?” he giggled. Cuphead scoffed and pushed at his brother playfully. “Hey, it ain’t the time to act one way if you’ve gotta act another. And you seem like you really need… you right now,” he chuckled. Mugman smiled in return. “Well… it’s still good to have you around, just the way you’ve always been. Maybe we both need a bit of each other.”
“Well, that is called ‘being mature’, boys!” Cuphead said in an exaggerated impression of Elder Kettle’s voice. They both laughed, and in that moment it felt like everything was just as it was before, before going to the casino across the Isle had crossed either of their minds. Mugman let himself feel like that for a moment, but then perished the thought. A lot of things had happened since that time, and couldn’t be allowed to fester, but none of it, no matter how tough, was worth forgetting.
The End.