Chapter Text
The Inkwell Isles were covered by miles of dark and thundering clouds, moments away from drenching the citizens in soggy rain. People were frantically running inside stores and stranger’s houses and closing the windows. The streets were bare and quiet; even the forest critters had gone silent.
The house belonging to an old kettle was the only one with activity still continuing despite the coming weather. He was staking his garden to prevent his months of work from flying away and urging his goat indoors. He lived alone and didn’t have any friendly neighbors. He struggled to get his chores done day by day. “Get inside, ya darn goat!”
The goat continued to eat grass, not even lifting his head to make eye contact with the kettle. He snorted and ignored him.
Elder Kettle finished up tying down his plants and grabbed the goat by the butt and started shoving him into the house, “C’mon, Pitchfork!” It began to rain and it was raining hard. The wind was fighting the kettle and the goat, as if refusing them entry to the house. But the old man was persistent. He fought for ten minutes, guaranteeing Pitchfork would be safe and sound inside with him.
They were inches away from the door when Pitchfork stumbled over something and fell onto the ground. He grunted in annoyance and chewed on the grass.
“Seriously?” Elder Kettle sighed, rolling his eyes and looked to see what the goat could’ve possibly tripped over. What he was faced with was nowhere near what he was expecting. He assumed it was going to be a rock or a branch or some sort of debris brought by the storm. But he was way off.
He was face to face with a basket with two babies inside, with a note that seemed to have been formerly tucked in with their blanket, however ended up in the red cup’s mouth. “Oh, gosh!” He quickly opened up the door and brought both the babies and the goat inside and lit up the fireplace to get the two warmed up. He had no idea how long they’d been out there in the weather.
Elder Kettle gently removed the paper from the red cup’s mouth, which quickly aggravated the little guy. The baby started wailing which started a chain reaction of his blue brother bursting into tears. “No, no! Calm down! It’s okay!” He scooped up the two and rocked them as he read the note.
’Begging you to take care of my babies for me, their names are Cuphead (red) and Mugman (blue)
Sincerely….’
The corner of the page was drenched in baby drool and ripped off from the red baby.. Cuphead.. chewing on it. Seeing the sadness in Elder Kettle’s eyes only made him cry harder.
“Well.. Cuphead and Mugman..?” The kettle gave them an odd look. Why did someone want him of all people to take care of these two? Who even knew how much longer this old man had left?
He carried them across the home and to the kitchen, hoping he had something to settle them. The two were so small, they couldn’t have been more than a week old.
Elder Kettle searched the fridge and found nothing but orange juice and a couple of solid foods. He couldn’t go out in this kind of weather to get them food. They’d have to wait a while. Where could they even sleep? Certainly not with him!
He’d been retired from the military for a few years at this point, maybe the room he stored his weapons in could be transformed into a nursery.
In his chair, he snuggled with them as he listened to his radio for the weather reports. The twins were now wrapped in blankets. Mugman had stopped crying and calmed down, now trusting the stranger, but Cuphead was still fussing. “What? Do you not like the news? Do you want a different channel?” Elder Kettle switched through stations, but unfortunately most other channels had stopped their usual broadcast to report on the weather.
He finally found one that was still going through with its normal content and luckily it was a children’s show. He shushed Cuphead, “Try listening to this, please?” If this didn’t work, he had no idea how to calm to poor cup down. The kettle needed some peace desperately.
“We’re back with more Dirk Dangerous! Will he stop Safety Shirley from draining fun from the Careless Continent? Stay tuned to find out!”
Cuphead stopped crying almost as if on command and began to listen curiously as Mugman shoved his fist into his brother’s mouth. Elder Kettle sighed in relief and relaxed in his chair. Finally he could focus on his thoughts.
Who are their parents? Why did they leave them on his doorstep during a storm?
“Face it, Shirley! You’re no match for Dirk Dangerous! Let the townspeople have fun!”
How could a fragile old man take care of two newborns?
“They won’t be having fun if they’re all dead, Dirk!”
And they were cups too.. meaning they’re descendants of—
POW! You could hear sounds of punches and grunts and even a couple explosions as the characters on the radio fought. Cuphead listened to it all in complete awe and giggled. Mugman didn’t understand his brother’s excitement over such violence and just cuddled Elder Kettle closer.
Cuphead sat there mimicking the explosion noises and babbling along with the dialogue. He was so invested, despite barely knowing what was going on. He waved his arm at the radio and looked at Elder Kettle, “Duh Dagus!”
Elder Kettle held up Cuphead in his arms, “Can you say ‘Dirk Dangerous’?” Cuphead giggled while drooling all over his new caretaker’s hand, “Duh Dagus!”
Mugman crossed his arms. He could say it too! “Duh duuuuhhhg!” He stuck his tongue out at Cuphead.
Pitchfork also insisted he was able to say it. He made a sound that sounded closer to a sheep’s bleat over a goats’.
Elder Kettle chuckled and hugged the cups. “Maybe this won’t be so bad!”