Chapter Text
Cuphead could admit that he had done a lot of stupid things in his life.
He had made a habit of running off into the great unknown without warning, chasing every opportunity for excitement. Bullfighting with an angry razorblade radish? Been there, done that. Took a dip in Quadratus’ pond to try and fish him out of the bottom? Countless times. Hopped on the Phantom Express and rode it to Ghost Town and back? At least once.
Hell, he even snuck into the big casino as a kid and made a deal with the Devil– and won! …well, he lost his soul at first, but then he won. He kicked the old guy's stupid, hairy butt and saved everyone in the isles (after kicking all of their butts, too, but it’s cool).
Really, there was no limit to the stupidity of the little cup, but he took pride in it. He refused to learn his lesson, because every time he screwed things up– every time– he somehow ended up back on top by day’s end. That was just who he was!
Besides, Mugman was becoming such a basketcase these days that Cuphead felt obligated to step up as the fun one. Otherwise, his bro might grow up to be a crazy cat lady or something. Or worse, he could start acting like that creep loser bowlboy.
Not on his watch.
So, yes, Cuphead had a long history of doing reckless, foolish things that put himself and others in peril…
But today, he thought, today might take the cake.
Because today, years after winning against the casino, he had made a show of drawing pentagrams across the whole third isle to mock the Devil. With each one he painted, he sang and danced about how he would send the tyrant home crying again and again if he dared to show his face. The locals had gathered to sing and dance alongside him, but Mugman was trying in vain to get him to stop.
Why would he? He had nothing to fear at this point but fear itself.
The isle was loud.
The people were jovial.
It was all so much fun…
…until the dancing cup had tripped over his ink bucket. Dark liquid poured into a nearby pentagram, seeping into the sidewalk as onlookers gasped. It flowed, and then trickled– then pulsed, strangely. It rolled into a ball and bounced once– twice, squelching and belching as the crowd looked on in silent anticipation.
Cuphead brought his fists up, lamenting the loss of his magic bullets. Mugman’s teeth chattered, eyes glassy from where he hid behind his brother. The ink flattened, and vibrated, and whistled louder and louder and louder–
And with a loud “pop!” and quiet “ding!”, there it stood. A strange little guy in a little suit who was only taller than Cuphead because of his tiny little horns. His pointy little horns that sat upon his head… which matched his pointy little tail that curled from beneath his belt…
Aw, shit.
“Demon!” someone cried, and a cacophony of shrill screams echoed throughout the streets. The crowd scattered and ran (not unlike mice or roaches in an opened pantry), each one finding some ridiculous hiding place. Some ran into their houses, others packed themselves into cars, and a couple slinked into trashcans and sewer drains.
Cuphead and Mugman were the only ones left, beside the sudden arrival. On the back of his neck, the cup felt maybe hundreds of eyes watching him. Wondering what was going to happen next– wondering what doom he had brought upon them now.
Now, in the quiet of the seemingly empty street, they waited.
The little imp didn’t speak– he didn’t really do much of anything. In all honesty, he looked lost. Large, solid eyes– minus the tiny pie cuts– looked around frantically. First at the ground, then at the sky. A cream-colored glove came to scratch at the horns, both his face and tail twisting left and right.
“He looks really confused…” the mug whispered. “Is he new to this or somethin’?”
“Either that or he’s really slow,” his brother snickered quietly.
…or not so quietly, seeing how the spherical head of the guy swiveled directly at them. The eyes widened into sparkly, pie cut orbs, and with a “zip!” his body twisted itself around in suit. (Heh. In suit.)
Cuphead’s fists clenched tighter, his stance widening. The imp paused at this, but then slowly– almost hesitantly– his little bean shaped mouth widened into a full, toothy grin. In a blur, he waved his hand with so much force that his stout little body had to lean to compensate. Mugman yelped, and his knees tinked against the ground as his hands slapped his eyes shut.
“It’s castin’ a spell, Cuphead!” he cried, sending the onlookers into a hushed frenzy. “Do somethin’ quick!”
“Uh…” the cup fumbled, trying to discern the threat. Just like before, nothing… really happened. He glanced back at the little devil, taking in the squishiness of his face and the excited little bouncing of his heels. “I don’t think– hey. Hey, Mugsy, look. He’s just sayin’ hi.”
Mugman peeked open his eyes, audibly shivering. Cuphead lowered his fists, and the both of them just kinda… stared. It wasn’t long before a brash voice could be heard shouting, “The hell are you waitin’ for??”
“Kill it!” a nasally woman cried, spooking the imp into jumping his head clear off his shoulders. “Kill it!”
“Before it takes our souls!”
“Oh, brother–” the cup muttered, before turning on his heel with his fist in the air. “Would allaya shut ya traps and let me think!! I can’t strategize with all that racket!”
“Uh… Cuphead?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘strategize’,” another voice drawled. “Like ya got anything in that ugly mug o’ yours other than yer grandpappy’s giggle-juice.”
“The hell’d you say??” Cuphead hollered, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows. “Why doncha come down here and say that to my face!”
“Cuphead.”
“Why don’t you come up here and make me, booze-fer-brains!”
Oh, that does it.
“Yeah?? Watch me, mothafucka, cause here I–”
Just as he goes to take a step, the cup feels a strong pull on his handle, spinning his head in circles.
“Woah!” he yelps, vertigo forcing him onto his ass. His head screeches to a halt as he grabs at it, groaning from both nausea and the sticky feel of spilled moonshine all over him.
“CUPHEAD!” his brother shouts in his ear, rattling both of their straws.
“WHAT??” the cup shouts back. “Whaddaya want??”
“He’s gettin’ away!”
“Not yet, he ain’t!” he growls, pulling a rag out of his pocket and spitting in it. “I’m gonna show that prick a piece o’ my mind–”
“The demon, Cuphead!” Mugman groans. “The demon!”
“What about him?” he grumbles, crudely polishing the side of his head and wiping his hands clean… enough.
“The demon ran away, ya blockhead!”
That certainly catches his attention. The cup pauses, rag going limp in his hand as he looks towards the blotchy pentagram. The imp is gone, the only evidence that he was ever there being a trail of thick ink dragging southwards.
“The hell…?” he mutters.
“I was tryin’ to tell ya,” Mugman huffs, pointing a finger at the trail. “It turned into a weird slug thing and slithered down that way.”
“Since when do demons run away from a fight?” Cuphead asked, pushing himself onto his knees to reach his rag pocket. “I know they’re like dumb babies when they lose, but I’ve never known one to be a coward.”
“I dunno, Cup,” Mug sighs, offering a hand to his brother. After he pulls said cup back onto his feet, he adds, “but it looks like he’s headed towards Honeybottoms, so we better shake a leg and catch up or you’ll be in real trouble this time.”
“Oh, shit, yer right! We gotta move!”
With that, the two brothers take off; they don’t get very far before a gruff voice above shouts, “Look what ya did, ya porcelain pansy!! Now another demon’s loose in the isles, takin’ our souls!”
The cup comes to a screeching halt, and turns on his heel–
“WHY I OUGHTTA–!!!”
“CUPHEAD!!”
–only for Mugman to grab onto his handle and pull him back with a sharp tug. Cuphead yelps, grabbing onto either side of his head tightly so that his body doesn’t get left behind. His brother continues on, jostling the liquid in Cup’s head with the force of his jog, and the cup cedes with an aggravated shout of, “Alright, alright, alright!! I’m comin’, Mugsy, I get it! Jeez, I just cleaned that!”
Mugman takes a sharp turn at the end of the street– for good measure– before slowing to a stop and helping his brother get realigned. Once he’s good and righted, the cup strains to look at his twin and says, “Uh… ya mind lettin’ go?”
His response is an unimpressed grunt, and before he knows it his head goes spinning again. Really, the full tilt-a-whirl experience, barf in mouth included. When his head is slapped back into position, the cup sways hard enough to fall into a nearby brick wall and groans, “Dammit, Mugs, I hate it when ya do that…”
“Yeah?” Mugs quips. “Quit bein’ a twerp and I’ll quit treatin’ ya like one.”
“Buh,” Cup heaves. “Just shut up and find out where it went. I need a minute.”
The mug scoffs and returns to following the trail; after a few minutes of light retching onto the curb, his red-clad brother finally catches up. Off in the distance, the towering silhouette of Honeycomb Herald stands stark amongst the surrounding office buildings. Dozens of buzzing officers swarm around it, serving as a clear reminder of their diligence and loyalty to their queen.
“Tell me the imp avoided Honeybottoms’ block,” Cuphead begged, covering his eyes with his pointer and thumb.
“Okay,” Mugman replied. “The imp avoided Honeybottoms’ block.”
“Thanks, Mugsy. Now tell me the truth.”
“The trail ends right in front of her front door and the chief’s involved.”
The sound that left the cup is a long, tired one of deep regret. Reluctantly, his eyes open to see the chief of Honeycomb Security in the middle of the street, awkwardly sitting on his knees; his arms are coated in thick black ink, one of which is currently shoulder deep in a dark puddle as he buzzes with aggravation. To add onto Cups’ bad luck, five lower ranked officers form a barricade around Honeybottoms’ right hand man, stoic and on high alert.
“Fuck.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mugman muttered. “Now what?”
“We can’t let them find out what it is,” Cuphead says, pulling his brother into an alleyway before the bees spot them. “The whole hive will freak and blow this whole thing outta proportion.”
“Not to mention,” Mugs adds. “Kettle’s already gonna blow his lid when he hears from the townsfolk. Ya get a lifetime ban from Rumor Honeybottoms on top o’ that, yer head is gonna be locked in the cabinet fer months.”
“Agh, there’s gotta be some way to cheat all this!”
The blue-clad brother’s straw begins to stir in a rhythmic motion as he stews in thought. Really, the situation seemed hopeless for his brother. Furrowing his brows with a knuckle to his teeth, he hums, “I dunno, Cup. We already got witnesses, and now Honeycomb. Maybe you should just plead guilty and get it over with. They might show mercy.”
“I’d rather eat my own straw,” Cuphead snarked. “The only man I ever begged for forgiveness was the Devil himself, and I only did it to escape and get back at him later.”
“Don’t act like you knew about Kettle’s stash of potions. You were scared shitless that day.”
“Alright, whatever. The point is that it took the literal Devil to make me pray. I ain’t confessin’ over a misdemeanor.”
“A mis–” Mugman glared at his idiot twin. “You summoned a demon, Cuphead!”
“A cowardly one,” the idiot shrugged. “He ain’t done nothin’ yet, other than turn into a weird slug thing.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t do any damage. Some slugs are harmful for the environment. Maybe it’ll poison the water or something–”
“I got it!!” the chief cried, and both brothers poked their heads out of the alleyway to see. Now sitting upright in a sort of lunge, he had the melted form of the imp held in a tight bear hug. The creature flailed violently, flinging ink left and right as it made very strange noises– the kind a startled animal would make, but somehow worse.
“Fuckin’ hell,” the cup muttered. “Improv it is.”
“Wait, what?” Mugman asked.
He watched as his brother jumped out of the alleyway and jogged up to the scene at play, all with a wide smile on his face. Realizing what was about to happen, he sighed into his hand, “Aw, jeez, Cuphead… don’t do this…”
Picking up his pace, Cuphead shouted in joy with open arms, “Hey, you found him!”