Chapter Text
Inkwell Isle, 1940. After the passing of Elder Kettle, the twins had to find a gig to get some cash, and fast.
The lights were dull, it was the end of the afternoon. The smell of wood and mud, the sound of birds chirping… It would go down with the familiar and nostalgic sweet taste of the classic Elder Kettle’s pancakes, as they liked to call it.
Cuphead was scribbling something at his desk, while smoking a cheap cigarette. Mugman was laying down on the sofa, reading the news.
Mugman sighed, hand on his forehead.
— The economy’s…
Cuphead cut him off, turning his head to Mugman with an exhausted voice.
— Bullshit, brother. Bullshit.
— How are we gonna get cash like that, Cuphead? We need to do this quick, so we don’t get evicted.
— Ugh!
Cuphead turned his head back, continuing scribbling whatever it was on the paper.
— I’m sorry to booze your head with all that stuff, but this is very important.
Mugman gestures at the newspaper and continues explaining.
— We need to find a quick and easy job. Like, i dunno, being bartenders, or, working at the mail. And you need to stop going to the park, or the pictures, or whatever, we don’t have the time for that right now. Just… Focus.
Silence echoes in the room. Mugman sighs, in defeat.
— …I’m sorry, I let the stress get ahead of me. Are you alright?
— Are you alright?
Mugman shakes his head.
— No, not at all. What about you?
Cuphead puts the cigarette on the ashtray.
— Man, I just wanted to… Do you remember the pancakes Elder Kettle used to make for us when we were kids?
— The… Pancakes?
— Do you remember that?
— Yes, of course I do.
— I wanted to eat that again, brother. It would make me feel just a little bit better.
— I suppose it would. Quite nostalgic, isn’t it?
Mugman chuckled. Cuphead giggled, lightly.
— I’m sorry if I was being harsh, Cuphead, I'm just…
— Desperate.
— ‘Xactly.
Mugman ponders.
— So, about the pancakes. I remember Elder Kettle used to have a recipe book right over…
Mugman scans around the room, and then pointed to one of the bookshelves.
— There.
Mugman walked to the bookshelves. Passing his finger through the dusty books.
— Philosophy, war, religion, ink? Why would there be a book about ink? I actually never checked this one out.
Cuphead calls him.
— Mugman, you’re taking too bloody long!
— Sorry! Hmm, here… There it is, recipes!
Mugman takes the book out of the bookshelf, walking to where Cuphead was sitting, and placing it on the desk. Cuphead, immediately, flips through the pages.
There were recipes for many dishes, and different types of pies and other desserts. Then, they find the pancakes they were searching for.
— That’s it!
Cuphead exclaimed.
— Let’s go to the kitchen, then.
— Losers go last!
— Hey!
They run to the kitchen, Cuphead going in first, oh, that boy could run. Mugman came later, book in hand.
— First… pant first step! You need to put baking powder, sugar, and salt into a large bowl!
— Ready!
— Then, you need to add milk, melted butter and an egg… Alright. Now, mix.
Cuphead mixed the bowl, as fast as he could.
— Not that fast, man! It’s gonna spill out!
— I ain’t too worried about it!
— You’re impossible.
— Okay, i’m good.
— Let me check.
He steps closer to Cuphead and the bowl.
— Could be better, but that’s alright.
— Hey, I'm definitely a master chef!
— Heat an oiled pan, not too much oil, please.
— Mhm…
Cuphead seems concentrated in measuring the oil. He wants to recreate the classic Elder Kettle’s pancakes, after all. He heats the stove and places the pan on it, dripping the dough he just made. Mugman finishes.
— Then, you need to wait three to five minutes and flip the pancakes. Wait again, and you’re done.
He closed the book, holding it in his right hand.
— That’s alright.
— You smell of cigarettes.
— Oh, don’t give me that. You smoke, too.
— I smoke less than you do. And I don't go around smelling bad. Plus, I thought you’d never smoke.
— Never smoke?
— I just had the idea. When we were kids, we hated the smell of cigarettes and such. It was awful when Elder Kettle smoked, but we never got the guts to tell him.
Cuphead chuckled.
— We’ve got no time to tell him anymore.
— Sigh.
— I wish I had told him that his pipe smelled like crap.
Mugman laughed.
— So, I thought you would never smoke!
— I wouldn’t. If it didn’t look so cool. Smoking on a bridge, seeming all intellectual and faking thinking about something intriguing so people see you as the mysterious man…
— Well, the difference is, I actually think when I smoke.
— Well, that’s an you thing. Faking is definitely more superior.
— Explain.
— Well, it’s funny. Remember when I was like seventeen and trying to get in the casino?
— Oh, of course. You were so adamant about that.
— I tried to put on a stache, cause i was so grown up. King Dice ruined my plan.
— Oh my god, KD was there? We don’t see him in decades!
— I know, right?
— God, he must be old and grumpy as ever.
— I know, right?! Remember when we, like, fought him?
The two laughed it out.
— Now that you’ve brought it up, I kind of miss the guy. He’s not on his gameshow gig either.
— Where could he have been?
— Cuphead, the pancakes.
— Oh, five minutes, right? Three, two, one…
Cuphead attempts to flip the pancakes, luckily, it was a success.
— Cuphead.
— Mugman?
— How long have we laughed together like that?
— I dunno. You’re usually sleeping cause’ you go out at night. And I'm usually having fun outside during the day.
— I… I see.
— Everything changed, man. Everything changed when he…
— Hey. It’s okay.
Mugman places a hand on Cuphead’s shoulder.
— That’s just regular, old life.
— Regular old life, eh?
Silence permeates the room, once again. Cuphead objects.
— If that’s just regular old life, as you say it is, why can’t we just accept time as it is and stop making these damn pancakes?
— …There’s nothing wrong about a memento. It was you that said it would make you feel better, right? And sincerely, me, too.
— I… I suppose, yes. It’s cause’, everything’s killing me, man, everything's killing me since he left.
Mugman gripped Cuphead’s shoulder tighter, trying to give him some reassurance.
— The pancakes are ready.
— Oh, yes, they are.
— Now, for his special touch. That isn’t in any of these old, dusty recipe books. His favorite syrup! Catch!
Cuphead catches the syrup bottle. He places the pancakes he made and divides it into two plates. Then, when he’s about to drip the syrup, Mugman holds the bottle, too.
— We’re doing it together.
Cuphead laughs, with a pang of emotion in his voice.
— Come on, man.
— You’re not alone in this. Remember that.
They put the syrup in the pancakes together. They put the bottle on the table, and spontaneously hug it out. They lean out, Cuphead agrees with his head.
— Let’s eat this!
He exclaimed, holding Mugman’s arms.
Some minutes later, they finished eating the pancakes, and were chatting at the desk.
— So, it’s been fun and all, but you wanna talk about the money stuff, right?
— Wait a little bit, I'm curious. I was observing you, and you were so focused on your paper. What were you writing?
— Oh, the paper? I wasn’t writing, actually.
— No?
— I was drawing. It’s silly, don’t worry much about it.
He gets the paper on the table and shows it to Mugman.
— There’s a little me, and a little you.
— Why are our heads… Cups?
— There was an animated cartoon I used to watch as a kid where the dishes were alive. It was so crazy I got inspired.
Cuphead chuckled.
— Dumb, isn’t it?
— Cuphead…
— What?
— I have an idea.