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O’Hennessy’s bar and restaurant is packed on Saturdays. People sit shoulder to shoulder at the sticky bar and crowd into seats, trying to get as close to the stage as possible. The thick smoke of dozens of cigars permeates the air, creating a hazy curtain behind which to hide.
Mugman sits in a booth in the very corner of the restaurant, bumping elbows with his brother. He keeps his porcelain head low as people continue to shove their way into the packed building, fighting for space to sit.
His brother lounges against the wall, sipping a bottle of coke. It’s spiked with rum, Mugman knows, though his brother had tried to deny the fact. But Mugman has too much to worry about to deliver the ‘underage drinking’ lecture to his brother for the eleventh time.
He breathes shakily, a drop of sweat running down his face. He wipes it away and turns to his brother, speaking loud over the din. “There’s too many people!”
Cuphead shakes his head. “Naaah. We just gotta get the guy outta here.”
Mugman furrows his eyebrows, feeling his glasses press up between them. “How?”
“Hmmm. Good question.”
Mugman sighs, flopping against the wall. “Let’s come back tomorrow when everyone’s at church.”
“No! Not on Sunday!”
Mugman startles, peering at his brother through furrowed brows.
The red-strawed cup is tapping his fingers impatiently against the table. He isn’t looking at Mugman, but his cheeks are slowly staining red.
His brother had never been religious.
Not until he met the devil.
Mugman’s face softens. “Oh. Right. I forgot.”
“‘S fine. Listen,” he leans close, lowering his voice and gripping Mugman’s shoulder in his hand. “If we have to, I can shoot him right in front of all these people. With a crowd like this, who’d even know where it came from?”
Mugman bites his lip. “It’s too risky,” he mutters back. “With a crowd like this, there’s too many people who could see.”
Cuphead hums. “Okaaay.” He releases his brother’s shoulder and places his chin in his hand, trying to appear like he’s thinking about a solution.
A waitress approaches them, plucking Cuphead’s finished rum and coke off the surface of the table. Mugman can’t tell what animal she is, but she’s curvy and stout and has rosy red cheeks. “Can I get anything else for you boys? Another coke?”
“Yes puh-lease,” Cuphead answers jovially, batting his eyelashes in a way he thinks is charming.
Mugman gulps when her eyes turn to him, questioning. “No - no thanks, ma’am.”
Cuphead elbows him, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. Mugman elbows him back roughly. “M-maybe a coke, too?”
The waitress huffs out a short giggle and nods. “Alright then, I’ll be right back with those.”
Mugman sighs, closing his eyes.
“Oh! Look, look,” Cuphead yelps, jerking his head toward the bar.
There, washing his hands behind the bar, is Jack O’Hennessy, bar owner and body builder. Well known in the local community, the man stands at a clean six feet tall. He got successful winning strongman competitions and opened a bar when he realized he could charm or intimidate drunk people into forking over money. He wears brown slacks that match his brown hair and a dress shirt with the sleeves cut to fit his biceps, which appear to Mugman to be about the size of bowling balls.
But no biceps can beat bullets.
“You gotta distract the crowd, Mugs.”
Mugman blinks. “Wh - what? I can’t do that, you know I hate to be the center of attention,” he answers swiftly.
Cuphead groans, his head lolling back. “Would you rather bump off ol’ Jack Daniels?”
Mugman grits his teeth. He bounces his leg anxiously beneath the table. “Fine. I’ll distract,” He decides, shoving his brother out of the booth so he can climb out himself, rougher than strictly necessary. His brother lands on his butt on the ground, utterly unphased.
“Bastard,” Mugman mumbles under his breath, making sure it’s just loud enough for the bastard in question to hear.
Cuphead, still on the ground, wags his fingers in a lazy “see ya’ later.”
Mugman pushes his way through the crowd, feeling his palms begin to sweat as he tries to think of a plan.
He could knock over a serving tray - but that wouldn’t get everyone’s attention. Only people in the immediate area would even hear, considering how loud this place is, and it wouldn’t keep their attention for long.
Could he set a fire? No. Too dangerous, with too many possible innocent casualties. Not to mention, he can’t exactly warn Cuphead now. He needs something safer.
He plasters himself against the wall by the stage, trying to remove himself from the stifling presence of the crowd for a moment. He sucks in a breath that smells like cigars and looks out the window. The neon light from the bar’s sign paints the cobblestone in an appropriate red.
“What do you mean she isn’t coming?”
Mugman blinks at the gruff male voice behind him, and turns to look. Two people stand, partially obstructed by shadows, in the hallway between the main floor and backstage.
“Exactly what I said,” a waitress says, hands on her hips. “I just got a call, she said she ain’t coming. Somethin’ about Jack bein’ a creep,” she scoffs. “Like we didn’t know that already.”
The man - a waiter as well, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Someone has to entertain these schmucks before they get drunk enough to riot.”
Mugman’s eyes widen, and then drift to the stage. He gulps.
It would be the perfect distraction.
But the thought of getting on stage - he can feel his heart racing just thinking about it. And it might not be the best idea if everyone knew he was here on this particular night.
“And after we bought a costume for her and everything.”
Mugman perks up.
A costume.
That could work.
~ ~ ~
Cuphead picks himself up off the floor as his brother disappears into the crowd. He straightens the cuffs of his shirt and sets his eyes to the bar.
“Oh! Where’d your pal go?”
Cuphead blinks and the waitress from before is in front of him, holding two bottles of coke.
“Bathroom,” Cuphead says, plucking the drinks from her hands. “I’ll just take those.”
He slinks toward the bar, taking a seat just as a woman stumbles her way out of it. He scans the room for his brother, intent on giving him his coke, but the boy is nowhere to be seen. Cuphead furrows his brows for a moment, and then shrugs to himself.
More for him.
He idly sips his coke as he watches O’Hennessy bustle around behind the bar, idly wishing there was rum in this one too. He never drank enough to lose his wits but -
It helps.
The lights, already dim, lower even more. A waiter walks onto the stage and adjusts the microphone there. He clears his throat and starts to speak in a gruff voice. “There’s been a change of plans, ladies and gentlemen. Our entertainment tonight cancelled -”
There’s a chorus of groans throughout the crowd, and Cuphead feels frustrated with them, even though he hadn’t known there would be entertainment until just now. He boos with the crowd.
“BUT,” the waiter continues loudly, “lucky for you, we just got a volunteer. Singing for you tonight, here from the Inkwell Isles, is TALLULAH PICCOLO!”
Cuphead cheers along with the crowd. In his peripheral vision, O’Hennessy sets an elbow on the counter curiously.
The curtains draw back, and a woman in a knee length flapper dress is revealed. Around her head is a golden band with a golden feather sticking up proudly in the front. She’s sitting, almost nervously, on the black piano bench next to the pianist.
Cuphead’s jaw drops as the band begins playing.
“Mugman,” he mutters incredulously.
To anyone else, the outfit and makeup might conceal his identity, but Cuphead knows his brother and no amount of costuming could conceal his identity from him.
Cuphead clenches the coke bottle between his hands nervously. His brother’ll freeze, he just knows it. And, even if the jeering of the crowd would make a great distraction, it isn’t one he would wish for his brother.
Cuphead sucks in a breath as his brother does, anticipatory.
“Stars shining bright above me -”
Cuphead grins, releasing his breath as his brother begins to sing.
They used to play around on Elder Kettle’s piano. Mugman always hated that Cuphead was naturally gifted with it; no matter how much he practiced he could never match Cuphead’s skill. He’d been angry until Cuphead tried to sing Daisy Bell and realized he couldn’t carry a note.
They’d dueted for Elder Kettle a few times after that, Cuphead on the piano and Mugman singing the lyrics. But Cuphead hadn’t heard his brother sing for real in a long time.
Suddenly his hands itch to play a tune.
“Wow,” he hears beside him.
O’Hennessy is looking at the stage, eyes wide. His cheeks are red, like he’d just drank a gallon of beer. He laughs when he catches Cuphead looking, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, heh. Is - is a bit hot in here, or is it just her?”
Cuphead spares barely a moment to feel uncomfortable, and then plasters a grin on his face. “I hear ya.” His eyes fall to the untouched coke bottle on the counter, and an idea hits him head on.
He scoops the bottle off the counter, surreptitiously dumping a fourth of it on the floor beneath his stool. “Gal’s got some pipes, huh,” he says conversationally. He pulls a bottle of DIP out of his coat pocket and fills the coke bottle back up to the brim with it.
To anyone watching, his attention never left O’Hennessy.
“Some pipes - and some legs.”
Cuphead grits his teeth as he forces a grin, holding the coke bottle out in front of him. “Here bud. You look like you need a cool-down.”
O’Hennessy takes the drink, chuckling amicably. “Thanks. Not too often I get to drink at my own bar.”
“That’s too bad,” Cuphead says, watching eagerly as the man downs half the bottle in one go. His brother finishes his song onstage, and the crowd cheers. The music shifts to something more up-tempo, and Cuphead feels his foot tapping along to the music.
O’Hennessy smacks his lips, peering into the bottle with furrowed brows. “This tastes…off.”
Cuphead tilts his head. “Does it? I didn’t drink from that one.”
O’Hennessy shrugs. “Probably nothing.”
Cuphead finishes his own coke in two large gulps and turns his attention back to the stage. His brother is singing something swingy, and the crowd is really into it. Cuphead grins wide.
Three songs later, there’s a thump behind the bar.
A waitress screams and heads crane over the bar to see what happened. Cuphead looks at the stage until the music dies down and his brother stops singing.
O’Hennessy is on the ground, gurgling. His eyes are wild, and they widen when they meet Cuphead’s. He smiles, and winks. “Say hi to the devil for me, would’ja,” he says.
He slips through the people gathering around the bar and out the front door, where he waits until his brother appears. He’s back in his normal clothes, glasses slightly askew on his face.
“I didn’t hear-”
Cuphead grabs his brother by the shoulders. “That was amazin’! What was all that wafflin’ about stage fright?”
Mugman ‘humphs,’ pulling away and crossing his arms even as his face reddens. “Well, I - it was easier when I realized I could just pretend to be someone else. And I couldn’t exactly see anyone anyways,” he says, adjusting his glasses.
Cuphead nods, smirking. “You look good in a dress, dearest brother. Or should I say sister?”
Mugman shoves him into the wall, and Cuphead laughs. They begin walking casually away from the bar, ducking their heads as a pair of officers rush past them.
“But seriously,” Mugman says. “What happened? I didn’t hear any shots.”
Cuphead twiddles his thumbs. “Well. Turns out - I just put some DIP in a coke and gave it to ‘im.”
Mugman blinks. His face darkens as it dawns on him. “You mean. I didn’t have to do that. We didn’t need a distraction?”
Cuphead shrugs. “Hey, it all worked out.”
“I’m gonna strangle you.”
“I’m not-urk.”
The boys grapple for a moment before Cuphead manages to wrench himself away and run a few steps ahead. “Okay okay okay! But - did you at least have some fun?”
Mugman blinks. His lips quirk up in a hesitant smile. “I mean…”
Cuphead grins triumphantly. “Okay! So, tonight? I’d call it a success!”
Mugman shakes his head exasperatedly. “Alright. Let’s get home.”
Cuphead just smiles.