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The ground is cold and damp beneath Dice’s tired body, the effort to move and curl up into a ball for warmth is too much a trial and so he lays there placidly, awaiting the embrace of death. He’s pretty sure that’s impossible for him but hey, a guy can hope. As he slips in and out of consciousness, wicked flames filling his vision one second and then to the large expanse of stars littering the sky another, he wonders if it’d be worse to end up in one of hell’s many circles. He knew all of the circles by heart of course, having to dump many souls down there after, ahem, paying their debts. None of them went willingly of course, which is why it was such a relief when two idiot children entered his fine establishment and meddled with the big boss.
Dice manages a pained smirk, his lips splitting and small drops of blood forming along the seams. It was funny, almost hilarious even, when those two boy’s had come with the unmistaken naivety and innocence that youth brought through the smoke filled lobby. All eyes were oblivious to their entrance, coughing and spluttering through the initial intake of smoke as they were, save him and his asshole co-worker who had rushed to his side to tell him of them. No wonder there was so much damn smoke in the casino. He’d set the boy’s up for a game and let them win the first few times. It was only after the tenth game, when he’d started throwing out baits and using extra cards that despite his excelled proficiency, he was still losing. He’d silently admit to himself, he was impressed.
Then the Devil had stepped in and all else had gone seemingly uphill from there. Dice’s life was made easier. Just keep an eye on the brats. Make sure they got the contracts and gave them to him. If they died? Make sure their souls went straight to hell. It was easy work. The duo had steadily made their way through debtors and collected all the contracts with a few cuts and bruises for the ride. By the time the two had crossed over onto the third isle though? Well that was when things started to unnerve him. Just how strong were these kids? That question was soon answered with the ensuing battle going in the boy’s favour and his beloved casino crumbling and setting alight. They had fooled everyone.
Dice opens a bruised eye, his vision swaying and colours shifting into each other, as he hears the soft tread of feet. His breathe, slow and ragged, puffs into the chill air as he surmises this is the end for him. He wouldn’t put it past someone to end him right here and now, for all the sins he’s committed these years and all the people he’s cheated. The Devil better have a goddamn suite waiting for him down there, or at least a chair. Lying face down in the dirt was rather uncomfortable.
Alas, he isn’t met with the sudden flash of pain that a knife would bring or the numbing crack to his skull. Instead, a quick gasp escapes the person’s mouth, followed by a light touch to his shoulder. He’s not sure what hurts more, the soft spoken “Dice? King Dice are you still there?” or the gentle shake of his shoulders because both actions are too sweet a sentiment for the likes of him. The strangers tone is familiar and filled to the brim with worry and caution. The insistent shake of his shoulders that beckons him to stay awake and stay here and not to give up. He doesn’t move. He can’t actually move anyways but plays dead so that this kind person will just snuff at his dead body and move on.
They don’t, obviously, because the world just loves to play tricks on him. His mind is swirling a little now, the once far away stars unnervingly close to him and the ground seeming to shrink away. He doesn’t hear the stranger call for someone, until another pair of feet come stampeding his way. The ground shaking, or so it seems, as the called person in question shouts with confusion “king dice!”. Oh boy, he definitely recognises that tone and suddenly it’s all too clear who is trying to help him and who is charging their way to his battered self.
He curses inwardly, swearing hatred to any and all gods that he can manage to think of. He grits his teeth slightly as the shyer of the two boys greets his brother and voices his concern. He wants the ground to swallow him up. Right now preferably. He shifts his body, gauging his strength and holds back a strangled groan. It catches the boy’s attention and soon enough Cuphead’s voice is in his ears.
“Are you dead?” directly to the point as always and he wishes he was dead. His doesn’t answer Cuphead’s question and when the silence stretches on too long for the boy’s patience, the young cup kicks him in the side. It’s not a very strong kick, more of a poke really and something that shouldn’t have had Dice scream out in pain, bloodshot eyes wide and trembling hands covering his abdomen. Fucking kid! The boys are bickering between each other, worry, regret and anger warring in their voices as Dice’s vision blurs and his breathe goes shallow. His body is numb and cold and he lets go. Worried shouts going over him in waves, small hands shaking him but failing to rouse him. He lets the waiting fires envelop him and with a last thought to this world, hopes there is a goddam chair waiting for him.
~~0~~
He’s lost in a dream, one that fills his mind and makes no sense to his tired self, the colour green being prominent all around him, a backdrop of orange and red slowly fading into the distance. The sky is filled with coins, spinning and twinkling, he tries to reach his hand out and grab one but finds he can’t move at all. He gives up and stares at the sky for a while. Dice thinks it’s very pretty and wants to keep staring endlessly at it. There are voices too, though he can’t make any sense of them, one moment they are by his ears the next their somewhere else in his dream. The voices mix and mingle with each other, squeaky, stubborn and gruff and then nothing.
Dice smells smoke too and finds an imp, adorned in a chef’s garb, cooking at the casino’s stoves. It’s a funny picture but makes him worry, Devil never said anything about his minions being able to cook. As soon as the Devil crosses his mind the imp rotates its head 360 degrees and Dice is met with two red slits for eyes, flames burning up around the little beast until its body has melted and all that is left is those eyes. Beckoning. Dice flees that part and finds himself surrounded by flower smells and, is that cinnamon? His mind brings up the scent of an old cologne that he used to wear, one his father let him borrow.
Why is his father here? He opens his mouth but finds its sown shut. He begins to panic, rocking his body sluggishly left and right. Long black tentacles wrapping themselves about his body, forcing him immobile yet again and then his body wracks with pain. Sharp and hot, it doesn’t seem to end, tears flowing down his cheeks and the string keeping his mouth closed becomes taut. He expects to wake up, trying to move or wriggle or something, wanting to wake up. Then his eyes are there, or at least one of them, gleaming blood and malice at him. He knows that eye, tries to beg for mercy or make another deal but he only manages strangled moans that stick in the back of his throat. It looms forward, a red line cutting across the centre and opening to reveal many, many pointed teeth. Saliva and blood drips from the coated maw and slowly envelops Dice’s head. He twists and turns but the Devil closes himself on Dice, his fangs scissoring through Dice’s skin and skull, before coming to his neck and snapping it clean off his body. A guttural growl dripping rich crimson that turns into a throaty and garbled laugh…
~~0~~
Dice awakes with a gasp, eyes wide and hands scouring his face. Was he just eaten by an eyeball? What was all that other stuff?? He breathes in greedy gulps of air, expecting the creature to come back at any moment. Once his heart rate is calmed, he looks about his surroundings. It appeared he was in a room, solid wooden walls and a window that streamed in faint rays of light his initial surveillance. He was also in a bed; a soft comforter placed on the mattress, fluffed pillows and a slightly worn duvet on top.
Despite the smell of medicine that coated the quilt and the, pattern (could he call it that? it looked more like a few half assed crocheted lines to him) that adorned the centre of the duvet, it was better than a chair. Which he still fully expected of course because this was still a dream. He thinks? He notices a Chester drawer with some rather ancient looking antiques sitting atop it. Beside him is a bedside table; a series of medicine bottles (no wonder it stank like a hospital in here), rolls of bandages scattered about, an empty cup and a lone wooden chair with a green cushion on it.
Hah! See? He knew at least a chair would be waiting for him in hell, it didn’t explain any of the other things in the room but Dice is pretty smug about getting that much right. He eyes the medicine bottles and goes to reach for one. He then notices the bandages strapped about his arm like a snake, small blotches of red showing through. Some of the events from the previous night come streaking back to him. Calm, collected and preparing for a fight he knew he would win. Losing that fight. Being turned on. His casino falling like an uneven stack of cards. So much fire that spurted from the ground and engulfing everything. He gets a headache just remembering it. Dice doesn’t think he’s in hell, there’s no fire, no brimstone and no cackling imps.
No Devil.
So where the hell was he?
He doesn’t have to think long on it before he hears the subtle creak of wooden flooring as someone makes their way up the stairs. He shifts in the bed, straightening his back and awaits whatever horrors would greet him.
It’s much worse than he expected.
A grumbling and wheezing tone first puzzles its way into Dices mind, his guard lowering a bit, he cocks his head a little at the noise. It certainly didn’t sound like either of the two cup brothers. He was dealing with an old man? Perhaps his “saviour” was on the weaker side, which worked well in his favour. He may be injured and indebted to this person but that didn’t mean Dice had any notions of staying here. Just more water under the bridge. Except it wasn’t just any old man. As the huffing figure comes bumbling through the door, a tray with steaming tea on it, Dice knows there’s no way out of this one.
“Ah, you’re awake!” Elder Kettle greets, the tray In hand shaking with his enthusiasm, he shuffles over to Dice, ignoring the pointed stare and lowered brows.
“I’d rather be dead” Dice grumbles, rubbing his temple.
“Well, had the boys not found you when they did, you surely would be” Kettles catches the quip and throws it back at Dice, stern gaze and sturdy frown following suit. Kettle places the tray on the bed side table, knocking bottles and bandages over and drags the wooden chair backwards a bit, sits in it heavily and straightening, steam puffing out of his nose. “So…” he begins, gnarled fingers clasped together and gazing heavily on Dice, “…just what did you think you were doing?”
It’s an odd question, given how little and how much the elder claims to know and from Dices past experiences with the man, he decides it’s better not to tangle with him at this moment. The barb still hits though. Did Kettle know the control that the Devil still held over Dice? Did he see the claw marks that stretched unevenly at his skin? “How much does he know?” burns in his mind.
Dice scoffs, “what ah thought best” and leaves the conversation at that, looking askance out the window. Or he tries to but Kettle has none of it and with a tone Dice didn’t believe possible of the antique.
“You thought it best to lie face down in the dirt and let the world win? You thought it best to allow the Devil into your mind and fill you with his nightmares?” a pause and a sceptical glance from Dice “I know, son, I know. He beat you and moulded you into his plaything. He made you into what you are, an extravagant and foolish child” Elder Kettle levels his gaze to Dice, who looks about ready to explode.
Kettle continues his onslaught “you hurt people Dice, good people, bad people but people all the same” Dice wants to sink into the ground and never come out, he hates how soft and commanding his tone is. Reassuring him to speak his mind but not overstep his boundaries. “You tortured souls and cheated people” Dice already knows this. Kettle knows this so why bring it up? Rub salt into the wound why doesn’t he. Dice inwardly scoffs and decides this is a pretty fucked up hell, even by the Devils standards. Kettle leans forward and places a rough hand on Dices softer one and looks earnestly at the broken man. “You’ve cheated death and survived in a world full of deceit and hate and yet I don’t see that spark in you anymore.”
“Get to the point” Dice snarls and snatches his hand back. A little freaked out by the man’s soft words and reassuring gestures, Dice surmises this is all a trick.
Kettle sighs heavily and wrings his hands together, like a parent tiring of telling their child the same thing over and over. “You’re free now Kingsley, it’s time you forgive yourself, just like me and the boys have”. It catches Dice off for sure, makes his heart shrivel up inside himself further.
“I’m not a good person, I regret the things that I’ve done to good people” Dice begins his voice shaking a bit, “you’re kind enough to forgive me and I thank you for that” a forced grin and a broken smile graces his features as he looks levelly at Kettle, “but I don’t deserve it” his voice breaks at the end and he fights back the tears he knows begs to break free.
“Ah, Dice…” Kettle shakes his head.
And that seems to end the conversation, Dice sits rigidly on the bed expecting another line of truths to come hurtling from Kettle but the old man fumbles with the now luke warm tea, adding a sachet of powder to it and offering it to Dice. Dice accepts the medicine and splutters at the bitter taste. Kettle rises from his chair and walks over to the window, gazing out at his boys in the garden. They had been quite forward in getting Dice some flowers to make him feel better. Such sweet boys.
“…maybe one day…” he hears Dice mumble between sips of tea. Kettle grins and settles his eyes back outside the window. One day indeed.
~~0~~
“WE GOT YOU FLOWERS!!!”
Dice is abruptly awoken by two bustling bodies bursting into his room and shoving an array of different coloured flowers in his face. He swears and tries to back away from the flowery onslaught but the kids are relentless.
“Mine are the best Dice! Look look! They got real pretty colours!” Cuphead shouts over the noise of literally nothing else and shoves his vibrant gifts at Dice. He eyes the bunch, and he assumes they would be brightly coloured had Cuphead not grabbed the flowers by the head, the broken stems and lack of petals a stern indicator.
“Hey mine are pretty too! These’ll make Dice better!” Mugman squeaks, a small pout on his face at being second to show his bunch of flowers to Dice. At least he doesn’t shove them into Dice’s face, the array of white and pink a soothing sight, almost. Being awaken by two screaming children is not ideal for his health. His head now swimming and vision blurring.
“So which bunch d’’ya like best?” the boys ask in unison. God that’s creepy.
Dice doesn’t really get a chance to say, not that he would pick anyways, before he faints and sinks back into a fireless sleep.
…
“Elder Kettle!! Cuphead broke Mr Dice!!!” the younger boy tattles and takes off out the room.
“With affection this time!” Cuphead shouts indignantly following his brother and leaving Dice to his slumber.