When Dice got booted from the casino—and everything to his name—after his defeat, he had been so sure that would be the end of him. After all, what use remained in his tricks and gambles when all the dice (both literal and metaphorical and yes, pun intended) now lay out of his reach?

Besides, the folks of Inkwell Isles knew his reputation all too well. Better yet Dice wouldn't put mockery at his current situation past the ornerier residents. Hell, he'd have done the same in their place (not that he hadn't done that every day as king but still).

Color him flabbergasted then when a lucky break strolled on up in matching red and blue shorts.

Yep, said lucky break turned out to be the same kids who thrashed his life in the first place. And now here they were, extending a helping hand to him of all people? So naturally he refused out of both spite and pride, spitting out how kings didn't need help from no snot-nosed brats. He took deep satisfaction from Cuphead's irritated frown and Mugman's disappointed eyes.

Only once they left did Dice realize the idiocy of his reaction.

So now here he sat: a bench somewhere on Isle Two, afternoon starting to give away to the tangerines and navy blues of evening. To absolutely no surprise, the former king had met hesitant rejection at best and outright hostility at worst from the inhabitants that crossed his path.

And who would blame them? Hell, he wouldn't want himself anywhere near him.

Still, he had his dignity and refused to surrender it in the face of this desperate situation!

CRACKLE-CRACKLE-BOOM!

The sudden cacophony had Dice looking up just in time to receive a face full of rain, much to the gambler's eternal chagrin. Those storm clouds had not been there five minutes ago!

Neither had the umbrella he noticed over his head immediately after, the familiar scents of ginger ale and jasmine reaching his nose despite the heavy smell of rain. Dice took zero seconds to realize the familiar dark blue canopy with orange stars running along the edge. After all, how could he not recognize the gift he got a certain someone so long ago, long before everything went downhill?

Seeing that cute little trinket didn't do his composure good. Didn't really help either when a certain someone took a seat beside him, sighing through the spout to let out that same whistle that still messed up Dice in so many ways.

"The boys told me what happened."

Surprise, surprise. The old man wouldn't be here otherwise. Dice rolled his eyes but withheld the snark this time. He knew better to ward off his only protection from the rain.

Kettle cleared his throat with a tinny cough. "You can stay with us for the time being, at least until you get back on your feet."

Really old man? Dice scoffed at such foolish mercy. "You realize lettin' me into your ramshackle abode is as close to lettin' the Devil into your home as you can get, don't you, Kettle?"

Kettle's response came in the form of a warm gentle hand on Dice's knee and a soft chuckle worthy of parting the rain clouds. "Then I suppose this is as close to sympathy for the Devil as it could get as well."

Of all the – the disgraced gambler could only sigh. The old knight never did know when to give up. Ebony eyes traced the curve of those aged fingers, once so strong and steady yet still warm all the same. Dice fights the urge to take them in his own.

He doesn't have to.

With surprising firmness, those same hands slide the umbrella into his, pressing the younger toon's supple digits tight around the handle – and before the gambler could protest Kettle has already looped their arms together, one hand snug against the taller man's forearm.

That settled it. Another sigh amscrays and Kettle rolls his eyes and even head in begrudging defeat.

"I ain't sleeping in no basement, old timer."