(A/N: I don't know why this is happening but it is. It's not really an El Dorado crossover so much as a Monkey Island fic that happens to have Miguel and Tulio in it. And it's not really a fic so much as an excuse to have Miguel and Tulio Insult Swordfighting.)

Part 1: They're Damn Resourceful, And They Like Money

"Those two."

Elaine made a face. "I don't know, they look a bit...unsavory for what we're trying to do - "

Guybrush made a difference face. "Uh, Elaine?"

Elaine made a third face, this one complete with an eye roll. "Look, yes, pirates, I know, but if we're pursuing such a rare and hefty booty - "

"Hehe. Booty."

" - then I want to be sure the people we're splitting it with can be trusted." She sort of huffed and crossed her arms, in a very Elaine Threepwood-Marley sort of manner. Guybrush sighed, put a hand on her shoulder, and turned away from the blond and his scrawny friend with the dice toward a tall, surly man with an eyepatch. "What about him?"

"Mmm, there's just something off..."


"Well we wouldn't be having this problem if you could manage to keep the same crew for more than one of these ridiculous Monkey Island excursions of yours!" she said, snippy, in a very Elaine Threepwood-Marley sort of manner.

"That place changes people," Guybrush insisted, but Elaine was having none of it.

"Look, I'm going back to the ship to get the last of this gubernatorial paperwork squared away. If you come back with any idiot who looks like he's going to con us out of our share of the treasure, it'll only be your own fault when that ends up happening."

"Yes ma'am," Guybrush whined, and she gave him a peck on the cheek and was gone.

"Crew, crew," he muttered to himself. "Where are Wally and Carla when you need them?" He was trotting past a fruit vendor's stall, thinking about buying a cart of oranges to fend off any potential scurvy, when a large older man with a long scar down his bicep plowed into his left shoulder, stuffing a metal canister into his arms and running away just as quickly. Guybrush turned to look back at the guy, then looked at the canister, but was startled out of his initial confusion and into downright panic when an irate Jamaican woman and two law enforcement officers appeared in front of him.

"Dere it is!" she cried, pointing at the object in the clueless Guybrush's arms. "Dis en't de man what cheated it offa me but I'm sure it's one a his accomplices! Dat shell game was rigged and dis belong to me."

"Is she telling the truth?" asked the taller officer.

"Well, I, uh - "

"Because if it is, we're going to have to take you into custody," said the fatter officer.

"That is, you see - "

"Of course it's not true!" chimed a voice, suddenly. Guybrush turned his headlights look away from the cops and toward an alleyway - an alleyway which immediately produced the blond man (who had just spoken) and his friend with the dice (who was about to speak).

"Not true at all!" cried the dark-haired man, as they crossed to Guybrush and the blond placed an arm around his shoulders that was actually the opposite of reassuring.

"This fine young man is an absolute paragon of righteousness," the blond continued. "Why, he'd never steal a thing."

"And who are you two to vouch for his moral character?" asked the taller cop.

The dark-haired man made a face. "Who are we?" he said, aghast, a hand pressed over his heart.

"I am shocked!" agreed the blond.

"This is our cousin!"

"Our own cousin Guywood!"

"Guybrush," corrected Guybrush under his breath.

"Guybrush?" asked the blond.

"Guybrush. Threepwood."


The two officers and the Jamaican woman were conferring. "Well," said the fatter officer, "they do look like him." And Guybrush had to admit to himself that they did - the blond had his coloring (he would also have been an autumn) and the dark-haired man definitely had his build, and even a similar face.

"I suppose this is crazy enough that they're probably not making it up," agreed the taller officer.

"Exactly!" the two men cried together, and they were swindling the cops and the Jamaican woman away, and soon the three of them were all the way down the street - without, Guybrush quickly noticed, the metal canister, which still sat in his slack, dumbfounded hands.

He glared at the two fast-talking Spaniards, who were high-fiving each other and sniggering like children. "How'd you do that?"

"Practice!" the blond sang.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Well, I don't know, I suppose we just like to help a fellow scammer in need," said the other man with a devious grin and a significant glance at his cohort.

Guybrush made a face, and shook himself mentally in a very Guybrush Threepwood-Marley sort of manner. "But I'm not a scammer!" he insisted. He realized he was still clinging to the canister and, for emphasis, dropped it hard on the ground as though he'd just been informed it was underneath a hefty voodoo curse. (Which it probably was, he thought with a mental groan.)

The blond made a different face. "You're not?"


"Oh," said the dark-haired guy, and his face fell a little. "Well, in that case, I guess we ought to go back to scamming ourselves, shouldn't we, Miguel."

"And leave this poor sap to get screwed, Tulio," Miguel agreed. "Toodle-oo!"

But though Guybrush wasn't actually a con artist, he had figured out two things about these two: They were damn resourceful. And they liked money. "Fine, whatever," he said, calling back over his shoulder as he walked away more slowly than necessary. "I was gonna ask you two to join my pirate crew, but if you're more interested in your con than searching for buried treasure, then - "

"Now slow down a moment," said Tulio, instantly in front of him.

"We...might be willing to take on a more lucrative job." Everything about Miguel was shining, blond hair and broad grin and sparkling eyes.

"But, only," Tulio added, "if it is more lucrative."

"Well, if it were up to me, I'd hire you on the spot - I guess," Guybrush told them.

"But?" they prompted in unison. Creepy.

Guybrush sighed, and made a face. "But I have to clear it with my wife."


"I can't believe you!" she cried, somehow taller than she usually was.

"But Elaine - "

"Didn't I specifically say - "

"They saved me from getting arrested, Elaine! They can't be all bad!"

"Only because they thought you were a conman like them!"

"Conmen, pirates - can't we all just get along?"

Miguel and Tulio sat on a couple of barrels that were resting off to the side of the main deck, while their new friend Guybrush Threepwood argued with his lovely but terrifying wife. For the most part, they giggled.

"W-pssh, w-pssh," coughed Tulio, making a whip-cracking motion with his wrist.

"In the worst possible way," agreed Miguel, munching on an apple he'd filched from that incredibly unobservant street vendor.

"Who do you think is actually captain?"

"Of the boat or in the bedroom?"

"Miguel!" Tulio gasped, pretending to be shocked. "Must you be so crude?"

"Ahh, but I learned from the best, didn't I?"

"I'll tell you what, though, she could captain me whenever the hell she wanted to."

"And I'm the crude one, he says." Miguel chuckled, finished off his apple, and tossed the core overboard. It bounced off the dock and splashed into the water.

The two of them tuned back into the fighting, where Mrs. Threep-whatever was still berating Guybrush. "They've never even had any sort of pirating experience before, have they?"

"We sailed a boat once," Miguel put in brightly.

"A...really...small boat," Tulio added.

The little missus rolled her eyes. "Great. Just great. I can't believe you agreed to hire these two on without even checking their credentials. We're not going to get rid of them now, you realize that?"

"Hey, we're standing right here," protested Tulio.

"They'll catch on quick," Guybrush insisted. "As long as they can swordfight and follow directions - "

"Oh, we're good at swordfighting," Miguel assured them. "That's the same on land or at sea."

A thought appeared to occur to Guybrush, because he winced, and then under the glare of his wife winced again. "Um, actually, it's not."

"It's not?" asked Tulio, unimpressed. "How so?"

"Well, pirates typically practice, um, Insult swordfighting," the captain told them.

"Say what?"

"And when you're on land, that's no big deal, but when you're at sea..." Guybrush sighed, long-suffering, as if the very concept were ridiculous. "At sea, they have to rhyme."

Tulio grinned at Miguel, in a way that could only mean one thing.

"Insult Swordfighting?" Miguel said. "Never heard of it."

"Or else you're too stupid to remember a word of it," spouted Tulio, grabbing a spare blade from the barrel next to the one he was seated on and raising it toward his partner.

"I bet I can do it better than a nitwit like you can!" Miguel cried, drawing another and jumping up, ready to fight him.

"Wanna test that theory - girl to man?"

Their blades clanked togther. "Oh come now, you're hideous even not wearing a frock."

"I'd still be prettier than the last girl that sucked your - "

"Whoa whoa whoa!" cried Elaine suddenly. "Have you guys done this before?"

Swords still flying, they paused in their leaping about the deck and its barrels and crates and turned to look at her. "Nope!"

She looked at Guybrush, who was staring back like an expectant puppy, and made some signal that he seemed to understand. He nearly jumped for joy. "You're hired!"