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"Uh, Legs?"
Legundo was in the building that held the moss farm when Mig found him. He found himself drawn there often, in awe at the physics-defying workings of the great machine. He'd been very afraid, at first, that he might be responsible for maintaining the great beast of stone and iron, but fortunately it seemed that was Mig's domain. He liked to watch it work, pistons firing and lights blinking, and wondered sometimes if the Mig he'd known might have been an engineer or inventor of some kind had he not been ground under the gears of the machine of war, instead.
"Legs?" Mig prompted again, urgently. "We have a problem. A very… milky problem."
Legundo blinked and came back to himself, taking in his partner's appearance with a quick sweep of his gaze. Mig was on edge, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a nervous, preoccupied look in his eye.
"Tell me," he said, already moving to join him at the door. Mig hopped back to clear the space and lead him out into the open air.
"He's here," he said ominously.
"Legundo."
Before he could even ask who he was, the answer presented itself in a stout, dour man dressed in grays with a bristling mustache, who stalked down the road and stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms and glaring daggers at the two of them. Beside him, Legundo felt more than saw Mig mirror the pose.
He could put the pieces together himself. "Sad Milkman, I presume."
"You presume correctly, whatever that means," the man — Milkman, the specter that had hovered over him from the first moments he arrived — growled.
Legundo took a deep breath to center himself. He didn't want to deal with the fallout of his other self's capricious whims, but the man was here, on his doorstep, and he knew he couldn't avoid it forever. He hoped that he was better equipped to find a peaceful solution than the man who had mired himself in some petty scheme, at the very least.
There was a sort of ironic justice, in cleaning up his other self's messes. There's not enough good to be done in one world to balance the scales; add some from elsewhere.
He spread his hands, adopting as open and non-confrontational posture as he could manage. The effect, he knew, was somewhat offset by Mig bristling with hostility at his side, but there was only so much he could do. "How can I help you, Milkman?" he asked.
The mustache twitched. "Help me," Milkman parroted in outraged disbelief. "Help me? You can start by not ruining my beautiful Clump with your — your horrible fakes! It's everywhere, I can't go five feet without seeing this — trash!"
From his jacket, he withdrew what looked to be a sticky bit of hardened tree sap and flung it at their feet.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Milkman," Mig jeered, in a smug, sing-song voice. Legundo resisted the urge to throttle him; it was like he was back in Oakhurst, sometimes, wrangling the Militia. Young men were always too eager for conflict. Mig continued, oblivious to his displeasure: "That's just Clump, it says so right there."
Legundo scooped up the bit of resin and examined it. Stenciled into the side was the word Clümp. Nonsense. Utter nonsense.
"It does not and you know it," Milkman spat back, his mustache bristling dangerously. "It's a fake! A counterfeit! And don't try and act like you don't know, because I have it on good authority that you boys are the ones behind it."
"And who told you that, huh?" Mig shot back, apparently just to rile him up further, because Legundo knew he was already certain of Avid's guilt in that particular matter.
Milkman raised his chin and glared down his nose at Mig with a look of utmost contempt. "I'm not telling," he sniffed. "Snitches get stitches, after all."
"Except when they're snitching to you, you mean."
"Mig," Legundo snapped, struggling to rein in his temper despite the pounding in his temples. "Enough."
Mig jolted, turning a look of surprise and betrayal on him that Legundo chose to ignore. He could apologize for being short with him later; right now, he needed to stop this from escalating before anybody started reaching for weapons.
"Milkman," he said, and got a grunt in response. He took a deep breath, holding out the piece of counterfeit resin in offering. Milkman begrudgingly snatched it back. "You're right. This was Jungle Kingdom's doing."
"I knew it —"
"Legundo —"
"I want to make things right," he continued, raising his voice to speak over the sudden clamor from both sides, "But I'm… missing context. Before we get into it, there's something you should know." He laid a hand over his chest. "I am not… the man who did this. Not long ago, the Legundo of your world was… pulled away, and I took his place. Mig has been helping me understand, but I'm not… wholly informed, as of yet."
Milkman gave him a look of profound disappointment, planting his fists on his hips. "Really?" he demanded. "You really expect me to believe that? Oh, well, gee, sorry Legs, I guess I can't be mad, since you're magically a different guy or whatever — get real." He sneered. "Nice try, but I'm not letting you off the hook that easy —"
"I am not —" Legundo snapped, too loud, too frustrated, the trembling tension wire of his temper dangerously close to snapping. With a herculean effort of will, he forced his voice into a more even keel as he continued, "— trying to disclaim responsibility. What I'm saying," he took a deep breath and resisted the urge to rub his temples, for fear of inadvertently insulting Milkman further, "is I don't know why we're at war. And I would like to help resolve this conflict — peacefully — if the two of you would kindly explain to me what the core issue is, here."
Milkman narrowed his eyes suspiciously, either not convinced or simply too stubbornly antagonistic to play along.
That was fine. Legundo could bend first. He'd done it before.
"Mig," he said. His partner startled at being addressed and gave him a quizzical look. Legundo continued, his attention still mostly on Milkman. "Why did we create… Clümp?"
"To destroy Milkman," Mig said, thoroughly unhelpful.
"Mig," he snapped, raising his voice to be heard over Milkman's squawk of, "You little rat—"
"What?" Mig asked, ignoring Milkman. His hackles were up, clearly annoyed at being rebuffed twice now. "We only said it like, a million times—"
"That's not a why!" Legundo wanted to tear his hair out, to take Mig by the shoulders and shake him until good sense fell out. He wanted to demonstrate good faith and avoid a conflict that apparently both sides were dead set on, and just once he wanted everyone to listen to him and cooperate and the part of him that wasn't ruled by rationality wanted to start hitting them until they did.
Something of his thoughts must have been readable on his face, because Mig's complaint died on his tongue, and Milkman took a wary step back.
Legundo took a deep breath and schooled his expression into something less thunderous. "Why," he said again, low and even, "did we decide to move against Milkman? Explain to me from the beginning, Mig."
"Right. Yeah. Okay," Mig stumbled over his words. "Um. So, he made Clump, right."
"Which everyone loved, by the way," Milkman interjected, but more subdued.
"Nobody had a chance to love it, 'cause he wouldn't give them any. He never opened the stupid bank," Mig shot back, directed more at Milkman than Legundo.
Legundo raised a hand to cut off any potential bickering, and the two of them quelled. "So Clump is a… currency," he said, to make sure he was following.
"It's the currency of the future!" Milkman piped up.
"Sure," he said, because what else was there to say to that. "And it could be traded for…"
"All kinds of wonderful goods and services!" Milkman exclaimed.
"Pale oak," Mig said. "It was the only way to get pale oak, which we want, by the way, but nobody had any, because of Clump."
Legundo was beginning to see the picture, here.
"So we… counterfeited his currency," he said, thinking about the sticky resin clump. Really? That was what passed as currency around here?
"Well… yeah." Mig shrugged. "We're found enough resin in a woodland mansion to make our own Craig."
That was another utterly inscrutable sentence, but it seemed to make perfect sense to Milkman, who momentarily forgot to be angry and just blinked in surprise, saying, "Seriously? You can find that there?"
"Yeah, who knew, right?"
"Okay." Legundo waved a hand. "Obviously counterfeiting is a crime, and we can find some way to rectify this situation. But it isn't personal."
"It feels personal," Milkman grumbled.
"It's kinda personal," Mig said.
Well, that was on him for speaking too soon, he supposed.
"What did I ever do to you?" Milkman demanded.
"You gave away our cocoa beans!" Mig exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "It wasn't personal until you did that!"
Milkman frowned and pressed his knuckle to his mouth thoughtfully. "Oh. I guess I did do that," he muttered.
"Cocoa beans?" Legundo asked weakly. Every time he thought he was getting a handle on the culture here, some new thing reminded him of exactly how much a stranger he was.
"Oh, right," Mig chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I guess you wouldn't know about that. Which is kinda good, actually, 'cause you were really mad."
"Explain, please," he said, now morbidly curious what would anger his other self.
Mig gestured impatiently. "Basically, I made a trade with Milkman for some dripleaf, and he wasn't supposed to, y'know, give it away. 'Cause that's like, one of our things."
Legundo mouthed our things to himself. "Like… the trees," he guessed.
"Right, yeah, exactly, you get it." Mig shot him a bright smile of approval before continuing his story, his face going dour once again. "Anyways, Birch Kingdom held an auction for glow lichen, and Milkman got eliminated first, because his bid sucked."
"It did not suck," Milkman complained. "Those two just didn't appreciate how valuable it was!"
"It sucked," Mig insisted. "And Milkman got so mad that he didn't beat us, he gave Viking our cocoa beans."
"I did do that, didn't I," Milkman muttered thoughtfully. "I do actually feel kinda bad about that."
"So, yeah." Mig shrugged. "Basically, Milkman broke our deal, so we swore to destroy his soul. Y'know, eye for an eye kind of stuff."
"Okay," Legundo said slowly. "I understand." Which was a lie; the order of events, yes, he could grasp; Mig's explanation was clear enough. The rationale, though, the motivation to take petty slights and escalate, purely for the sake of escalation… that escaped him.
"Great, I'm so glad," Milkman said in a mocking drawl. "Now can we get back to the part where I ruin the things you love?"
"No!" Legundo and Mig retorted in unison. Legundo put out a restraining hand, urging his partner to be quiet as he continued, "Milkman. You have been wronged, and I sincerely apologize, for whatever that's worth to you. I realize Clump is… important to you."
Milkman harumphed. "Obviously," he said.
"Just as I'm sure you understand that the… cocoa beans are important to us." He stopped to wait for an affirmative.
Milkman ducked his head, hiding his mouth in his thick gray scarf so that only his bristling mustache was visible. "I suppose," he muttered. "That was… my bad."
Legundo felt dangerously close to victory; something like hope fluttered in his chest. "We can't… unmake Clümp."
"There is way too much of it," Mig added. "Clump is totally worthless now."
Which wasn't the most helpful, especially with the total lack of remorse in his voice, but did give Legundo a better grasp on the state of their own misdeeds, so he let it go. "But I think we can all agree that there have been mistakes and hurt feelings and overreactions on both sides, and we'd all be better off if we forgave each other and moved on."
Milkman chewed that over, eyeing the two of them suspiciously, like he was still waiting for the trap to spring. Legundo folded his hands and kept his expression carefully placid, and prayed Mig would follow his lead.
Finally, Milkman said, "I suppose… but you did still flatten my bank and — and destroy my currency! What about — what about restitution?"
Right. "Of course," Legundo said, stalling. His mind raced, frantically trying to figure out what was valuable to someone like Milkman.
"We could build something," Mig said, miraculously coming to his rescue. "I mean, I dunno what else we're gonna do with all the resin we made. We could make a memorial to Clump."
"A Clump memorial…" Milkman's eyes went wide and shining, and Legundo breathed a sigh of relief, knowing in that moment that the danger had passed. "Right in the middle of the shopping district. To remind everyone of how glorious Clump was and how everyone loved it."
"That sounds wonderful," Legundo said. He extended a hand. "So, what do you say? Shall we let bygones be bygones?"
Milkman looked at the hand, considering, then back up at Legundo. Finally, he stuck out his hand in return and shook. "Bygones," he said. "You know, I may actually believe that you're not really Legundo."
"I assure you, if I wanted to lie, I'd come up with something much more believable," Legundo said dryly.
"Well, good luck with that, I guess," Milkman said, shrugging his shoulders to activate his elytra. "I'll get back to you boys about that memorial. Right now I… well, I guess I have a lot of Creakings to evict."
And with a burst of gunpowder and a rush of air, Milkman was gone, and the war was over.
Legundo let out a huge breath, collapsing against the railings to rest his weight on his forearms, head sagging low between his shoulders.
"It's too bad he won't get trapped in the dungeon, now," Mig said wistfully, hopping up to sit on the rail beside him. "Piepie and Vintage are gonna be so disappointed. Do you think we could get him to do it anyways, just for fun?"
Legundo laughed, a wheezing, pathetic thing. "You'll have to take it up with him. Only with his permission, I fear I have to specify." He stood and turned around to lean backwards on the rail, tilting his head back and letting his eyes slip closed. He laughed again, a little more real. "You have no idea how good it feels to actually fix something, for once," he said, his voice heavy with relief. "Even something as stupid as… Clümp."
He stayed there for a long moment, enjoying the unaccustomed lightness and the feeling of the sun on his face, cognizant of the way Mig was staring at him. He waited patiently for him to say whatever it was he had to say.
Finally: "You're… really different from Legs." A pause. "Other Legs, I mean."
"I know what you mean." With a sigh, Legundo opened his eyes and heaved himself upright. He turned to face Mig, clasping his hands behind his back, falling unconsciously into parade rest. "Is that a problem?"
He said it mildly; not an accusation. It was fair, he thought, if it was a problem. He was the interloper, after all, as little as he thought of the other Legundo. He just wanted to know.
Mig's mouth twisted, then he relaxed and offered a lopsided grin. "Nah," he said. "It's cool. I mean, we're island partners, right?"
"Right." Island partner was not a relationship he was familiar with from his own life, naturally, but he understood it, from his brief time in the sky, as an unbreakable bond, somewhere between a business partnership and an arranged marriage. In summary: they were stuck with each other, and they ought to work out how to make it as pleasant an experience as possible. Why hold a grudge? "I apologize for being so short with you," he said. "I realize we… may not have been on the same page, so to speak."
"Oh." Mig looked surprised to receive an apology; in the back of his mind, Legundo marked another tally in his ledger of his other self's sins. "Uh, that's okay. I wasn't exactly helping." He grinned wider. "Can't help being a gremlin."
"No, in my experience, it's often terminal," Legundo said dryly, thinking with fondness of M, and Martyn, and Avid, the kind that only came with distance from his own frustration with their tomfoolery. He reached out to give Mig a firm pat on the shoulder. "That building idea was a good one. I didn't know what to offer him."
"Oh, yeah, I didn't want to offer him anything actually valuable," Mig said with a mischievous smile and a laugh. "But it'll be fun! I love working with Milkman. I guess I'm glad we're not at war with him. Even if it is really funny when he gets mad. And he does deserve it."
"Yes, well, please let me know if you ever get the urge to start another war," Legundo said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'd like to know what's going on before negotiations begin, next time."
"Oh." Legundo looked up sharply at Mig's tone, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Mig smiled back sheepishly. "You should probably know about Viking, then."
The wave of resigned weariness that washed over him at the realization that there was yet another conflict he'd been dropped in the middle of without context or foreknowledge was quickly replaced by a jolt of alarm when an unfamiliar voice sang out, "I'd love to know about Viking," and a tall, fair man dressed in pale blue and yellow dropped from a pipe above them.
The stranger laid a hand on his cheek and tilted his head in a mockery of rapt attention, eyes glimmering with wicked amusement: one yellow, one blue. "Please, Mig, tell me more."