World Tree MUSH

    The vine that leads into the Valley comes out next to a bus stop. The footpath moves from there in two directions, east leads to the town, west to the Getaway farm. Entering the farm shows initially an orchard with various fruit trees, the oranges and peaches seem to be nearing ripeness.

    The path swiftly leads past the orchard, splitting the farm in two parts. On the north side is a grassy field with various animals. Chickens, ducks, goats, cows, pigs and dinosaurs mingling freely. A few barns and coops at the far edge of the field, with silos right behind these buildings.

    On the south side is a massive cornfield, further away is a similar field full of blueberries, and smaller fields with other crops can be seen. In the distance a grove of giant mushrooms.

    Walking further along the path reveals a couple more buildings, including the main farmhouse, a greenhouse growing a variety of crops and several sheds. Right past that is crater. In the center of the crater rests a large red orb, with a fuse coming off of it. Claire has just lit the fuse. The explosion is imminent and loud. The buildings shield the worst of the noise from the animals. Claire is wearing ear protection.

  There is something very different at the bus stop today.

  A slightly chunky aircraft about the size of a medium fighter jet with downward-crooked wingtips emerges through the Vine. It has a sleek, predatory profile and its airframe is a dull, radar-dampening black.

  It's also not only completely silent, but hovering. It has turbines in its wings.

  Weeeeird.

  Hovering for a moment, it gently lowers to the ground, before the ramp at the back whisks open.

  Out from it emerges a figure in an olive flight suit as the ramp whisks closed again and the lights dim. The left shoulder bears an eagle roundel and the other the American flag. Stitched across the breast pocket is A. STOJESPAL in military-style block letters. Under one of the figure's arms is a helmet, which has the same name written on it.

  The pilot is a woman -- long, loose red hair and slightly tanned skin. Neither short nor tall, built solidly, all whipcord muscle. From the left, she looks normal: One blue eye the colour of an autumn afternoon sky, almond-shaped and feline in its disregard.

  From the right, she might attract some staring.

  Her face is simply gone on that side, a mass of burn scarring, what must have been second- or third-degree burns. The contours of the scar stop at her hairline, as though following a flight helmet; below, the damage plunges beneath her collar. There's no eye. Over the scarred ruin where it would be, she wears a dove-grey leather patch. She might be in her early fifties. She might be in her late fifties. It's hard to say with such damage.

  Right now, she's also wearing a frown as she looks the bus stop over.

  Well... nothing for it but to move on. There's clearly nobody here, and it clearly doesn't get a lot of use. Turning, she glances at the aircraft behind her. "Val," she calls. Her voice is gravelly, as from too much drinking and smoking, inflected with a strong Eastern European accent of some kind. "Lock up and play dead if anyone comes sniffing around. I will be back soon."

  A smooth, computerised feminine voice sounds from the aircraft.

  **Acknowledged, Captain Stojespal. Entering low-power state.**

  Turning, she sets off down the road, toward the late afternoon sun. At her hip is a holster; in it is a pistol of some kind. She leaves it there, and settles for reaching into a pocket, producing a cigarette and lighter. Half an eye is kept on her surroundings as she lights it and smokes; puffing a trail of clove-shot smoke as she studies the orchard.

  How idyllic. Someone has to own this land, though, and she's waiting for the inevitable threats at the point of a shotgun. In the meantime, well, it's pretty. Peaceful. No ravages of war, here; no world torn between ideologies and powers.

  Combat boots crunching up the crater's edge, the pilot tilts her head just in time to see--

  Wow that woman has some keen reflexes. There's a loud clanking thud as the pilot spots the bomb, spots the fuse, and simply drops, curled in the fetal position until the thing goes boom. It is, predictably, loud.

  A second or five of silence pass as the pilot picks herself up from the dust, whacking it from her flight suit. When she looks up, she raises both hands, as though to say hey I come in peace don't shoot or anything. "Are you the owner of this farm?" Yep, heavily accented, and the blunt-force way she's bellowing suggests she's probably temporarily deaf.

    The raised hands aren't entirely unwarranted, though there's no shotgun in sight. There's a slingshot, and a red orb with a button that a finger is hovering over menacingly. Claire lowers the weapon upon seeing the gesture, and takes off her hearing protection. "Yes, ma'am. And that's an American flag on your shoulder so I feel obliged to inform you this world doesn't have an America." She heads over to store away the empty bomb shells and the clear containers full of the ingredients used to make explosives. As she turns, the sword on her hip comes into view "My name's Claire, this here is the Getaway farm. Didn't mean to startle you, was just working on perfecting the mixture of my explosives because I wasn't expecting any guests today. Don't worry, I got a license for these. Now, what are you doing on my farm?"

  There's an owlish blink at the comment on the flag patch, and the pilot glances down at it before glancing back up at what is presumably the landowner.

  Claire's mouth is moving; she must be saying something. The pilot reaches up to whack at the side of her head, shaking it, and piecing together the context from what little bit she can hear. "Then how do you know about the flag?" She's still borderline shouting, so her hearing is still coming back around. She digs at a pocket and comes up with a badge holder, which she flips open and holds so Claire can see it.

  "Agent Anneka Stojespal. Federal agent; S.H.I.E.L.D." The badge is flipped back and pocketed again. "Not that it means anything. My vehicle's down the road." What's she doing? "I got thrown off-course by a few trips through the wrong damn Vines." She pauses a beat, glancing over her shoulder. "That happens sometimes." She glances back. "I'm not here to cause any trouble, I'm just looking for a few supplies. You have a town or something nearby?"

    "I've been offworld. I know about countries like China, Europe and America." Almost right, Claire. Louder this time. She takes out a badge off her own, identifying her as a member of the local Adventurer's Guild. She gets over to the path, "If you came out of the nearest vine, you went the wrong way. Pelican Town is about as far as my farm is." She examines the agent a bit more, "And though I believe your story, I am fairly sure I should call ahead in case there's any reason to suspect you might be an agent of the Gotoro empire. There is a war going on, and while we're nowhere near the front, I know there's smugglers bringing stuff from the Empire to the valley."

  Gloved hands hang at the pilot's sides, and she tilts her head again. Pelican Town. "Oh, there is a town. I thought I saw something on the sensors, but the descent was too fast to get a good look." Smugglers? Anneka shrugs, shaking her head.

  With scars like those, even if they're fourteen years old, she looks like she could have been a soldier, and has that physical bearing. "Call ahead, if that's what you need to do. You can even look at my aircraft's hold if you want. It's empty," she adds.

  She glances back. "Smuggling problems. Hunh." Her eye narrows. "Well, that's interesting. Can't promise anything now. Might be able to help you with that. Maybe." The woman frowns around her cigarette. "Or, you can escort me towards town, if that would make you feel safer." The woman shrugs again. "Am not in a hurry."

    "It's not about my safety. I can handle myself. Town's full of people who can't." Claire walks towards her house, "Wait right here where I can see you through the window." She enters her house and picks up her phone, it's a landline. She talks a bit, then comes out. "Lewis says there's no reason to disbelieve your story." She shrugs, "And I'm not worried about the smuggling. Sure, the government and corps don't like it, but the government is letting the corps do as they please, and we've made it clear the corps aren't welcome here. We do things right here in the valley. That's why our products are some of the best in the Republic."

  Glancing over her shoulder, the pilot slows to a halt, raising both hands amicably. She waits right where told. In fact, the only movement she makes is to eventually lower her hands, only to fold her arms as she smokes. Curiously, she watches the sky.

  The pilot turns when the farmer reappears, exhaling a wreath of smoke. She glances at Claire, but lifts one hand, speaking toward her... wrist? It's covered by a thick glove, so who knows what she's actually talking to.

  "Val, are you getting this?"

  **Yes, Captain Stojespal.**

  "My aircraft," she adds to Claire, by way of explanation. For some reason she sounds a little sour about it. "I'm going to have to debrief my boss later. Just the general facts," she adds, placatingly.

  Once Claire starts walking, Anneka falls into line, slightly behind and to the left. "Hunh. What does this valley produce...?"

    "Bunch of things. My farm alone produces as you can see, corn, fruit, dairy, truffles, mushroom tree. You should try the dinosaur mayo, it's delicious. I also sell some of explosives to the government, got to do my part to support the war effort, after all. We have a decent fishing industry as well, we're right next to the gem sea, and there's various gems and valuable metals in the mine. Just don't go into the mines without weaponry, it's full of monsters." Claire rattles off an incomplete list, "None of it in too great quantities, but I wouldn't eat anything the corps sell. There's no knowing what's in them, and no oversight." She ignores the whole conversation with the aircraft, "Would be careful flying out, Witches don't wear transponders."

  "Mushroom... tree. Dinosaur... mayo..." Clearly that's not something the agent's come across. At least, not prior to her stop here, anyway. "I think my translator is broken."

  **Captain Stojespal, you do not possess a transl--**

  Her... wrist is talking? There's a faint hint of blue light where her sleeve and glove come together. "...Shut it, Val."

  Crops. Metal. Monsters. Anneka is looking faintly glazed-eyed, but she comes around quick enough. "Right. Tak--yes. Uh." The record-scratch is almost audible. "Witches. What." She's heard about magic. She's even seen it! That absolutely doesn't keep it from being weird, still. "You're joking."

  The pause is long.

  "...right?"

    As they walk, they come across a storage unit, and Claire opens it up, pulling out a jar of dinosaur mayo. "Make the stuff myself, with real dinosaur eggs." She gestures to the dinosaurs grazing in the fields nearby, "It's really creamy. Sells well, too." She puts the jar back, ignoring the conversation between the wrist and Anneka, "And I'm not joking about the witches. The local wizard and witch haven't been getting along ever since they split up. She is a bit of a nuisance sometimes, but mostly harmless."

  The pilot waits outside beside the storage unit. Following too closely might be construed as a threat. It wouldn't do to spook her host. As Claire steps back out and points to the dinosaurs, Anneka stares.

  That brow raises. Oh, the witch really is real. So is the wizard, because of course there's also a wizard.

  "I will, uh, keep that in mind, thank you." There's a slow squint. "Actually, if you have water, probably that is allI will need. Don't want to trouble the locals. That bus stop I came here from; that is not used heavily, is it?"

"It's just the local line between here and Zuzu City, though I don't tend to take the buss any further than the Oasis in Calico Desert. Not the most active route, but it keeps Pam employed. There should be a schedule posted there. I think we get more tourists from the vine than the bus these days, though." Claire answers, and she stops by a well to get out a bucket of fresh water, and fills up a plastic cup, handing it over. "Well if you don't want to trouble the locals, I'll get back to my explosives. Town's straight ahead, the Stardrop Saloon offers food and drink for reasonable prices, and I'm pretty sure you can get a bed there too. Or you can just take the vine and leave, whichever you like. Was a pleasure meeting you, Agent Stojespal."

  "Probably I can estimate the distances of I have a look from above." Anneka rolls the cigarette to the other side of her mouth, lifting her head and stretching out her arms. Her head tilts sharply one way, and then the other -- crack, crack. "Probably you do. Vines, sometimes they are a pain in the ass, and I notice not always do they lead where they are supposed to lead."

  The cup is taken and a hearty swig tossed back. "Ah. That's good. Thank you." Anneka lifts the cup. "Maybe I will come back, some time... this valley, it seems peaceful." Her smile is genuine, if maybe unsettling to some. It twists the scarred right side of her face in slightly ghastly ways. A gloved hand is raised in a still wave. "Good to meet you. You ever need a favour, maybe supplies moved or a flight somewhere, let me know. Probably I could arrange it." She reaches into a pocket and presents a black business card with crisp white print. It has all the salient contact information anyone might need to get ahold of Anneka Stojespal, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

  With that, she'll turn to head back to the bus stop while trailing smoke, as non-threateningly as possible.

  Funny, but there's no sound of any aircraft engines, once the foreign craft is ready to ascend. Weird.