Chapter Text
One
"This will not do!"
Appalachia Colonel Thaddeus Beauregard stormed through the dilapidated grounds of the old farm, his moustachioed face red with fury. He trod brown weeds into the soil as he marched up and down, shouting at his long-suffering accountant who strolled briskly to keep up with him.
"This eyesore," bellowed Beauregard, "Threatens our fine village's chances at winning the Appalachian Best Kept Community Competition!"
"We've won ten years running, Colonel," reminded the accountant.
"The competition stiffens," snapped Beauregard, "This property might have been acceptable in previous years, but I have seen what they are doing in other towns. I mean, Walters Mill has painted their windmill, sir! We can't compete while this accursed plot remains ruined!"
He crossed his arms.
"Who owns this land, anyway?"
"Frederick Adamson-DeMayo, sir," replied the accountant, "He's not present - the court ordered him to the state capital and he...uh...never came back."
"Well, tell him to come back!" exclaimed Beauregard.
"I can't, Colonel, he's...uh...in jail."
"Then find someone who can take over!" thundered Beauregard, "He must have a family! A relative who can take over the property. Find somebody, sir!"
"Yes sir, yes sir!" said the accountant, "I...I'll find someone."
"Good," snapped Beauregard, "And make it quick, boy. My town will not lose to a fancy windmill."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Get me a farmer."
Peridot smiled as she surveyed the empty plot of land. It was perfect - close to a warp pad, nice and flat and in a beautiful patch of Midwestern countryside.
"This is ideal," she nodded, "Looks like we finally found somewhere to do some gardening!"
"See?" nodded Steven, putting a hand on Peridot's shoulder, "I told you we'd do it!"
"I'm just wondering why nobody else claimed this spot," mused Amethyst.
Suddenly, a voice from a loudspeaker broke the silence.
"Attention! Attention down range! Mortar testing will commence in five minutes! Vacate the range!"
"Oh," said Amethyst.
"What?" exclaimed Steven, "But the map didn't..."
He pulled a map from his back pocket. His face fell as the trio studied it.
"Army Testing Ground?" demanded Peridot, "How did you miss that?"
"I thought that was the other way from the warp pad," replied Steven, "It doesn't make..."
"You read the map upside down, didn't you Steven?" said Amethyst.
Steven facepalmed.
"Well, there we go!" snapped Peridot, "Another inadequate farming spot!"
She turned around, storming back towards the warp pad. Amethyst and Steven sighed as they followed.
"Everything we've tried has failed!" complained Peridot, "Nothing grew on the beach, Steven nearly drowned at the underwater one, and let's not forget that southern continent..."
"It was empty last time I went there," shrugged Amethyst, "How was I supposed to know they'd build their capital city in the middle of nowhere?"
"It's hopeless," sighed Peridot, "We're getting nowhere. I just wanna give up..."
"We can't give up!" exclaimed Steven, stepping onto the warp pad.
"Yeah, come on, Peri," said Amethyst as they began to warp home, "Just give it one more shot. We'll find something!"
"What, am I supposed to believe that an opportunity's just going to present itself the moment we get back to the temple?" demanded Peridot.
They landed in the temple and were immediately confronted with Greg, waving a letter in his hand.
"Guess who just got a farm?!" he exclaimed.
Steven and Amethyst glanced at Peridot.
"...well, Earth is full of surprises," she admitted.
"Dear Mr. Universe."
Pearl paced the kitchen, reading Greg's letter out loud.
"As your cousin, Mr. Frederick Adams-DeMayo..."
"Good old Cousin Freddy," nodded Greg, beaming.
"...is currently incarcerated for ten years in a federal prison..."
Greg swallowed.
"...the upkeep of his property in our fair village of Village Creek must now fall to you. You may do with it what you please, but we must insist that you journey here at your earliest convenience and clean up the property. We are prepared to offer you generous compensation for your time. Yours truly, Colonel Thaddeus Beauregard, Mayor of Village Creek."
"Well," shrugged Greg, "I don't need the money, but it sounds like it could be a fun weekend away."
"But we've just been on a weekend away," Pearl pointed out.
"Yeah, but now that Steven's happy again, we could try again," replied Greg, "What do you say, Stu-ball?"
Steven scratched his chin.
"I did invite Connie over for the weekend," he said.
"Well, I'm sure her parents won't mind if we bring her along," shrugged Greg, "They know I'm a responsible guardian..."
He paused for a moment.
"...I think," he said.
"Well, you'd have to go without me," said Pearl, "I promised I'd meet up with S...someone on Saturday."
She blushed as Amethyst and Garnet grinned at her.
"Okay," nodded Greg, "Amethyst, Garnet, are you guys in?"
"What about me?"
Greg looked over at Peridot, who had nervously raised a hand.
"I..." she cleared her throat, "Can I come?"
"Sure," Greg shrugged, "I mean, I thought you'd be more comfortable here, but..."
"Nah, man," said Amethyst, putting her arm over Peridot's shoulder, "Who wants to be cooped up in here with Pearl all weekend?"
Pearl frowned and crossed her arms.
"How 'bout you, Garnet?" asked Greg, "You wanna spend a weekend fixing up an old farm?"
"Not really, no."
"Fair enough," said Greg, "I'll call this Beauregard guy and let him know we're coming."
"This is gonna be great!" exclaimed Steven, "It's just gonna be the Shorty Squad, my dad and a nice peaceful weekend away..."
"And Connie," added Amethyst.
"Nah, she's short too," said Steven, "She can be in the squad."
"I didn't agree to that," grunted Peridot.
"Yeah, well, it's happening anyway."
In a grassy cavern deep beneath the village of Village Creek, a strange lump of green fungus lay dormant. It had slept here for centuries, living a cool, damp cocoon of rock and soil. Deep within the slumbering mass, hidden from outside view, was a tiny, worn gem.
From the fungus ran a complex series of roots that snaked their way up to the surface - to the trees, to the bushes and to the produce of the farms.
It was of no consequence to a man like Thaddeus Beauregard, who wouldn't be seen dead eating the local produce and rarely socialised with his own constituents, but it was certainly having an effect on the rest of the population. After all, they'd been eating the fruits of this gem fungus for generations...