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In which three espers enjoy the fruits of their labor
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Everyone agreed with him on the thing he didn't want to be true. Tragic. He marches across the fields ahead of the other two. "Still no chocolate pigs. Did your rescue teams kill everything before we got here?"

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You were at the same briefing I was!!!  "Killed some, at least.  Not like they're all that threatening."  That's not fair, they'd be a menace to someone without powers.  "Well.  Not for us, anyway."

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Is that a lock of hair, hidden behind a a thicket of peanut brittle?

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Misha is busy examining a different thicket. "What even is this stuff? Is like... lumpy brown cement? Not appetizing."

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"It's peanut brittle! It's...mostly peanuts and sugar I think. Is that a person over there?" Hey there!"

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Sugary peanuts sound gross, but he's at low enough backlash that this does not immediately come out of his mouth. Instead he walks, cautiously, toward where Fiona was looking, being sure to keep plenty of distance in case this was some sort of dungeon mimicry.

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"Hey!  C'mon, buddy, get your shit together, rescue's here."  One of the rescuees is trying to convince her fellow to not stuff as much peanut brittle in his mouth as possible.  She hasn't been successful, if his smeared hands are any indicator.

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"Yeah we gotta go."

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Notwithstanding that he wasn't ever trained in American-style exfiltrations over in East Russia, Misha also is the only non-native speaker of the local language present, so he just crosses his arms impatiently and waits. If this were Russia, he'd just grab the guy by the collar and send him on his way with a few expletives to demonstrate that he's serious. Let them do things there way, though. If nothing else, it's sort of sweet, and they don't appear to be in any particular—

—wait.

"Movement at dungeon-east from us, five-zero meters maybe."

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It is.  A darting brown shape, quickly lost against the peanut brittle trees.  The thought of it strikes terror in the hungry man, enough to get him to stop eating.  If Misha is paying attention, his desire is to not be attacked again.

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