"The problem is, the settlers put cities where they were growing things."
She was, technically, a super-villain. Or that was, she had been one, before everything had fallen to pieces.
Suddenly, she'd found herself a hero of sorts.
This was strange, because nothing about her, her end goals, or even her methods had changed.
Just the world had.
"So there is all this fertile soil - buried beneath the excesses of cities. There is a lovely spot with no fertile ground at all just half a mile that way," she gestured. "We can put the whole surviving population of this area there without hurting a single bit of fertile ground. You can do that, can't you?"
Builder Man had been one of those really B-grade, maybe C-grade heroes that had sometimes run into her as a villain. After all, half of what she did was try to tear down construction to get to the fertile ground below.
It was just that it was all destroyed and in the way now. He gulped. Mother Nature was a little terrifying, even when she was, sort of, being a hero. "I can do that. Do you think they'll like being all crowded into one place like that? I mean...?"
"Do you think they like living in this?" She gestured at the ruins. "Build it, builder man. You know you can. I'll move all the rubble for you. I'll plant them crops to keep them alive. They are not going to question, in the face of that, a little bit of discomfort.
Her vines were already moving. They moved with the same glacial inexorability of all Nature, but they moved a lot faster when she was steering.
He'd once seen them almost kill a man just by wrapping him up.
Builder Man made a few notations on her plans, surreptitiously, of course. With all this rubble. "So, exactly how big is this patch of infertile ground?"
She rattled off the dimensions without thinking. The stuff she just knew was almost as terrifying as her vines.
"Got it, got it. All right. You send me stuff and I'll lift it up." All he had to do was increase the space by 25% up there and people wouldn't even complain. He might have to go one story taller, but then they could say those rooms had "special view."
Mother Nature might be good with plants and dirt, but aside from knowing that people took water and sunlight, too, she was rubbish with the rest of the world.
That was all right. He could take care of those parts, and she'd never even have to know.
He started building. The bonus, as far as he was concerned: when he was on infertile land, Mother Nature would leave him alone.
And the people would talk to him. Builder Man liked being a henchman - or would that be sidekick? - a lot better than he'd ever liked being a third-rate hero. Now people actually smiled when he saw them.