Fa Mulan (_steelmagnolia) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-07-14 13:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: mulan, character: stiles stilinski |
Draw another picture of the life you could've had.
Who: Stiles and Mulan
What: Honorary OUAT member meets the newest (irritated) arrival.
Where: Sleepy Hollow hallway
When: Sunday evening (slightly backdated)
Rating: Pointy things.
Status: Complete
After taking the blunt end of a fallen tree to the head, a few unpleasant side effects were to be expected. Even though her helmet took a majority of the blow, anything being swung in the arms of a blind and enraged ogre could ruin a perfectly productive day- though to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure what had done her in- the swing to the head or the cliff-face it’d slammed her into. In either case, the world went black.
Then, she woke up in the wrong realm. The fact that her disturbing start back into consciousness happened to be on a strange bed did not settle Mulan in the slightest- nor did the odd furniture, the foreign looking decor, or the alien structures visible through a glass covered window.
She wasted little time exploring. Hood and the Men had only been by her side five minutes ago- they must have been pulled through the same portal she had- that she remembered no such portal did not surface in her thoughts at the moment. They centered solely on finding her fellow soldiers bandits and escaping from this very strange place.
With extreme caution and stealth, a fully-armored Mulan left the room she’d come to in and stalked the dim, oddly decorated hallway. She came to a corner and slowed, pressing her back against the wall with sword at the ready. Soundless as a shadow, she held the blade out and to the side, tilted just right to function as a slender mirror to what could be waiting around the bend.
Stiles Stilinski had an issue staying still. He had been lucky thus far to find things to do with himself, but he knew that wasn’t going to last for long. He had books full of notes: don’t go here, this person might know about that fact, so-and-so was a werewolf, and, most important of all, apparently they found a guy. (Not that Stiles wanted to be within a mile radius of a guy that had been apparently seriously described as both “soviet terminator” and “pet psycho”. Let that brainwashy asshole fall into somebody else’s hands, seriously.)
It was one of the days he wasn’t supposed to be at the station bright and early, and he’d done his best to get caught up with the library and Jamie’s assistant job, only to wind up bored out of his skull. So he’d gone exploring.
Not to the hospital or the forest or the church; Stiles was not an idiot and he definitely intended to stay entirely one hundred percent alive. So he’d picked out the hotel, where he’d spent a fair amount of his first two weeks. Someplace he knew, but not particularly well.
The hotel’s staff was about as talkative as most of the Hale family, which was to say you had to use the goddamn jaws of life to get their mouth open for longer-than-two-words conversations. Seriously, Stiles had never met anyone who talked as absolutely little as they did, to the point where he was starting to think it may have been part of the species identification list. Oh, they talk? Yeah, nope, not a werewolf.
Stiles was staring at the wallpaper in the hallway now, eyes narrowed and hand on his chin. Not that the wallpaper was particularly interesting, but it also wasn’t not interesting. Everything in Marrowood seemed deliberate in some way, including this. Why this wallpaper?
He dropped his hand away from his jaw and rocked back a little on his heels. “Yeah, Stilinski,” he muttered. “The wallpaper is significant in some way. Jesus, get it together.”
He turned from the wallpaper, heading up the hall toward the corner. There had to be something more interesting than the stupid wallpaper. Had to be.
The fact that the young man spoke to nothing was not Mulan’s primary concern- perhaps he was speaking to someone she couldn’t see, but there wasn’t time to deliberate. He was two steps from discovering her, and a decision had to be made. Luck had not always been on her side, but until her position of surprise was compromised, the odds were still in her favor.
That’s why poor Stiles stepped right into a metal studded leather wall, which very roughly grabbed his right wrist and wretched it behind him. In the same heartbeat, her boot caught the inside of his knee, pushing him down to both on the thin rug, and a sword crossed the front of his chest, tucked unpleasantly under his chin.
“I do not want to kill you,” a tense voice said from beneath the chainmail veil and helmet. “So do not call for others. What realm is this? Speak quickly.”
The walking thing was great for a whole two seconds before suddenly he’d run into something and the something was apparently sentient enough to grab him and roughly shove him down. He let out a yelp before he could suppress it. Stiles was familiar with being manhandled; as one of the only humans who ran with wolves in Beacon Hills, he’d gotten himself into a lot of tight situations with--
Sharp objects under his chin? What the hell was this?
The voice from behind him was, he thought, female, and definitely not happy. “It’s Marrowood, but I’m guessing you’ve never been, and I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m sufficiently impressed by your sharp pointy object to not even yell so if you could just kinda quietly move that away from my neck I will quietly answer all your questions.”
He held his hands out to the side, fingers spread and palms flat. “I swear, I’m like the least dangerous person you will ever meet in your life. Just, you know, not cool with a knife up against my neck, I’m very not cool with that.”
Jesus, Stiles. This was why nobody could have nice things. See if he ever went anywhere alone ever again, seriously.
You know, if he survived this time.
Marrowood. The name meant nothing to her, not from memories of home or the knowledge she’d gathered from years of her travels, but one thing was familiar. Something she noticed only now, as she kept him still and in front of her. His clothing. It was similar to Emma’s, and others from the non-magic realm. Had she been wisked there?
Mulan paused, assessing the situation from the honest fear in the young man’s voice to his general appearance. She would err on the side of caution; perhaps she was in the world without magic, but she wasn’t about to push her luck too far. She let him go, smoothly lifting the sword away from his jugular with a wide step back. Her weapon, though, was still wielded and ready, should he try to throw some sort of blast or curse on her- she would slice off his hand before he got the chance.
“I have never heard the name- Marrowood,” the voice told him from behind the chainmail, her eyes bore into his face from under the Feng Dynasty helmet. “What is it…. who has brought me here and for what purpose?”