“Friends?” Joaquin repeated, barely making an effort to suppress the giddy tone he’d adopted, “I mean — totally! I totally expected you to make… that suggestion because… of how well we get along!” Nice save. He didn’t miss the mention of where she was from either and while he knew very little of China itself, he could point at it on a map which was something, at least. Maria probably knew more, he’d have to ask her.
Relief calmed his jittery state between excitement and anxiety as she brushed off what he worried would offend her. “Gracias,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and glanced down before his eyes found their way back to her. “Ah, official business. I know exactly what you mean — did I mention I was the official guardian? Because that includes me knowing all types of official things relating to business of some kind.”
He soon realised that as easy as it was to carry on the conversation at hand, it was drawing perilously close to presidio-mentioning-territory which was the complete opposite of stalling and hiding the fact that San Ángel barely had a barracks, let alone a fortified structure built to withstand the attack of a thousand bandits (not that bandits were even that organised to form established troops who had the sufficient resources to take down such a structure. Those metal claws would be nothing but bad news in high numbers, though, and if Chakal happened to have a son sworn to avenge his father’s death that would be a real thorn in Joaquin’s side). If only he digressed as well in conversation as he did in his own head.
“So, what’s China like?” asked Joaquin, innocently curious by all appearances.
—花木蘭—Though she’d always longed to explore the
world beyond Juexizhen, Mulan often found herself ill-at-ease
when it came to serving her country. Even a summons to court
made the Savior of China’s palms sweat and her heart pound.
When she left the Middle Kingdom, traveling further north–
where gowns were complicated in all the wrong ways, where
everyone looked so different, where the teacups had no lids–
she felt like a redbird that’d flown in the wrong direction for
the winter.
On the other hand…the image of Shang’s wounded face (before
it became a mask that she feared he’d never remove again) was
imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. Sometimes, Mulan thought
she’d rather be sent to war again than on a diplomatic mission like
this. Compared to Shang’s company day in and day out, however,
she’d happily play the diplomat.
“So far…not too different.” If she was exaggerating a little, well,
she wasn’t exactly trying to hide it. "The weather, now. I thought
I’d miss the sun…and my māma’s cooking.“ A small smile. "But
I like it here. I’m looking forward to the next several months–oh!
Well. Since you know exactly what I mean…”
She blinked up at Joaquin, hoping to call his bluff. The Official
Protector’s insistence on his title, even the charm ease with
which he drew her into conversation–his claim, too late, that he
knew why Mulan had arrived and, implicitly, who she was–had
aroused her suspicions all over again.
Maybe, just maybe, there was a simple explanation for all this.
But she’d prefer to live to find out. “General Posada expects me
this evening,” Mulan told Joaquin pleasantly. “I wouldn’t like to
be late.”