The Soldiers | Mulan/Mushu
Initially filled with relief at finding Mulan (or, more accurately, Mulan finding him) Mushu’s eyes widened dramatically when Mulan stole his chopsticks; he tried to pull away but was too slow to stop her from taking a bite of the food. If it had been anyone else other than Mulan, tomorrow’s headline probably would have read something like, “MURDER! AT THE MUSEUM”. As it was, Mushu just scowled before hunching protectively over the rest of the food. “Now how are you gonna tell me I’m not allowed to eat in here then steal my food right after, Mulan?”
Mushu made a face when Mulan made for the door reading “staircase”. “You know we have these things called ‘elevators’ now, right?” He followed along behind her anyway, scarfing down the rice faster than ever lest she tried to take more. “What would ya wanna meet the emperor for, anyway? Seems like just a regular ol’ fuddy-duddy to me. Oh, ‘scuse me, a fuddy-duddy in a really pointy hat.” He couldn’t say he wasn’t curious about the exhibit, though. Finished with his food, he tossed the container into a nearby trashcan.
After a few more minutes of whining about stairs, when they finally reached the ancient Chinese exhibit, Mushu let out a low whistle. “Okay, alright, I guess this was worth it.” The museum had even gotten in quite a few of the terracotta soldiers; those must have weighed a ton, how had they even carried them into the room?
“Wow,” there were rows of stone soldiers that stretched back along the gallery room. Each one had a different facial expression, a slightly different pose. As a group though, dozens of them standing perfectly spaced from each other, they were terrifying. Mulan stared at one for a long stretch of time, and then she turned to stand beside it.
“How’s this?” she asked, scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow. “How do I look?” she snorted, and the snorted turned into a giggle, earning her a look from a couple other people who were looking through the exhibit.
“Maybe this is what I’ll do,” she said absently, turning her attention to a row of cases that lined a wall. “I’ll just....collect things and put them on display,” she thought of her mom’s traditional gowns, her father’s ceremonial sword he’d earned from the Emperor all those years ago. It was on display along with his guns, and Mulan thought she knew at least some things about the art of placing objects in the right places, to honor and please the ancestors, to tell a story.
“Hey Mushu, do you ever think....” she trailed off, because she realized she didn’t know how she was going to finish that thought. “Nevermind.”