I feel like Dashi sat around high most of the time when he made the Sheng Gong Wu. Like he would just be sitting there with Dojo, eating rice, look at his chop sticks and say: "Man, you know what would be amazing? If when there was a set of chopsticks that instead of being used to eat rice, it makes you turn into rice.
The red sun beat harshly upon the Egyptian sands. It was a vast difference from his Asian homeland, a land of rain and lush grasses.
Dashi was dressed head to toe in clothing that he’d bartered easily from a passing camel caravan, and the baggy, comfortable cloth covered practically all of him, save his eyes, which were a striking indication of his outside heritage. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and stung his eyes.
His men were a mixed breed, a melting pot of nomads from all corners of the world. Dashi was a persecutor of injustice, a savior in the eyes of his men, who had all lost their homes, families, or countries due to some form of corruption or another. He respected each member of his brotherhood, and though some of his decisions may have been poor in the eyes of others, Dashi tried very hard to be humane, and fair.
He looked to the dark skinned woman before him, obviously of royal caliber. If he couldn’t tell from what remained of her once fine clothing, he could tell from how well she held herself. Head held high, she wasn’t afraid to look him in the eyes. It struck him to the core. And he softened.
“Sit.” He offered. His voice was casual, smooth like fresh honey, and pleasant to the ear. The woman stood defiantly before him. Dashi wasn’t surprised. He picked up a cloth from his side, mopping up the sweat that dripped down his forehead.
“Go on. Sit.” The men at her sides swept up the woman’s legs, placing her down gently before him. They took their leave, and Dashi picked up his teapot, hand crafted by the finest Chinese potters and painters, and poured her a cup of tea. It was laced with mint, something that gave Dashi a pleasant, cool feeling as it slid down his throat.
“Take a drink. You look parched.” He spoke gently, with tender care, “Then maybe you can tell me your name.”
An indignant hiss passes through her teeth as the men force her to sit. How dare they touch her!? Already others have learned of the punishment of such an act. There is a little pride when she remembers breaking one of these nomad’s hands.
A sneer touches her lips for a moment, despite the somehow calming nature of their leader’s voice and the surprise that he can speak her language. Hands twist in the shackles once more. Does she lash out like she did before or does she go along with this obvious farce? A display to make her drop her guard, it has to be. Whatever goal these invaders have Mia doubts it is in the best interests of her people. Outsiders only ever want to take the little they have.
Eyes fall on the … strange pot and its accompanying cups. They are oddly beautiful, delicate in their design, almost civilised, not an item she was expecting these people to have at all. She watches the liquid poor into the cup before her, it looks like water but things float in it. Why would people drink water that isn’t crisp and clear? This is all very foreign to her and Mia learned long ago to keep away from things that are foreign, it tarnishes her image and as queen she mustn’t have that.
Defiant gaze returns to her captor. Yes she is thirsty, it has been a while since her last drink but she is hardy, a true daughter of the desert and refuses. Nor does she give him the information he seeks. Instead she only says,
“The desert is unforgiving to strangers and invaders who wish to harm Khemet. Your bones will be buried by the sands just like those who came before you.”
Remember in Enter the Dragon when Wuya was freaking out about Dojo being released from his cage? What if this happened before she was trapped? What if Wuya, Dashi, and Chase had formed a temporary alliance to stop Dojo from wreaking havoc on the world but things had already gone to shit before they finally beat him and that’s why she’s traumatized.
Somebody asked for Pictures of Grandmaster Dashi :3 Well here it is guys! :) The best shots of him. Compliments of me and thanks to my Jing screenshot capture :) I AM SO HAPPY I TOOK MUltimedia class in college!
Mia sequesters the Yin and Yang yo-yo’s back into her sleeves, the portal closing behind them. Eyes rise to the eternal black sky with its drifting Chinese characters. It is ridiculous how she could spend hours watching them, trying to decipher any meaning in those words. There is none, of course, the Yin Yang world is a place of gentle chaos. A shifting world with little meaning but an important purpose.
“Alright,” she says, gaze lowering as she half turns towards Dashi, the red glow accent on her monochrome form finally being replaced by colour again. “We followed the disturbance here but … we …”
Her voice trails off. Something wiry tickles her fingers, water laps at her toes. In all directions stretches a sea of grey, wilting Cyperus Papyrus, more commonly know as Nile grass. The sound of flowing, sluggish water reaches her ears. Turning in that direction she sees it, the Yin Yang world’s twisted steaming version of the Nile, a figment of an ancient home and her childhood.
It is time to come home. When she can no longer remember what it is to feel the wind on her face or the earth between her toes, when she has forgotten what it is to have physical body or a world that follows a strict law, that is when Mia knows she must return home. The Yin Yang world with its gentle chaos and shifting landscapes can warp more than itself, it can change its inhabitants. The Dragon of Ether isn’t ready to loose herself in that world just yet.
Her portal opens and bare feet step from energized flatness to lush grasses. For a moment Mia closes her eyes, basking in this solid reality. A breath in then out and she lets the Ether flow through her, a predictable Ether that follows rules and order. She feels it in her mind, soothing the madness. Another breath and she smiles, eyes opening as the portal closes behind her.
With a sigh Mia sits down. She arrived a little too early but her family should be here soon. A field filled with life and flowers, a wonderful place for a picnic and one they had agreed upon meeting in before she left. She hopes they brought a nice spread she is more than a little hungry. The body doesn’t need food in the Yin Yang world and now her’s has a large hankering for some.
A little hum and Mia flops back into the grass, content to lay here and wait. Perhaps take a nap in this wonderful sunlight. Oh how she missed the sun.
Dashi’s fingers ran across her back, and a low groan resounded in the back of his throat. His body was afire from her lips, her touch, her wickedly erotic smell.
He ran his fingers up her sides, savoring every inch before tangling them in her hair, thick as a horse’s mane but as soft as silk. She had the kind of hair that a man would love to feel cascading over his bare stomach, hair that he wanted to bury his face in.
So he did. Dashi took a deep breath, letting her intoxicating aroma fill his senses. He breathed, his lips traveling to the hollow of her neck, “I’m trying to behave myself. You’re making it really hard.”
Mia chuckles, fingers skim up his neck to run through the floof that is his hair. She sighs, enjoying the warm trails his hands leave on her body. She does so enjoy his touch, his warmth and life. She finds herself wanting to hold him, please him. Perhaps she can do both.
“I’m sorry. I seem to be unable to help that,” she says, guessing at what he wants but still unable to understand the need. She takes a deep breath, feeling those familiar butterflies swarming in her stomach. It happens every time this possibility comes up but it is not the same fear it was that first time.
“Is that what you want, Dashi?” she asks, other hand caressing his spine. “To misbehave?”
It felt like his lungs were flooded–and maybe they were. Elbows hit the ground, and soon after, his entire body collapsed onto the floor.
The hard thump of his heartbeat throbbed in his ears, and the familiar warmth of blood pooled on his stomach, forming a red swell.
He coughed, and it made him feel even worse. He could feel the metallic tasting liquid trickle down his lips.
“Leave me here–go.”
Mia is there, by his side in an instant. She pushes down the anger, the fury at what did this. She holds back the tears that threaten to blur her sight. Neither emotion will help right now. Eyes shift back for a moment, looking for the thing still lurking somewhere behind them. A thing powerful enough to hurt a Grand Master Dragon. Again, something she doesn’t have time to think about.
“Leave you? Please, Dashi,” she says, keeping her voice jovial even as she feels the fear clawing at her throat. “It’s like you have no idea who you’re talking to. Now I am going to roll you onto your side and take a look at that.”
The Dragon of Ether does just that, biting back the gasp of alarm when she sees the extent of the damage. With a breath Mia replaces that still growing fear with surgical calm, preparing to work her magic.
“Actually, I was going to make a sexy Santa joke. But that works.” He smiled cooly, giving her a squeeze.
“Oh yes, that jolly red man. Doesn’t he have a beard?” Mia frowns, tapping her lips with her pen. “Can you even grow a beard? I’m not certain you can be any sort of Santa without being able to grow a beard.”
Mia stands tall, proud if disheveled inside the tent of the enemy. Wrists shackled before her, already aching from her attempts to break free. Kalasiris torn, the fold unkempt, the once pristine white cloth stained with sand and blood, none of it her’s. All her jewels, including the tiara that indicates her royal status, are gone, taken by the men who attacked her caravan.
Fierce dark brown eyes glare down at the man seated before her. Is this their leader? She wonders. Or maybe he is just a simple officer, or some other position entirely. Why bring me here instead of killing me like all the others? Do they know who I am?
All she knows is the man before her commands respect from the soldiers, a respect she will not show him.