Trade Minister Mulan Lin sat in her bedroom, glaring at the page for the report she should have submitted three hours ago. She pulled her robe closer around her bare shoulders and rumpled into a small fist the paper that represented her abortive third draft.
She picked up another page and sighed. The quaint bed and breakfast at Storybrooke did not have wi-fi or any other internet connection, so she was resorting to handwriting. She'd have to tap it all in and email it from her iPhone later when her service could get a signal.
Granny's B&B, like most things in this odd little town, seemed as if it had been trapped somewhere in the mid-'80s. Even the fashion, particularly the mayor's, seemed caught in an odd conservative power-dressing time warp. The strangest thing was, no one seemed to notice how far out of the information-superhighway loop they were - nor did they even care. She had only met one citizen who had seemed even remotely curious about the outside world and he would have cheerfully questioned her for hours had she not had her meeting to attend.
But he was only 10.
The delegate suppressed a quiet yawn and tried to focus. She was not entirely sure how to phrase exactly what had happened in that meeting with the formidable Mayor Mills. Well, she was formidable by reputation. However the Chinese woman had seen nothing to link the woman she had met with that rep. She was charismatic and striking, it was true. But as for the rest... Mulan frowned.
The first stage of negotiations towards securing the mineral and extraction rights to Storybrooke's mountains were supposed to have been wrapped up by now. They should have already been moving on to stage 2, the contentious issue - re-opening an old abandoned silver mine that the mayor was clinging preciously to. But they hadn't even gotten close to that apparently tetchy topic.
Mulan sighed again. Instead she was stuck having to do a report explaining why the meeting was not concluded satisfactorily and that more time would be necessary.
Her superiors would not be pleased.
The raven-haired woman tapped a pen against her jaw. How could she say, politely and diplomatically and without bringing an abrupt halt to proceedings, that the woman had behaved oddly and it had absolutely nothing to do with negotiations.
Come to think of it, Mayor Mills had seemed unusually anxious even before they had sat down. And a little angry.
She had greeted Mulan with a small smile and dropped to her chair abruptly. Then, moments later, she began to wriggle about incessantly. About five minutes after that she suddenly slammed her glass of what Mulan presumed to be some form of liquid apple concoction to the desk, slopping it all over her hand.
The delegate noted she had not been offered a refreshment at all.
The Storybrooke mayor had then commenced to shuffle her papers about, first to the left and then the right. Her hands began trembling. She started to speak extremely fast - far faster than Mulan's ordinarily impeccable grasp of English allowed her to follow. She understood about one word in five - some of it was muttered, and most of those words seemed to be about a sheriff who would shortly die. She wondered if the unfortunate individual had been sick for long.
Perhaps the prefecture should send a fruit basket as a gesture of goodwill? Mulan frowned. Cultural niceties could be a minefield at times.
Mid-sentence, the mayor had suddenly bolted upright from her chair, leaned over and pushed a sheaf of papers over to her - none of which had anything to do with the mining rights proposal.
Mulan had stared at these pages in confusion, and flicked her eyes back to the brunette who appeared at once both wild-eyed and faintly apologetic, as if fully aware her behaviour was erratic but unable to stop it. So the delegate had simply pushed them back across to the mayor, assuming an error of some sort had taken place.
The brunette had then leaned heavily on them and begun perspiring, her eyes clenching shut at intervals. She would randomly moan and cough.
She resumed speaking so fast that at this point Mulan felt she had the very same migraine the mayor professed she had. It was with enormous relief Mulan had an excuse to rise swiftly to end the meeting. But the other woman had simply sat there gulping the air awkwardly.
By the time the strange mayor had at last leapt to her feet to shake her hand firmly goodbye, the Chinese delegate had developed her own theory as to what ailment might be troubling the leader of Storybrooke, Maine.
Mulan put her report down and glanced over to the leggy, milky-white woman sprawled in her bed behind her. Her eyes warmed as she took in the local beauty she had met in the quaint food establishment downstairs earlier that evening, who had offered to show her all the "delights" Storybrooke had to offer.
The actual town's tour had been obscenely swift; the more up-close exploration of its highlights had been slow and sensual and had taken three delicious hours. A satisfied smile spread across the delegate's shapely lips.
Ruby rolled over in her sleep, exposing a pale breast and a plump rosy nipple to the admiring Chinese woman, who felt a thrill skittering down her spine.
Oh yes, Trade Minister Mulan Lin most definitely had a theory about Mayor Mills. She knew exactly what a woman coming hard looks like. And, thanks to a gift of truly excellent hearing, she also identified very well the tell-tale breathless sounds of another woman providing oral caresses.
Mulan rose and slithered her robe to the floor, padding naked back to bed. Storybrooke was certainly a town with many hidden secrets that she would have to examine further - in great and thorough detail.
She'd put that in her report.