Thalia is not a girl inclined to magic, or even flights of fancy. This seems absurd, considering she lifts cars with the power of her mind alone, but it is true. Magic requires a certain relinquishment of control that cannot be abided. Her powers have a definable source: the mutant gene. Her powers can be identified and analyzed. There is science behind the way they work, and she can learn to understand science. 

There is no understanding magic, not for her, and so she does not trust it. She cannot risk what small faith she has left on something so unstable. 

What can be understood, however, is the universal quality of all crappy motels to have uncomfortable, bed bug-ridden mattresses. Thalia shifted a bit and stared at the ceiling. It felt like there was a pointy bone digging into her left shoulder through the covers. She had double-checked to be sure there wasn't a bone jabbing into her with more hesitation than she would have admitted under fire. It was that kind of motel. She didn't even want to know the last time these sheets had been washed.

(The story of how and why she came to be in this motel, on her own, distinctive hair tucked under a baseball cap and her famous face obscured behind a bored expression, slightly dirty clothes, and a bright pink bubblegum bubble the size of her head, is worth a thread on its own and will no longer be discussed. The fourth wall will remain intact.)

She blinked. The entire building rocked on its foundations; the lights flickered for a moment in her room, and from next door--the walls were paper thin, if only to increase her eternal suffering--she heard a barrage of curses curl out of the room like smoke. The man next door had a very inventive imagination and a baritone fit for the movies. She blinked again, and got out of bed. 

Thalia stuck her head out of the window, hoping for something that would be necessary to call her away from the dingy room and its bone-filled mattress: a dragon the size of an 18-wheeler descending upon the parking lot, perhaps, or maybe just two drunks in a fight. There was nothing there but the harsh, empty glow of the streetlights, however, and nothing to explain the distinct shudder that had ripped its way through the entire motel. 

She frowned and slammed the window shut, stepping out into the hallway instead. There was nothing there either, but it felt more right than looking out the window had. She was on the trail of something interesting, possibly. Possibly not. There was only one way to find out. 

That was how she started knocking on everyone's door. By the time she'd worked her way down to the only door where no one opened it up to step out and berate her for bothering them, her bangs were plastered to her forehead with sweat and she was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined the entire event.

GRAND MAGUS

let me know if i need to change anything :>

Okay, no one was answering the door while she was knocking, but the crash she heard was definitely not good. For a moment, Thalia had horrifying visions of some old lady from a Life Alert commercial falling to the bathroom floor and wiggling there like an overturned beetle, unable to get back up.

In a highly unnecessary move, she decided to drop her shoulder and crash through the front door herself, already offering up a mental wish that the hotel would just accept her credit card and not press charges or kick her out. It was kind of a shitty hotel, she remembered. Maybe they'd be understanding. This sort of thing had to have happened here before.

Her momentum carried her into the room another few steps, before she turned towards the sound of the crash and--yeah, she was not expecting that. A man sat in the wreckage of what had once been the bathroom door and beyond that was what looked like a large piece of glass. Only that had to be wrong, because she could see through it into some sort of forest scene from which a monster was rapidly retreating. 

"You're not an old lady who needs Life Alert," she informed the man, although he was probably already aware of that.

GRAND MAGUS  

Thalia had never been in the habit of listening to strange men, and she wasn't going to start now. She followed on his heels through the portal, just in time to miss his excellent take down of the trolls. She did, however, get a front-row view of his excellent take down, in turn, by the direwolf. 

She wished she were the kind of person to milk the situation a little bit more, but instead she stretched out her telekinetic muscles like a cat after a long nap and lifted up the direwolf. It hung in the air twenty feet above their heads, trying to look like an overgrown puppy instead of a slavering, furry engine of murder.

"A fedora," she said to the man, "Is possibly the only thing that could have made what I just saw more lame."

GRAND MAGUS