There are other customers, yes, Bar agrees. I don't control when or where the door opens, but it does open sometimes, to admit people. If you want to meet someone to trade with, you can wait for them at the bar for as long as you like.

Well, I have to go back to my apartment eventually. To get a meal and sleep, if nothing else.

I also sell food, and can rent the rooms we have upstairs, Bar offers. The napkin has a little arrow pointing to the stairs in the corner.

To email my mothers, then, so they don't worry.

Sargeþi shakes their head.

Or, no. Really, I should call Emergency Services to come and talk to you.

You can if you'd like, Bar agrees. But time in Milliways doesn't automatically sync up with other universes. As long as the door is closed, no time is passing in your world, barring exceptional circumstances. So you really can take all the time you need. Nobody will miss you.

... oh.

Sargeþi finishes their hot chocolate.

They feel like they should have more questions, but if Bar is telling the truth, then they don't have to think about them, right now.

Not thinking for a bit sounds pleasant.

They order a sandwich, and take it over in front of the fire. They sit, and eat, and stare at the inexplicable fish.

Eventually, they feel a bit more composed. They flip their social indicator back to blue and wander back to the bar.

Are there interdimensional aid organizations? they ask. My planet will probably either want aid, or want to send out aid, depending on where we sit in relation to the interdimensional median.

There are, Bar agrees. Some of them have representatives who come through here fairly regularly. Would you like their business cards?

Sure, Sargeþi agrees, and then flips through the provided cards.

Desnan Cherries Search and Rescue — Removing people from situations they don't want to be in for eons untold

Vanda Nossëo Contact Department — Join an interuniversal federation dedicated to the promotion of sapient flourishing

Doctors Without Dimensional Barriers — Independent, impartial providers of medical assistance across the multiverse

Amethyst — Freelance omni-benevolent magical girl hivemind

These are ... interesting, they sign. No contact information?

The Landlords don't like that kind of thing. Also, there isn't any kind of multidimensional mail that you could really use to get in contact with them, Bar explains. There is a sentient communications tower currently hanging out in the yard who could put you in touch with a similar group. They didn't leave a business card, though.

Huh. Could you let me know if one of the representatives for one of these groups does turn up?

If you remain in the main bar area, yes. I can't manifest notes upstairs or in the courtyard.

Alright. Thank you.

Sargeþi is feeling a bit better — and they know what to do.

They snap some photos of the bar, for proof, and then walk over to the door to call Emergency Services.

And just before they can reach the door, a shockingly pretty woman with spiky purple hair and a form-fitting hand-embroidered dress opens it instead.

She peers intently at Sargeþi for a moment, her deep brown eyes seeming to bore into their soul.

"You're a me," she pronounces. "Do you want to join a hivemind?"

Sorry, what? Sargeþi signs.

That's Amethyst, Bar interjects via strategically-aimed napkin paper airplane.

"Sorry, let me back up. What do you know about the structure of the local multiverse?" she asks.

In the time that Sargeþi was looking at Bar's note, her hair has changed into a long golden ponytail.

Nothing, Sargeþi signs. I just found Milliways today.

Amethyst nods.

"Alright! So, in short, there are a lot of worlds that ... people say 'repeat', but that's not quite right. There are a lot of worlds that rhyme. They have the same basic structure, history, or magic, but things work out differently from world to world. The same thing happens with people — if you were born on my world, you would be me, and if I were born on your world, I would be you," she explains. Her voice is melodic and very easy to listen to. "That's a slight oversimplification, but generally accurate. I assume you have questions?"

I do, Sargeþi agrees.

And they had been in the middle of something. But then again, there's no rush.

Perhaps you would answer them over a drink?

"Sure!" she agrees.

They return to the bar, and Amethyst orders a very fancy milkshake. It has little emeralds and sapphires mixed into the ice cream, which she crunches with evident delight.

"... I'm part dragon," she explains, when she notices Sargeþi staring. "They're tasty."

"Alright — do you want to ask a question, or shall I just sort of generally elaborate?"

There are probably hundreds of more urgent questions, but the one that Sargeþi finds themself asking is:

Why are you a girl? I'm not a girl.

"Well, gender is sort of culturally relative, isn't it?" Amethyst replies, wobbling her hand in a culturally relative sort of way. "Also, I'm not completely a girl. We[ex] are about 98.2% girls, 0.7% boys, and 1.1% something else. It's possible that you're just naturally one of the 1.8%. Or it's possible that your home culture's gender roles don't correspond exactly to our gender roles. Or it's possible that you're about to have a gender awakening."

Why would I be about to have a gender awakening? Sargeþi questions. Amethyst is just sort of a lot, and they keep finding themselves picking one of their many, many questions just to keep the explanation rolling.