Sargeþi is from a small village on the Westernmost Island, not even part of Larger Continent proper. They thought they would be prepared for the larger crowds in Twin River City, but they really weren't. They're trying to find their introductory automation engineering class, and normally navigating a strange building with the aid of a map would be trivial, but there are so many people, and they're all making noises, and they can all see them.

They can't do this.

They fish their phone out of their robe pocket, and click their social status indicator over to red. The people pushing past them in the corridor part into two laminar streams, and they are entirely ignored as they make their way to one wall and lean against it.

It helps. It's not enough.

There is an unmarked door just next to them. They fumble for the handle and slip through, figuring that anywhere less trafficked is probably a good idea.

They find themselves in a deserted bar area. A fireplace crackles lowly against one wall, and the other has windows that look out on a frozen vista of exploding stars.

... why does the university have a room like this?

The surroundings are strange, but what Sargeþi really notices is the silence. As soon as the door closes behind them, the sounds of shuffling feet and murmured conversations vanish completely.

They can't bring themselves to break the silence.

They bend down and silently slip off their shoes, padding across the wooden floor to sit on one of the stools by the bar.

One moment, there isn't a napkin. Then, there is.

Welcome to Milliways. The first drink is free. What can I get you?

Sargeþi bursts into tears.

They do not know what is happening right now. Maybe they're being pranked. Maybe this is a television studio that has hidden cameras and a special effect gimmick, and thinks for some reason that airing an interaction with a tushot person won't get them immediately boycotted by a large fraction of the planet.

Maybe they're having a psychotic break.

They rest their head on the counter and sob.

Nothing disturbs them.

After a few minutes, the tears have ended, but Sargeþi can't see any particular reason to move, so they just stay there, resting their head on the hard wooden surface.

When they've calmed down a little bit, a smell reaches them — the smell of their favorite drink.

They roll their head to the side, peering blearily at the chipped ceramic mug sitting beside their head. It smells like Strong Maple Lemon Drink, like their mothers used to make for them when they were little.

They sit up and cautiously take a sip.

It tastes right, too. One part lemon juice, one part maple syrup, one part boiling water, and a sprinkle of powdered ginger, thoroughly mixed.

Everything is fine, a new napkin informs them. I don't know what you're dealing with, but if you want to talk about it I'm willing to listen.

The drink is helping to center them, but they still can't really bring themselves to speak.

I think I'm hallucinating, they sign. Last thing I remember is trying to go to class and getting overwhelmed, and now I keep seeing notes appear out of thin air. And this drink.

Well, that's probably because I am making notes appear out of thin air. And that drink, a napkin observes.

I'm Bar. I'm a magical piece of wood. I communicate through notes, and I sell drinks and small nonmagical objects. Periodicals are popular.

Sargeþi processes this for a moment, and then jerks back so that no part of them is touching Bar, accidentally spilling some Strong Maple Lemon Drink on their hand.

I'm sorry I got snot on you, they sign. I didn't realize you were a person.

It's okay, Bar replies. I've had much worse fluids on me.

Sargeþi's snot and tears vanish, the bar perfectly clean once more.

I'm an alien, she adds. I don't know what your customs are around touch, but I don't really read anything into whether or not you're touching me. It might help to think of me as being located in the area of the bar, not specifically in the wood.

That is ... a fair point. Sargeþi could make an argument about why most aliens should care about touch and personal space, but ... aliens.

Still, they don't particularly want to cuddle with an alien right now. They remain perched on their stool, their arms cradled around the mug.

They're not sure what to say, so they just sip from their drink for a while.

That's fine. There's no rush.

When they finish the mug, Sargeþi flails a bit, trying to figure out where to put it.

Do you, uh, want the mug back?

Yes, please. Unless you have a use for it.

Sargeþi sets the mug on the bar, and watches as it vanishes.

They still don't feel very in control of the situation, but ... there's something very calming about the near total silence. And Bar is an alien, who seems content to wait.

After a few moments of thought, they decide they might like another drink.

Will you accept credit with the Second Bank of Westernmost Island? they ask. I don't have a checkbook, but my phone has some local payment authorizations for emergencies.

I can take those, Bar agrees. And I'm willing to extend you a line of credit.

How much for a ... large hot chocolate with whipped cream? they ask, after a moment's thought.

Bar names a reasonable number of marks.

I'd like that, please.

Sargeþi lays their phone on Bar's surface, and taps 'authorize' when their phone pops up a payment request. The phone also lets them know that it has no Network connectivity of any kind, which is to be expected, really.

The hot chocolate arrives in a tall glass mug, with a large metal straw. In traditional Þereminian style, it is made primarily with rich, dark chocolate, and spiced with cinnamon and ginger. The whipped cream is stiff and fluffy.

Sargeþi takes a large sip, and relaxes as they let the flavors roll across their tongue.

... why? they sign after a moment.

Why what?

Why do you scoop up panicking new university students and sell them drinks? Sargeþi asks. If you wanted to make first contact, you should really talk to the city government or something.

Milliways is an interdimensional bar, Bar explains. The Landlords control where the door opens — I don't. As for why I sell drinks ... why do you have a nose? It's just what I do.

Þereminia does not really have a concept of 'bars' as a place where alcohol is sold. There are people who drink alcohol, but they mostly don't go to a designated restaurant to do so. But Þereminia does have restaurants that specialize in drinks of various kinds, and that offer the same kind of social atmosphere. So the word "bar" translates into Larger Continent Trade Language just fine. Bar's name translates an a clearly-etymologically-related proper noun.

Sargeþi ponders this for a while.

Were you ... created? they sign. Because they can't really see how an alien like that would come to be naturally.

I'm not sure, Bar replies. It's possible that I've always existed, without being 'created' per se. Time within Milliways doesn't always tightly correspond to time in any other world.

They ... weren't really expecting any answer other than 'yes'.

Huh. Do you have an earliest memory?

Yes, but I know I existed before that, she replies. I have a finite amount of ... call it 'space' ... for memories, and so I forget things as I have new experiences.

Oh no, that's awful. Sargeþi tears up again, because here they are, making an alien forget things forever.

They take a deep breath.

Okay, objectively, this is probably no worse than humans forgetting things. But it sounds like Bar is just very old.

... or has very little long-term memory. Maybe she doesn't remember Sargeþi coming in by now.

How much can you remember? they ask. Could you keep a journal?

That's a bit hard to answer, because I go through periods of dormancy when there are no customers. But I would say that I can remember as much as a human with good episodic memory.

And I've never really seen the value in keeping a journal. I did try writing an autobiography, at one point, when a customer requested one. But it turns out that most people don't find a list of the drinks I've served very interesting.

Sargeþi has ... mixed feelings about that. About the idea that someone would ... create someone as the shape of person Bar apparently is.

... could you leave? they sign. If you wanted to, could you stop serving customers and leave?

I have eighty million vacation days saved up, Bar reassures them. But I don't want to use them, because I am a bar.

Sargeþi takes the nameless, unproductive worries about Bar's creators, and shoves them away. At least they seem to have given her vacation days, even if they made her in a way that she doesn't want to use them. That says ... something.

Honestly, this situation is really strange. Which is probably to be expected, when dealing with aliens. It would be more unsettling, in some ways, if the aliens matched their preconceptions.

Okay, they sign. Well, good.

They take another few sips of their hot chocolate, and try to sort out what questions to ask next. This whole situation still doesn't really feel real; they feel sort of numb. But it's still less overwhelming than trying to make their class on time, so whatever.

They vaguely feel as though there's something that they ought to do, upon meeting aliens. After a moments thought, they realize what it is.

So are there ... other aliens? Who might want to trade with us?

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.

"Well, you might not be," Amethyst agrees. "But I happen to have access to perfectly safe and fully reversible shape-shifting. Would you like to try being in a female-typical body, and see if you like that better?"

Sargeþi feels as though they keep trying to have plans today, and they keep not happening. This is vaguely distressing, but they've regained enough equilibrium to roll with it. So sure, why not try having a female body.

Hit me, Sargeþi signs.

"Muto Corpus," Amethyst casts.

And then she conjures a mirror and swaps her alt's clothes out for a nice dress via fixity field.

Sargeþi looks in the mirror.

Their hair is cut short, hanging just below their jaw. Their face is ... different, but it's hard to describe how. A little sharper, maybe. Their dress — blue silk, with clouds printed across it — is not unusual, per se. They have one like it in their closet at home, actually, although in linen. But the way they fill it out is different.

They run a hand down their side, feeling the material, and then again, but this time feeling how the action is ever so slightly propioceptively different.

The figure in the mirror looks good. She looks startled, and a little wondering. But then she starts smiling. She starts smiling, and Sargeþi finds it hard to stop.

"O-Okay," Sargeþi says, and her their her voice sounds different, and suddenly she feels like an idiot, because it probably meant something that when she is having trouble processing things she hates the sound of her own voice. Hated. That the sound of her voice was something that she coped with, like having to cope with the feel of the terrible scratchy blanket that her grandfather made for her until she grew up enough to get over herself and give it away.

"Okay," she says. "I am ... maybe a girl."

"You're really cute," Amethyst replies, because it's true. If you can't complement your own alternate-universe selves, who can you complement?

"And also you took to that really fast. It took us[ex] ... a slightly embarrassing amount of time, in hindsight, to come to the same conclusion."

"I ... think it's probably easier, when someone just presents it to you," Sargeþi speculates.

She finally wrenches her gaze away from the mirror.

"So I'm definitely an alternate universe you?"

Amethyst nods.

"I have magical powers that make it obvious," she explains. "But you can ask Bar, if you would like a second opinion. She can determine alt-ness as well."

Sargeþi turns to Bar.

It's true, Bar agrees. Also: congratulations.

"And ... that means that you want me to join your hivemind?" Sargeþi asks, turning back. "How does that work?"

"Extremely well, thank you," Amethyst jokes. "Actually, it's kind of a long story."

And so she summarizes how she got her miraculous notebook powers, and what they mean for Sargeþi.

"So ... join up with you, retain my independence, but get a practically unlimited number of threads of attention, telepathy with a group of like-minded and sympathetic people, immortality and various other super-powers, and save not just my world but every world?" Sargeþi summarizes. "You make a compelling pitch."

"Well, to be clear, we[in] will save your world even if you don't join up," Amethyst replies. "But yes. We[ex] would be happy to have you."

Today has been ... a lot. No matter how much she wants cool magic powers, the sensible thing to do is to wait.

"Can I think about it?"

Amethyst grins.

"Of course! Now that we've met, you should be able to send me messages by thinking about it. You can let me know when you make a decision, and I'll be right there," she promises.

She finishes the last of her milkshake with a slurp.

"Soooo .... what else do you want to talk about?" she asks. "Want to hear my baseline plans for your world, and let me know if they sound like they need modification?"

Sargeþi is lost in thought for a moment, before she shakes herself.

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Really, you should just contact Emergency Services and work with them," she opines.

"It's often a good idea to work with local authorities, when they're reasonable," Amethyst agrees. "Why do you think I should talk to Emergency Services?"

"Well, I guess your appearance isn't an emergency, per se, but Emergency Services knows what all the currently ongoing problems are? And will have plans for how an influx of resources could make people better off, without completely destabilizing our civilization's existing paradigm?" Sargeþi hazards.

"So ... I can open that door and get enough fixity crystals to cover your planet — Actually, sorry, are you from a planet? You look like you're from a planet, but sometimes people are from, like, infinite fractal lattices and it's very embarrassing."

"Yes, I'm from a planet. Um. It's about 6,400 kilometers* in radius, I think," Sargeþi supplies.

* Milliways has the good translation; it does both bases and units.

"Right, okay — so I can cover your planet in fixity crystals. We[ex] have, by this point, pretty good object recognition routines. So you can assume that we[ex] will have eyes on every ongoing emergency within about 50 milliseconds. Those will get automatically triaged, and several thousands of my threads of attention will start dealing with them in priority order. If your planet has a typical population density for human planets, and typical crime and death rates, and no really weird situations, nobody will by dying or in immanent danger thereof in about a second," Amethyst explains.

"After that, we[ex] typically send representatives to every major polity, to make contact and talk about what we[ex] can do for them. We[ex] also set up orbital habitats far enough away not to be in the reasonable jurisdiction of any existing polity. The one thing we[ex] insist on is being able to give people the ability to leave, but frequently making that offer goes more smoothly if we first take some time to talk to the local government and get either their endorsement or condemnation."

Sargeþi blinks.

"I think the thing that people from my planet would find most reassuring is ... being obvious that you're not going to intentionally disassemble existing governments or other institutions? And that you care about trying to do things in a legible way. So I think it would be fine if you, like, showed everyone a vision that said 'Hi, I'm a benevolent alien. If you want immediate rescue, do X. If you want to learn more, do Y. If you don't want to interact with me, that's fine. I'm in discussions with Emergency Services about how to smoothly and peacefully put your world in contact with the rest of the multiverse.' And it would be fine to show that immediately, but you would have to follow up by actually discussing that with Emergency Services in good faith," she elaborates.

"And some people are going to be startled and upset by that, but ... I don't think it's actually possible for you to show up without upsetting anyone. And most people would endorse being told immediately if there were something important like that."

Amethyst nods.

"That all makes sense. Should I wake up sleeping people, do you think?"

"Can you look at their notification settings on their phones, if they have them, and go based on that?" Sargeþi suggests.

"Sure! That should be pretty straightforward. Can I poke at your phone to see what the settings look like?"

She nods.

"Let's see ... okay, it looks like the setting is just in the global registry ... I can write up a fuzzy matcher for that and it should work fine," Amethyst surmises. "Alright. How about I record that message now, and you can tell me about how it will come across?"

Sargeþi takes a moment to try and put themselves in the mind of the typical person suddenly confronted with an inexplicable vision.

"... actually, a lot of people are going to think they're hallucinating. You should explicitly mention that you're sharing this message with everyone with compatible notification preferences, and that they should check with other people or trusted news sources."

"Alright," Amethyst agrees. "How about this?"

A little frame appears around Amethyst, with a blinking red recording indicator in the corner.

"Hello everyone! I am Amethyst, a benevolent alien here to welcome you into the inter-dimensional community. I'm sending this message to everyone with compatible notification settings on the planet; you're not hallucinating, and you should confirm that by making sure everyone else is seeing this as well. If you want to be immediately evacuated from this planet at any time, say, sign, or write 'heliotrope vacant elephant'. If you want more information about me, say, sign, or write 'divide radiator clear'. If you don't want to interact with me, that's fine. After this message, I plan to talk to your Emergency Services about how best to peacefully welcome your planet to the multiverse."

"That seems fine," Sargeþi agrees. "Is that ... it? I mean, I feel like there's so much I should prepare you for ..."

"Well, we've got time," Amethyst agrees. "We can spend more time preparing. But there's something that I had real trouble with ..."

"More so than the gender thing?" Sargeþi jokes.

"More so than the gender thing," Amethyst concurs. "The powers the Spirit gave me — they aren't reductionist. They don't work better when you spend more time understanding them and trying to make everything perfect. They work better when they make the whole story of what is happening a better story. And that was really hard for me to properly accept, at first. But the fact of the matter is, that trying to work on making the rollout to your world perfect may not actually make it any better, no matter how much time we spend on it. Let me tell you two stories, and you tell me which one you think is better:"

A young person wanders through a magical portal, feeling unsure and afraid. Within, they find a strange world with strange rules. But they also meet a beautiful magical princess, who tells her that she, too, can be beautiful and powerful, and that together they can save the world. They discuss how they might do that, but ultimately the princess tells her that magic works on faith, and what she really needs to save the world is to believe. They step back through the magical portal hand in hand, and the world is saved.

A young person wanders through a magical portal, feeling unsure and afraid. Within, they find a strange world with strange rules. But they also meet a beautiful magical princess, who tells her that she, too, can be beautiful and powerful, and that together they can save the world. They discuss how they might do that, going into exquisite detail about the problems with the world, and how they might be fixed. Their initial plan doesn't end up changing much (or at all), but they do come to be sure that it will work. Ultimately, they are fully prepared, and step through the magical portal together, to save the world exactly in accordance with their plan.

Sargeþi bites her lip.

"I ... I mean, those are just different genres. I like to read the second kind, usually, because the details make things interesting. I do like the first kind too, but mostly when I'm feeling sad or overwhelmed, and just want some fluff to cheer myself up."

Amethyst blinks.

"Huh. You know, I think I forgot for a moment that you're me. I mean, I like those kinds of stories too, but there are hardly enough to be considered a genre, because most people don't. Your world's narrative tradition must be fascinating. Alright — we can do things the long way. Maybe you can start by giving me an overview of how your world is organized, with a specific eye to what organizations and individuals are going to have important effects on making first contact," she suggests.

"Ah, sure. It's been forever since my civics lessons, though. Let me look up a chart ..."

She pulls up an unholy cross between a map and a venn diagram on her phone.

"So this is a world map, showing the most important territorial organizations. The little ones marked with stars are the individual cities, the ones with dashed lines are joint judicial jurisdictions, the ones with dotted lines are standards bodies. The solid lines are joint service providers ..."

The geopolitical situation she explains is, to put it lightly, a mess. Every single city is an exception to something, and the only truly universal organizations are the Global Minimum Standards Body and the Archivists. Between the two of them, Larger Continent Emergency Services and Smaller Continent Emergency Services cover nearly every polity — which also means that in practice, they often end up doing things that are not strictly related to emergency management. Some cities are members of both. Some cities buy services from them, but do not meet the technical requirements for membership. Some cities are part of the Larger Continent Joint Response Area, and pay service fees, but are excluded from involvement in leadership because of something to do with insurance.

One city (Unexpected Volcano City) is technically counted as five different cities for administrative purposes, but their territories are co-extensive and which one you're in depends on which gate you entered the city through. Another area (No Tariff Technically-Not-A-City) is a large urban center featuring dense shared infrastructure and independent local government — but the government refuses to agree that it is a city, because that would oblige it to meet certain minimum requirements to remain part of the Smaller Continent Transport Standards Area.

"So ... is it really Emergency Services I should be talking to, or the city governments? Or the Foreign Diplomatic Relations Clearinghouse, for the states that are members?" Amethyst questions, once Sargeþi has spent long enough explaining that they have both ordered new drinks.

"I'm ... not actually sure that you have standing to bring matters to the clearinghouse," Sargeþi mentions. "Bar, could we borrow a copy of ... let's see ... The Official Bylaws and Procedures of the Foreign Diplomatic Relations Clearinghouse, 41050 edition?"

"Oh, I'm going to need to refer to it later, I'm sure. We can purchase it — Bar, put it on my tab, please."

Sure thing. Do you want more apple cider?

"Yes, please."

She flips through the provided book in search of the index.

"So ... it looks like I could if there were not an existing recognized global structure that would be a more appropriate venue for my communication, and I'm a resident in good standing of a state that is a signatory to the Third Larger Continent Convention on Governmental Procedure. Or, I can file an appeal with the Global Court of Justice, if I meet the criteria in annex B," Amethyst announces after a moment.

Sargeþi taps their lip.

"I think technically you're allowed to sign onto conventions at any time, as long as you don't have any additional exceptions to negotiate," Sargeþi points out. "You could get recognized as an official City, for diplomacy purposes ..."

After a long slog through international relations, jurisprudence, demography, and contingency planning, Amethyst dramatically closes the cover of her latest reference text.

"I think we're done!" she declares.

"Are you sure? Let me go back over the action items ..."

"I never have to pee when I'm in the middle of something, and right now I have to pee like a small woman who drank twenty-three large glasses of various sugary drinks," she declares.

Sargeþi glances at her line of glasses.

"You are a small woman who drank twenty-three large glasses of sugary drinks," she points out.

"It's a close simile," Amethyst replies. "Anyway, be right back."

When she's vanished through one of the doors in the far wall — presumably to visit a bathroom — Sargeþi turns to Bar and asks a question that she really should have thought of earlier.

Er. The business cards you gave me earlier — do you actually vouch for those people, or ...? she signs.

I, Bar explains, am a bar. I sell drinks. I do not, as a matter of course, vet interdimensional aid organizations.

Right, okay. I mean — she seems pretty sincere, and you did confirm that she's a me. So ... it's probably fine, but I wanted to check, Sargeþi explains.

I can sell you some books that speak positively or negatively about Amethyst, Bar offers.

Yes, please. That would be a great help, Sargeþi agrees.

A stack of books materializes on the bar, with titles ranging from The Holy Book of Her Lady in Amethyst, She Who Steps Between the Stars all the way to A Critical Analysis of the Handling of the Urmbezi Affair.

Sargeþi settles in to read.

Amethyst returns just as Sargeþi has closed the last page, and is sitting with her eyes focused on the bottles behind the bar, considering what she has read.

"You took a suspiciously long time in the bathroom," Sargeþi observes.

Amethyst waves a hand.

"Time is an illusion, and so are pants," she observes. "So ... anything else you want to talk about?"

"No. I do think the plan is solid," Sargeþi replies. "Although, reading these ..."

Amethyst waves at Bar for another ginger beer, otherwise waiting patiently.

"... you may be a me. But you're still an alien. And I think that the plan would go better if I were part of you, so that you have a ... Þereminian perspective."

"And do you think that joining would also be what is right for you, not just your planet?" Amethyst gently asks.

Sargeþi looks across at the magical alien space princess that she could have been, if she had been born in another world.

She looks ... calm. She looks happy. Experienced, and confident, and ... better at adapting to the ridiculous circumstances that are, apparently, going to be her life now.

Sargeþi considers what it is like, to be alone. To have one frail human body, and one forgetful human mind. She considers what it would be like to be together instead.

"Yes," she declares. "Yes, I think it would be."

There is something you should know, first, Bar interjects.

"Yes?" Sargeþi questions, a mixture of trepidation and chagrin leaking into her voice.

If you merge into a singular consciousness, I will also consolidate your tabs, Bar informs them.

Sargeþi snorts.

"I think I can handle that."

Amethyst extends a hand to her.

She takes her hand. And then —

She was in one place, and now she's in more. She's still herself, still here, in the bar, the leather seat warm beneath her.

But she is also everyone else.

She is cuddling a sleeping man. She is making pastry with a friend. She is studying in a laboratory, raw magic crackling in her hand. She is deciding what the best way to separate two involuntarily conjoined twins is. She is giving a speech in front of the people's assembly. She is kissing a creature made out of starlight. She is gently nudging two galaxies so that they won't collide in a billion years. She is fighting a terrible grey monster in a space beyond space.

She is sitting on the other seat, holding her hand.

"Shall we?" Amethyst says, gesturing toward the door.

She giggles, at the idea of talking to herself.

"Let's."

She steps up to the door, and throws it open.

"Hello, everyone! I am Amethyst, a benevolent alien here to welcome you into the inter-dimensional community. I'm sending this message to everyone with compatible notification settings ..."