"Hey, do you know where this is?" asks the girl who is... dressed like a Pokémon trainer. She looks nearly as confused as he is. Well, maybe not very nearly, but confused.

"I just walked in here and it seems definitely odd, but I don't know who or what could be doing it or why," she says.

"Maybe the window's a TV?"

"My first thought was that it was a psychic attack, it just doesn't seem nearly hostile enough to be an attack," says the girl.

He looks at her funny. "You're... going to have to unpack that."

"Huh?"

"The "psychic attack" thing. D'you think people are trying to mess with us with, what, crystals, or something?"

"...What do crystals have to do with psychic attacks? I mean like somebody's having their Kadabra prank us or something."

"It's a Pokémon. I guess you haven't been in school for a while?"

"What, that game my kid used to play? You're seriously proposing a Pokémon is using a Psychic-type attack to make us think the coffee shop is-" Oh. Wait. That was a joke. Duh. "-ohhhh. Oh, sorry. I thought- didn't pick up on the joke. Heh."

"It wasn't a joke - what ware you talking about?"

"Brenda's? I wasn't going into anywhere called Brenda's..."

"I was trying to go into a shop to get more Pokéballs and Potions."

"Have to do with what, magically appearing bars? I don't know, I already told you my first guess and why I don't think it's quite right."

Max reads the napkins, and processes them exactly enough to notice that they are being used to communicate with him. He does not process them any more than it takes for him to shout "NAPKINS! You're- NAPKINS! NO!"

"What's your explanation, then?" inquires the girl.

"I was talking to the bar, not y- I was talking to the bar, jesus christ, the- how do you "appropriate the door", why would- what do you need the door for?" His eyes frantically scan the countertop for another napkin.

"Wh- okay, we're back to this. The Pokémon thing. I'm led to believe that's not a real thing. I was also led to believe magic bars weren't a real thing, though, so if you don't mind clearing that up..."

The girl puts the creature's Pokéball on her belt again, then picks the animal up and puts it on her lap. It curls up there happily and nuzzles her under the chin. "He used to be a Zigzagoon but now he's evolved," she says. "I thought you didn't think Pokémon were real, how did you even get that close?"

"Pokemon is... its a video game, my kid used to play it, it was... you caught monsters and they fought each other, or something, trying to get batches of something. Supposedly completely fiction! Not a physically possible thing! This... has that in common with that thing. The bar thing, also impossible. There probably aren't multiple kinds of impossible coincidentally happening at the same time. So... connection! What is it?!"

If nothing else, says the bar, it does tend to limit itself to sorts of people who can interact sensibly with the dimensions and furnishings of this environment. Humans are still more commonplace than, for instance, elves, and I could not begin to speculate on why.

"Why would wild animals be going around opening doors? Does that thing work with pet doors?"

"Well, not all 'mon are wild. Zag's smart enough to open full-sized doors. Juu has hands, she can manage it too."

I can make change, the bar promises. I can also take arbitrary currency as used anywhere in the multiverse, and in some cases at my own discretion, outright barter.

...Max pulls out a pair of bills from his wallet and lays them on the counter. He watches them intently- there's no cash register, and no cashier. Is she going to disappear his money?

Two singles vanish. One American quarter appears.

"...and how much is that in dollars? I'd be interested in staying longer, unless there's some way to get back here reliably."

$65, says a napkin. I can't tell you what your door acquisition traits might be without information that doesn't exist until you leave and come back a few times.

"We have electronic money, we just don't use cards that look like that!" says the girl.

I do not read minds, but the translation mechanism in place that is, for example allowing you and she to both read the same napkins and speak to each other also works for me, and it does not simultaneously inform me of all the homophones in the multiverse every time you utter a word.

I don't need a list, napkins the bar, and I do not read minds. I just speak English. And those two people would be extremely unlikely to operate from the same currency.

"You don't need a list and you don't read minds- 'speaking English' isn't enough to know how to build a- a- a whatever complicated thing, just from its name! And- and the other thing, currency has nothing to do with it! If someone comes in and asks for batteries, and you base the price on how much they cost in their world, and they can't afford it... and then someone else from another world shows up, do they... do you see what I'm getting at? If I came from a world where they handed Pokedexes out like candy, wouldn't that price you gave be unfair?"

If you'd like to buy a Pokédex for her or give her some of your money to see if she has better luck with that I will hardly stop you, the bar says. I do not have to build things. I just cause them to appear.

They aren't manufactured. The coffee you are drinking did not previously exist in a bean state. I do not technically serve free lunch, but I do serve free drinks.

"I- of course it wasn't beans, but it had to be- you had to know what a coffee was! You would have to know what a znorfblarg was! What, do you just... already know what everything is? Are you omniscient? How?!"

Nonmagical objects, clarifies the bar. And there is some fuzz around the borders of constructed langauges and codes, some of which give me some trouble, and of course if you refer to something strictly fictional which cannot be made to work without magic I can't necessarily figure out how to make it for you.

The girl laughs at him and names a book that she would like to borrow. The bar gives it to her, and she takes it and goes to sit by the fireplace. She releases a Pokémon to sit on her lap and be petted while she reads.

"This" will do nicely. He skims the chapter headings quickly to make sure it's comprehensible enough, and takes it over to a seat by the window.

And then, apparently, ages six years, gets cosmetic ear surgery, and completely changes in dress sense, forgetting in the intervening time that Milliways exists, because she sure looks puzzled.

"Your ear! What- your ears! What do you mean you haven't- what? What is this? You're not- who...?"

"I am an elf. Perhaps you have not met an elf before."

"Elf- you- oh, god, she mentioned elves, the damn bar- but- but you're her, what was her name, the one with the Pokémon! You're definitely her!"

"I have never seen you before and do not know what a Pokémon might be."

"Yeah, okay, she told me that part. Except... wait, d'you not have eyes or something? She looks and sounds exactly like... what was her name, the trainer girl. Like, exactly."

I don't give out employee details, writes the bar primly. They aren't the same person. They are alts.

"Alts," he repeats. "Alts. What's an alt?"

I suspect, says the bar, that the sort of person who has alts is also more likely to find the bar. But you probably want to be more conservative about how common a thing must be before I have a name for it.

I don't think every possible universe exists, at least not yet, but I couldn't say for sure. You might have to be more specific about how often you'd expect any of these things to occur 'by chance'. Although I will mention that a plane like the one you just made up would be unlikely to contain doors or people to open them.

The door doesn't work that way, although occasionally people have found their way here through other mechanisms.

I don't keep it for myself. I'm just obliged to charge. To be honest, I'm not sure if people who pay by credit actually see their amounts deducted on a consistent basis.

"Yeah, it does that. Coffee I ordered was magically perfect. Kinda casts doubt on the idea that it doesn't read minds, considering how people's tastes vary."

"That would be - distressing, but - mm - no, the tea is good quality but it is not ideal, I think. I like it but it is seasonally appropriate and I prefer autumn blends."

The elf frowns at him, but says, "There are humans in my world, yes."

"My world's name is Thilanushinyel, and in it, elves find it highly impolite to ask questions outside of emergencies."

"A straightforward replacement is to state the desire to know something. It is inelegant but not outright rude, as it does not so directly demand information."

"There are grammatical markers for questions. They are economical in time and in cutting down on extraneous social niceties, and are acceptable from small children or in times of war or other emergency, but not from polite adults, among elves."

"Hello, I do not speak Spanish," she repeats slowly.

Of course. Here is just such a thing.

The elf giggles.

"Okay, this can still work! I... well, maybe. Uh, Bar, does... if I take this book and sort of... lean out the door, so the book is outside, in my world, and read it from there, or... if I hold it open with my foot and stand out there and... question is, what's the limit of the translation effect?"

If you lean out the door, says Bar, with the book beyond the threshold, it will not be translated anymore.

"Potato," he repeats. "So this place translates whether or not anyone in it actually knows the meaning of the word. But," he continues, "If I say-" he rattles off a string of gibberish- "- then it's not going to mean anything, even though somewhere in some universe it probably sounds like something in their language. So it knew "potato", it knew that was Russian, because..."

"I suppose this would be interesting if you hoped to exploit the environment to evade large amounts of difficult translation work," says the elf. "It seems unlikely to matter for the purposes of casual conversation; it is a highly effective utility and cannot be brought home, so..."

"No, you don't understand! This... it means something's watching, it can infer things from context! There was no Russian-knowing mind here, just like there's no gibberish-knowing mind to translate the gibberish- but it knew anyway! There's just the dictionary- it can see, oh, he was using a Russian dictionary, so he spoke something in Russian... Bar, I'm assuming you don't handle the translation yourself?"

I do not, but I am, technically, a Russian-knowing mind, chides the bar.

"...hm. Yes. I mean... well, you... you're also presumably a gibberish-knowing mind, right? Some species of alien or alternate human from one of those infinite universes probably has a word that sounds like- um, what was it, a znorfblarg or whatever I said. They're just not here. So... does it... does it pull all the languages from the world a customer comes from, or... did you learn Russian when you materialized that dictionary?"

I already knew Russian, I assure you, says the bar.

"I have no idea," agrees the elf. She flips through the napkins, then pulls out a notebook and starts taking notes. "But I do not object to the opportunity to explore it."

"It seems a kindness. Perhaps not a kindness of perfect efficiency, but few are. There need not be much agenda involved."

"This makes good hearing. It is not my wish to do you harm."

"So, yes. A kindness, heh. If there's someone powerful enough to cross between universes, build consciousnesses, universally translate, and create anything they like on the spot... whatever this is, it's intentional. There has to be a reason for this beyond... some kind of benevolent whim. Nobody goes to the trouble of getting that kind of power just to do something like this."

"Not all power is intentionally sought. You seem to be willing to take the bar's word for it that her own considerable ability is something she began with."

"If you believe this establishment is so so sinister, you could, you have mentioned, leave rather than risk participating in its agenda."

"Oh, I guarantee participating in its sinister agenda would be more interesting than anything I could have planned for the afternoon. I just want it to happen already instead of keeping me in suspense! Driving me crazy, waiting around... well, waiting around reading an extremely interesting physics textbook, but... waiting."

"Perhaps nothing is waiting to spring out at you."

Room 559, says the bar, materializing a key. It will be on the fifth floor to your right, on the left-hand side.

It is a small room with a window overlooking the lake, an ensuite bathroom, a twin bed, a desk and a desk chair, soft carpeting, and good lighting.

The stars are in the front, explains a napkin. The lake and forest and so on are in the back. Do you want to exchange your room for one with a front view?

"No, I don't want to- where is this? I assumed- I didn't think about the stars, I didn't- I thought they were decorative, what- how can the sky be different in the back, what's- is there some sort of dome, a- what's all that doing there?!"

I have never, says the bar, actually been outside myself, you realize.

Rules about violence are relaxed in the back yard, the lake contains a giant squid, attempts to depart the area of the yard result in wrapping back around on the other side, the building extends laterally and vertically enough to prevent going around it, and people do not visit the area out front in person.

You assume correctly.

Max sighs, sits down, orders another coffee, looks at it, and concludes "This is the most convenient least convenient possible situation I've ever been in."

To which statement the bar has no response.