One moment Dama is where she expects to be, and the next moment she is where she least expects to be - an unheard-of street under an astronomically bizarre sky, showing close, green-blue moons and two orange suns, one much closer than the other, glowing through the clouds. It is raining hard; people are bustling past her under various contrivances to keep the rain off. Nobody looks twice at her.
She’ll take that as a good sign, even if it means waiting longer.
Busy, annoyed people are going over paperwork and talking to various people at various levels of confusion and upset. Eventually a busy annoyed person is free to talk to Dama through her translator, who rushes through an explanation most of which Dama hasn't a prayer of catching and then translates a question, "Do you have any friends here?"
“I don’t know what skills are considered useful here. Where I was before today, I was...” She considers her phrasing. “An assistant to the king.”
Okay. “I’m trained in unarmed combat. I don’t have a perfect hand but I can write evenly enough to be a scribe. I spend a lot of time listening to complaints and settling disputes but I don’t expect I’ll have enough context to do that here. Same for delegation and such, I don’t know the people here or what needs done, and I’m not in any position to make use of that even if I did.”
“I’m a little stronger than I look but not a lot.”
“I should be able to do that.”
“ ...Yeah, go ahead.”
...That’s a harder question. She doesn’t know if being alone or with strangers will make her miss Dira more. Being alone would probably give her more time in which to miss him but she wouldn’t be concerned about anyone seeing her upset.
”Roommates,” she decides. The less she thinks about home while figuring out how to get back, the better.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“My parents are dead,” she says, even though she knows that isn’t what he means.