She appears in what looks like a living room. There are three women with black, starry eyes sitting on a pair of couches; they startle. One of them, wearing a stylish labcoat, raises a hand wreathed in shadow.

A brown-haired woman wearing a comfortable sweater slaps her arm down. "Who are you and what are you doing here?", she asks.

A silver-haired girl who can't be much older than fourteen watches from the sidelines, her posture tense.

Now she goes for her 'saber, drawing it but not lighting it quite yet, her attention mostly on the black-haired woman without neglecting the other two. She hisses to herself in annoyance but doesn't try to speak, instead making a complicated but apparently nonmagical gesture with her free hand.

The metal... woman, probably... behind her shifts to get a better view, still keeping herself mostly hidden behind her larger companion, and tries asking a question in an unfamiliar language.

The brown-haired woman pulls a ?book? from nowhere. It is like a book but it is not an object or a phenomenon or an illusion or a lie. It un-is a not-book. She reads something from the not-book and tries again. 

"Ċ̶͉͔̌̀à̷̱̃̀̏n̴̩̫̿͘ ̶̻͚̐͆ͅÿ̵̦͉́̊̍̊͜ͅō̶̝͔̼ů̷̬͈̀ u̶n̷d̶e̵r̸s̷t̶a̴n̴d̶ me now?"

The black-garbed woman tenses; the metal woman puts a hand on her shoulder, though, and answers calmly. "Yes ma'am. I'm sorry, I'm not sure what just happened; is there somewhere we can go to speak privately?"

"There's a study through that door, you could close the door."

    "Thank you, ma'am." She taps her companion's arm and points, and they go, the human carefully keeping herself between her companion and the others. The door closes itself untouched behind them.

They aren't in there very long, and the human is only marginally calmer when they come back out, though she seems to be flagging a bit despite her continued wariness. The metal woman seems unruffled - not that it'd necessarily be obvious if she wasn't - but doesn't try to step farther out from behind her friend than is necessary for conversation. "Ma'am?" she addresses the brown-haired woman.

"Yes?", she says. Her companions behind her pause in the middle of their conversation.

"I can answer questions now if you have any. I'm afraid I might not know very much, though - Master Deskyl teleported us here from another world, and she's not sure how she did it or where we've landed, just that your physics is slightly different here."

"More than slightly, I suspect. Apologies for raising the Hand against you, that was... uncouth."

"Who are you, then? This is a private meeting."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. This is Sith-apprentice Deskyl, and my designation is DZ-12Q. If there's somewhere nearby that would be more convenient for us to be we'll go there, but Master Deskyl is injured and may not be able to travel very far right now."

"I can accept her here. We look after each other, we can look after her."

"With Alasha missing? We know she's off breaking something right now -"

"We have time to help a stranger."

Deskyl tracks this exchange with her eyes, scowling slightly, and then signs to DZ, who steps around just enough to let her see her hands as she signs back. Deskyl signs again in reply, and DZ nods and steps back behind her. "Master Deskyl says that if Alasha is like you, she should be able to sense her by meditating, if she's within a few thousand miles, and give you a direction and distance."

"If she can do that it would be extremely helpful." 

    "Yes ma'am."

They confer via sign again, and then retreat to the study; this time they're gone a little longer.

    "There are a few hundred people like you within Master Deskyl's range, ma'am, but one significantly closer than the rest -" and DZ gives the direction and distance.

"That's probably her."

"We should go pick her up before she does something she regrets."

"That does seem like the best option."

"We'll stay here, if that's all right, ma'am."

"That's perfectly fine. We'll go get Ashara."

"You can't just leave her in the Chancery, can you?"